His Pretend Baby Read online

  Then he said, “End call.” But he kept the phone gripped tight in his hand even after he heard the phone click off.

  Josie had called his mother behind his back, to tell on him like he was a toddler she couldn’t control. But he wasn’t a toddler. He was a grown man. And before Josie left for the night, she’d know that.

  8

  Josie debated whether to remind Beau she wouldn’t be around that evening as she walked up the stairs with his dinner tray. On one hand, her mother had always done the Prescotts the courtesy of letting them know when she was leaving the house, especially if it was for more than the couple of hours it took to run her weekly errands.

  On the other hand, her heart was still in a permanent state of cringe since the call with his mother.

  It couldn’t have gone worse. First she’d stuttered through her request for more money, not being nearly as diplomatic as she would have liked as she explained the situation. Then Mrs. Prescott had responded in a way that made her feel like the lowest form of dirt, reminding her that there were many “illegals,” she could hire for less money and that Loretta had never complained about Beau even when he was an unruly four year old and prone to throwing back-to-back temper tantrums.

  She hadn’t known how to explain that dealing with adult Beau was worse than dealing with a four year old. Four year olds didn’t make your job harder just for the hell of it. Four year olds didn’t snap at you whenever you tried to help them. And most of all, four year olds didn’t look like Beau Prescott.

  When she’d dropped off a snack for him and Mac earlier that afternoon, she’d found him doing chin-ups with weights strapped around his ankles, and she literally stopped and stared. He was working out in a ratty, gray college t-shirt with “Bama” written across the front in tall, crimson letters. It had become so thin over the years that it clung to his sweaty body and made her wonder what it would feel like to reach underneath and feel those muscles, warm beneath her hands…

  But then Mac had snapped her out of her trance by telling her to just set the tray of hummus and pita bread she was carrying on a foldout table in the corner of the room.

  She had no business thinking of Beau Prescott like that, especially after what happened between them twelve years ago. If sleeping with the high school quarterback had blown up in her face, sleeping with the thirty-three-year-old version would surely be nothing short of a nuclear disaster.

  What was wrong with her? She’d loved Wayne to a fault, had done everything to try to be the perfect wife for him. But she’d never been that sexually attracted to him, even in the beginning before he showed his true colors. However, Beau had not bothered to pretend to be anything less than a complete jerk, and here she was fantasizing about him.

  To her great relief, Beau wasn’t engaged in any embarrassing phone calls when she arrived at his bedroom door that evening. But to her surprise, he also wasn’t at his usual place in the bay window. He was already seated at the table, as if he’d been waiting for her. However, he didn’t say one word, not even to acknowledge her presence in the room.

  A little unsettled, she put the tray down in front of him. “I’ll be back in a little bit to take away your empties.”

  She turned to leave, but he said, “Hold on, this is a sandwich.”

  She reluctantly turned around. “Actually it’s a southwestern chicken panini. It’s real good. I had it myself for dinner before I came up.”

  He picked up the sandwich like it was a dead rat she’d put on his plate. “You’re trying to serve me a sandwich. For dinner.” He felt around the rest of his plate. “And a couple of pickles.”

  Josie bit her lip and looked to the right. The truth was she had purposefully chosen a dish that tasted good, fit within his dietary restrictions, and would be easy to clean up if he decided to flip his tray again.

  He tossed the sandwich back on the plate. “Get me a big plate of that pasta you made yesterday and a bowl of that lentil soup from lunch.”

  She opened her mouth to say she wasn’t a short order cook, and that his parents had never made her mother swap out a meal. But in the end, she clamped her lips together forcing her tongue to stay put.

  She needed this job, she reminded herself as she walked back down the stairs and reheated the leftovers from last night. She needed this job bad, she told herself again as she came back into Beau’s room with the new tray of food.

  But she stopped short when she saw that the original meal she’d brought Beau was already gone with nothing but a few crumbs to suggest it had ever been there in the first place.

  “You ate it,” she said. “Does that mean I should take this food back downstairs?”

  “Put down the tray,” he said, his voice flat.

  She did as he asked, sliding the new tray in front of him after gathering up the old tray. “I’ll be back to pick up the rest of the dishes,” she said, as she turned away to leave the room again.

