Boy Toy by Sarina Bowen
Uh-oh. I realize I’m staring at Liam instead of at my children. That six-pack, though. You can see the ripples beneath his polo shirt.
The women’s restroom door opens to admit three laughing women, and suddenly the place is crowded. With great reluctance I leave the peaceful seclusion of the bathroom and slowly walk back toward our table. If I’m lucky, Earl gave up on me and went home.
No such luck. He’s still there, and he’s eating a piece of cherry pie.
There is no dessert in front of my place. “Where’s mine?” I demand, because his bad behavior has infected me like a virus.
“You didn’t like me ordering for you,” he says. Then he finishes the pie in two bites.
The young waiter approaches the table. “Would you like any dessert?” he asks, eyeing the empty pie plate with a disapproving frown.
“Just the check,” I grumble. “And quickly.”
“Right away, ma’am,” he says before disappearing.
“I’ve been ma’amed,” I complain.
“What should he have called you?” Earl asks, licking the fork. Then he turns it over and licks the other side. Ew.
“It never hurts to hear miss,” I inform him. The ma’am thing started happening about two seconds after Decker told me I have an unattractive mom bod. One day I was “miss” and the next day, “ma’am.”
“Can I drive you home, miss?” Earl asks, a dirty gleam in his eye.
“Yes, please,” I say. I don’t want to pay for another Lyft. And I’m not entirely confident I would type in my home address right now. Not accurately.
The waiter returns with the check. I glare at Earl until he throws down his credit card. And, lookee here! The waiter has also brought me a fresh red-headed slut. He probably feels sorry for me. I pick that sucker up and drain it. This night can’t end soon enough.
5 What Happens After Too Many Red-Headed Sluts
Liam
This night can’t end soon enough. These toddlers are tired, but they won’t fall asleep.
“Liam!” I hear for the hundredth time.
“I’m right here,” I call through their bedroom door. I’ve left it open just a crack. I’m sitting in the carpeted hallway outside their room, so they won’t be tempted to climb out of their cribs to come and find me.
Again.
“It’s quiet time, now,” I say calmly. “You don’t have to sleep, but you must close your eyes and think about it.”
“Okay,” Kate’s sleepy voice says.
“Piggypoo?” Amy asks.
“You have him,” I say, not budging. She wants me to check on her again.
Sadie’s twins are so stinking cute. I love to watch their little minds at work. After we watched the video I brought them—Elmo Meets the Wild Horses—they had to play horses. That’s how toddlers make sense of the things they see and hear. They reenact them.
It hadn’t occurred to me that I would be the horse in this scenario, however. My knees will never be the same. Live and learn.
It gets quiet in the girls’ room, and I let myself relax. I’m bone-tired. Every day I spend ten hours with toddlers. A few more shouldn’t matter, right? After work I’ll often lift weights and take a seven mile run. I’m a high-energy kind of guy.
But about an hour ago, my get-up-and-go just got up and went. Soon I’ll be off duty, so it doesn’t really matter. I can go home and open a beer and think of nothing but my weekend plans and myself.
As I sit here outside the kids’ room, I realize that Sadie is never off the clock. Even when I’m watching her kids, she’s still the mom. I’m sure she loves it. I’m sure she loves them. But I’ll bet it’s emotionally exhausting.
And Monday, when I go back to work, I’ll have a new appreciation for the tired adults at pickup time, straggling in and pasting on excited faces when their exhausted children launch themselves into overworked arms.
I hear a sudden thump. And then a bump. Uh-oh! I strain my ears, listening for activity on the other side of the girls’ door.
But a moment later it becomes clear that the sounds I’m hearing aren’t coming from the twins’ room, but from the front door. I get up and sprint downstairs to find Sadie just pushing open the door, her expression dazed.
“You got it now,” a guy’s voice says. Then he chuckles. “You’re a fun drunk, honey.” When the guy—I think his name is Earl—comes into view behind Sadie, his hand is on her hip.
The urge to slap his mitts away from her body is so strong that I have to shove my own hands in my pockets to prevent myself from doing it. “Hey there, Sadie.” I’m using my Calm Voice—the one I employ when a toddler is just about to explode in tears. I stretch out a hand to Sadie and she takes it, her smooth fingers closing around mine.
“Let’s get you into bed,” Earl says.
“No way,” I bark.
The dude’s eyes widen. “And who are you?”
“An old friend,” I say through gritted teeth. “I got this, okay?” It’s possible Earl isn’t trying to take advantage of Sadie. She obviously needs to find a flat surface. Pronto. Her eyes are glassy and I’ve seen steadier walking in the infants’ room at the daycare.
“Go. Thanks,” Sadie slurs over her shoulder. “I’m good.”
The guy rolls his eyes. “Why do women always get wasted when they’re out with me?”
“Because you’re a misogynist?” Sadie mumbles.
His expression darkens. “What did you call me? Is that how you thank a man for dinner?”
Sadie doesn’t answer. Then the man calls out, “I’m not even attracted to you! You talk and think too much!”
A split second later I’ve pulled Sadie behind my body and I’m up in this guy’s face. “Time to go home,” I say through gritted teeth.
“She’s all yours. She costs a fortune in drinks,” he says, giving me an evil smile.
“Back off,” I hiss.
He scowls at me, and I consider the possibility that he’s about to sucker-punch me. But then he turns around and marches out the door and off the front porch.
Behind me, Sadie heaves a huge sigh of relief.
“That bad, huh?” I ask, feeling relieved, too.
“Terrible!” she yelps. “He ordered for me. A salad. At a steak place.”
“What?” I turn around and take a good look at her. And, damn. She’s so freaking beautiful. Those full lips and wavy hair used to appear regularly in my fantasies. Who am I kidding? They still do. Fourteen-year-old Liam is panting at the sight of Sadie’s cleavage and those tan legs.
How could that douche not be attracted to her? Of course he was attracted to her. He just said that to soothe his ego. I seriously want to carry her up the stairs and peel that dress off her luscious body.
“He ordered for me! And he admitted to me that he sued his own mother.” She shakes her head, incredulous. “Four red-headed sluts later...” She shrugs her shoulders.
None of that makes any sense, but she’s doing her best. I take one of her smooth hands in mine and gently lead her toward the living room. “Come on, now. Have a seat.” I sort of pour her onto the couch. “Take those shoes off.”
She obeys with much less pushback than I get from the two-year-old set at work. Taking care of toddlers and drunk people demands similar skills.
“How are K-kamy?” She blinks. “Kate and Amy.”
“Asleep,” I assure her, sitting down beside her. “We watched a video about wild ponies and read some horrible book about a Sparkle Princess.”
Sadie laughs suddenly, low and throaty. The sound goes straight to my balls. “Worst book ever. Sometimes that book gets ‘lost’ on the top shelf in my closet.”
“You bad girl,” I whisper, teasing her. “You should get a spanking.” Whoops. I guess fourteen-year-old Liam added that last bit. He’s kind of an asshole.
Sadie doesn’t call me on my overtly inappropriate suggestion. Her eyes widen, though. And then her drunk gaze makes a slow tour of my body. She starts with my mouth.
I lick mine, just to see what she’ll do.
She takes a sharp breath, and then her eyes continue their journey, down my chest, until they look pointedly at my lap.
And then she sighs. “I should go to sleep.”
“Yes, you should,” I cheerfully agree. I’m suddenly in a perfect mood. Sadie Mathews just checked me out. She’s done it before, too. Her eyes were practically stapled to my bare chest that day I discovered her on the porch with her friends.
I get checked out all the time, because I am a very fine specimen. But if Sadie Mathews is checking me out, that’s a good day.”Come on,” I say. “It’s beddie time.”