  But she wasn’t even to the door when she heard the scrape of the silver tray being flipped over, followed by a couple of hard thunks and the clanging of the tray hitting the floor.

  And despite growing up the daughter of a consummate servant, and everything she had put up with while married to Wayne… She. Just. Snapped.

  “No!” she said, dropping her own tray and turning on him. “No, you do not get to do this to me, you spoiled little rich boy!”

  “I’m not a boy!” he roared, coming out of his seat. “I’m a grown man. But if you treat me like a little boy, whining to my mom behind my back, that’s what you’re going to get!”

  Josie’s eyes widened. This was about her asking his mama for a raise? “I only went to her because she’s the one in charge of my checks, and I told her the truth. I’m not getting paid enough to put up with your bull hockey!”

  Josie was so angry, she bent down, scooped up a handful of the fettuccine, and threw it at him, catching him across the face with noodles, ham, and low-fat cream sauce. It was hands down the most satisfying thing she’d done in years. So she scooped up some more and threw that at him, too.

  “I don’t care how insulted you feel about me telling your mama the doggone truth! You’re not the king of Alabama and you need to realize that when you make a mess, other people have to clean it up!”

  She followed this declaration with another swat of pasta and another and another, until her hands were covered in white sauce and there was no pasta left.

  She stared at her palms in horror and then back up at Beau. He looked like he’d been attacked by a bowl of pasta. His face, his chest, his shoulders were all covered in white sauce, cubed bits of ham, and whole-wheat fettuccine.

  And though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his ever-present sunglasses, he held his entire body in a clench, including his large, hulk-like fists. Her heart went tight with the old fear, and for a few seconds, she stood there, frozen like a frightened bird, hoping if he couldn’t see or hear her, he wouldn’t be able to find her to hit her.

  But then he took a step toward her, and he was so much bigger than Wayne. He easily had an extra one hundred pounds on her former husband. All of it muscle.

  She screamed, hunkering down and covering her head with her arms.

  * * *

  Beau drew up short. Was she screaming? Why was she screaming? He was the one covered in food.

  “Josie,” he said, softening his tone and bending down toward where he sensed she was, grabbing her by her forearm.

  She broke off screaming with a yelp of fear. “Don’t! Don’t hit me!” she cried. It sounded like she was on the edge of hysteria.

  “I won’t!” he yelled back. “Now stop screaming! The neighbors are going to think I’m in here murdering you.”

  He felt her lower the arm he’d grabbed, but she was still trembling.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he answered. “Tell me why you threw my dinner at me.”
/>
  He could still feel her shaking, but her voice was laced with defiance when she answered, “Because you were being a jerk.”

  Despite the circumstances, he had to hide a smile. So the Josie he used to know hadn’t been completely replaced by the meek maid who had been serving him without complaint for the last two days.

  “Well, the joke’s on you, because now this jerk needs you to help him take a shower.”

  Silence from Josie but eventually he felt her stand up. “Let’s get this over with,” she said. “I’ve got plans.”

  And Beau’s heart hardened as he stood up as well. Josie’s plans not only caused his blood to boil with jealousy, it reminded him that he was blind and dependent on others to do even the most basic shit now. He’d gone from being one of the most eligible men in Los Angeles to some shut-in, living like a ghost in his childhood home.

  And it for sure didn’t help when she took his hand and led him into the bathroom. A certain portion of his body that didn’t seem to get that Josie was about to head out on a date with another guy roared to life when her soft hand clasped his.

  Pathetic, especially since Josie was less than interested. As soon as she got him standing just outside the shower, she let go of his hand.

  A few seconds later he heard the sound of water spraying out of the shower head, and she said, “I’m turning my back so you can get undressed.”

  A minute later it sounded like she was on the other side of the large bathroom when she asked, “Do you need me to help you into the shower?”

  “No,” he answered, stepping in on his own. “I know how to step into a fucking shower.”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t, I just—”

  “This water’s too hot,” he said. “What are you trying to do? Scald my skin off?”

  “No, I…”

  Footsteps, the sound of the shower curtain being slid opened, and the water went from hot to tepid.