I help her stand up and she sort of falls against me. She fits perfectly. “I don’t want beddie time.” She pouts. “I want…”
And then she’s got her hands on my chest. I think she’s trying to push away so I let go, but no. She starts at my neck and then runs the palms of her hands down my torso. Do I tighten my core just a little so my chest is rock hard? Hell yes. I haven’t spent all those hours in the gym for naught. I have prepared for this moment.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispers. Her hands have stopped on my abs. “I could play patty cake with your chest.” I’m not sure what she means, exactly, but she’s sort of slapping my chest, and I’m okay with that.
She’s tempting. So. Tempting.
But I am a gentleman. With dirty, dirty thoughts. But still a gentleman.
* * *
Sadie
Apparently four red-headed sluts is the magic number to disconnect my intellect from my impulses. How else can I explain standing here in Liam’s arms with my palms against his chest? Meanwhile, my inner red-headed slut whispers, Take it off. Take off your shirt. Your shirt. Just take it. Off.
I can picture myself rubbing my hands all over his body. Unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants, stripping him right here in front of me. Maybe I fall to my knees in worship. Or maybe he falls to his.
My brain and my body are only intermittently communicating. So I suddenly blurt: “I haven’t had sex in a year!” Then I gasp because I just admitted that. But do I shut up now? Nooo. “Actually,” I babble, “it’s closer to two years, but only if you count that one time when I was trying to convince myself that Decker still loved me and so I accidentally had sex with him.”
There’s a pause. I can hear the ticking of the clock and the static from the baby monitors. “Accidentally?” asks Liam. “Did you fall on his dick?”
And I laugh, which is also a problem. I have, uh, a rather peculiar laugh that I try to conceal, because it’s low. Really low. It’s—fuck it. I have a man-laugh, okay? So I’m man-laughing right now. Standing in my living room, my hands roaming all over the babysitter, I man-laugh at the image of me accidentally sliding on a banana peel, tumbling, and falling onto my ex-husband’s dick.
Then, suddenly it’s not funny anymore. Because after that episode, Decker ended up telling me he’d accidentally had sex with our nanny. And that he’d accidentally fallen in love with her.
“It’s not my fault,” he’d said. “It was an accident.”
All the drunken joy drains out of me. I hate my life.
If I’m honest, that last time with Decker was entirely forgettable, too. Accident or not. “I’m not going to count that time, actually,” I decide aloud. Because I am brilliant. I have the power to choose the way I view things.
And I’m drunk. Drunk drunky drunk.
“So you haven’t had sex in two years?” Liam gapes at me. I’ve blown his mind.
“I know! Two! And if we’re only counting good sex, it’s even longer. Dinosaurs roamed the earth when I last had dirty, sweaty, clawing-at-each-other sex.”
Liam swallows audibly. “I could help you with that,” he offers. “I specialize in good sex. The sweaty kind.”
We just blink at each other for a second.
“...I mean, I’ve had a crush on you since I was fourteen and we spent that summer…” He clears his throat before continuing to cover up that cute little crack in his voice. Puberty all over again. “That summer we spent together.” His voice is much lower this time.
Now my mind is blown. There’s a peculiar energy vibrating through me. And I’m actually considering stripping naked right here. Where’s a banana peel when I need one? Then I could—oops!—accidentally have sex with this young, hot stud. Fall right on his dick. And I’ll bet it’s a really nice one. I just have a hunch.
“But let’s talk about this when you’re sober,” he says, interrupting my fantasies of little Liam. Or Big Liam. Please, Goddess, let it be Big Liam. He says, “Consent when drunk isn’t consent, right?”
And then it dawns on me how badly this night has gone. I’m drunk. Drunk! I’m a terrible mother! How could I drink four red-headed sluts? How could I allow myself to get intoxicated when I have babies waiting at home? Well, toddlers and a hot babysitter, but still. Details.
A mother shouldn’t get drunk, even if my date with Earl gave me plenty of incentive. I shouldn’t drink until the girls are in college. Maybe not even until they’re in grad school because what if they need a ride somewhere?
“Wait,” I say. I step back from the warmth of Liam’s body, and it makes me sad. “You had a crush on me?” And then before he can answer… “I swear to God this is the first time I’ve gotten drunk with the girls and I’m really sorry and embarrassed and so irresponsible, but I really appreciate all your help tonight.”
He blinks a couple of times. He’s a really sexy blinker, so I reach my hands up to just touch his eyelids.
“Ow!” he says.
I guess that touch was more like a poke.
“Wow,” he says and I’m wondering if he’s going to take back that thing he said about crushing on me, even though that was one of the nicest things I’ve ever heard. “Why don’t you sit on the couch, right here, with this blanket…” He sets me down and quickly wraps my seaside blue afghan around me. “And I’ll make us a couple of coffees. A couple of really stiff coffees.”
Then Liam disappears.
And I take a quick little nap.
* * *
Liam
Ten minutes later, I return to the living room with steaming coffee mugs in hand. I’m pretty sure she takes soy milk in her coffee, but I want to ask and not just assume. “Sadie?” I say when she doesn’t move. And then I see it. She is passed out. Cold. She’s breathing out of her mouth and there’s this weird sound happening. Maybe it’s a groan, or, wait. It’s that deep laugh sound she made earlier. Holy fuck. She’s fast asleep and she’s laughing in her dream. It’s fucking adorable.
I’m having a dilemma here. I’ve got this coffee and she’s drunk. She needs to sober up. But she’s fast asleep. Do I wake her? What’s better? Sadie makes the decision for me when she bolts upright, screams “Salad!” and runs for the bathroom.
I set the coffees down and chase after her. It’s not really a decision; it’s just instinct. Blame it on spending half my waking moments with little kids who constantly amaze me with what the human body is capable of producing. So this plot twist doesn’t faze me a bit. I follow her into the bathroom and gently take her hair in my hands and hold it up and away as she barfs.
There are some details here that I won’t go into, but let’s just say there are sounds. And pleading. And then she’s thanking some goddesses or something.
I let go of her hair, wet a washcloth with warm water, and hand it to her. “You okay?” I ask. She nods. I help her to her feet. She’s a little more steady.
“Do you want to clean yourself up?” I ask. She nods again.
“Shower,” she says. “Brush my teeth.”
“You steady enough?”
She looks me in the eyes and nods again, her lip trembling a little. She is steady enough. “You want me to grab you something to….” I ask.
“Change into? Would you? If you go up to my room, I have some pajamas in the
I nod and close the door behind me. Immediately the shower turns on.
I creep upstairs, check on her girls to make sure they’re breathing. They are. And then head to the only other room up there. God. Sadie’s bedroom. How many times have I dreamed of being in here? Plenty, let me tell you.
Look in her underwear drawer! fourteen-year-old Liam squawks. It’s super tempting, but if I find out what kind of underwear she wears I want it to be because she’s showing me and not because I’m a creeper.
Looking in her top drawer is enough to get me semi-hard. All these silky fabrics. It’s like she dresses in scarves or something. I pull out a pair of silky shorts and a camisole and then realize Sadie didn’t ask me to grab any underwear. I’m holding pajamas that Sadie, who is in the shower lathering her curvy-as-fuck body, is going to put on without anything underneath. And my semi turns into a full-fledged cannon, ready to fire.
I must not think of Sadie lathering herself, or that I’m holding pajamas that are going to be nestled up where I’d like my face to be.
This hard-on isn’t going anywhere.
I’m doomed.
* * *
Sadie
“Sober,” I say into the mirror. “So. Brrrrr.” Am I there yet? Nope. But the coffee will help.
But, man, am I paying for those sluts.
That sounds offensive, so I let out a drunken snort. Can you offend yourself? Is that a thing?
There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and Liam says, “I grabbed some pjs for you.” I open the door and his arm reaches in holding some shorts and a camisole. I should’ve asked him to grab me some underwear but that just seemed, I don’t know, a little too intimate. Guess I’ll sleep without. I grab the pjs from him and his arm disappears. Sad. I was starting to like the company.