  But then she suddenly gasped.

  Beau smiled. A gasp like that only meant one thing: she’d looked. She’d seen the evidence of how much he wanted her sticking out, hard and stiff between his legs. And what she’d seen had elicited a gasp from her pretty mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “Nothing!” she answered. He imagined her averting her eyes from his naked body. “Nothing at all. How’s the water now?”

  The thought of her gaze on his body sent a thick bolt of desire pulsing through his manhood.

  “Now it’s too cold,” he answered, wanting to keep her there, wanting to do more than listen to her adjust the temperature of his shower.

  The water got a bit hotter, but this time she didn’t ask for his approval before he heard the shower curtain close again.

  Beau smiled to himself. She had seen what he was packing, and moreover, it had made her uncomfortable. He decided to take his sweet time in the shower.

  Let Josie see just how uncomfortable things could get.

  9

  How long could one shower take? Josie wondered.

  She’d cleaned up the mess from the pasta fight and steam cleaned the rug in Beau’s bedroom for the second time that week, but when she’d returned to the bathroom, he was still in the shower. And even though she’d cracked the bathroom door open a few minutes ago, the room had turned into a sauna, making her long-sleeved plaid shirt damp and sticky on her overheated body.

  At least she wanted to blame the shower for the state of her body. But her mind kept flashing back to Beau Prescott in the shower, chiseled like a freaking Greek statue, and his manhood, hard as a…

  Josie shook her head. It had been too long since she’d seen a man naked. Yes, that was it, she assured herself. She had grown desperate, so much so, she couldn’t stop thinking dirty thoughts about a man who was most likely about to fire her for pelting him with pasta. That was all it was. Nothing more.

  She pulled out her phone and wiped a layer of steam off the screen to check the time. It was now ten minutes past when she was supposed to be at Ruth’s House.

  She stepped out of the bathroom and called Sam.

  “Please tell me your boss isn’t keeping you tonight,” Sam said in lieu of a hello.

  Josie grimaced. “Believe me, I wish I could tell you that.”

  Sam made a strangled noise. “Ugh, and that’s the cherry on top of this terrible, terrible day.”

  “What else happened?”

  “Mr. Benson decided he didn’t want Ruth’s House to be great.”

  “Oh, not the water heater!” The Benson water heater at Ruth’s house was ancient, seriously ancient. Even the company that made them had gone defunct more than ten years ago. But Sam had been doing her best to keep it alive for years now. “What did the plumber say?”

  “That Mr. Benson needs a funeral service and we need to replace him with Mr. Smith.”

  The plumber had been after them to replace the Benson with an A.O. Smith from his stock. He’d even offered them a discount on the labor to put it in. But the cost still came to more than two months worth of mortgage payments and they only had enough in the coffers to keep the shelter running for three months if absolutely nothing went wrong.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Josie said encouragingly.

  But then Sam started crying.

  Which just about broke Josie’s heart. “Don’t cry, girl. You’re going to make me cry, too.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “It’s just that I put my life and soul into this place!”

  “Foreclosures take a while. If they kick us out of that building, we can find a new place and rent it.”

  “You have no idea how long it took me to find a place with enough room to house people on our budget, and that was before a lot of these funding organizations started making cuts.” Sam snuffled. “With this water heater problem, I can barely make payroll next month. And there’s no way I’m going to be able to pay first and last month’s rent on a new place.”

  “We’ll figure out something out.” Josie promised her. “I don’t know how, but I promise you, we’re not going to let your dream die.”

  Suddenly the shower shut off in the bathroom. Josie sighed. “I have to go deal with my insane boss again. Sorry.”

  Sam rallied with a sniff. “No problem. Call me later if you want to talk.”

  Josie’s heart swelled with love for Sam, who was always putting others first, even when her own hopes and dreams were on the line. “Will do. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Then she went back into the hot bathroom.

  Part of her wanted to leave, just walk out. There was zero chance Beau would let her keep her job after what she just pulled anyway, so he was obviously keeping her here to make her sweat literally and figuratively.

  But the other more practical part of her knew she needed to stick around at least long enough to get her first two days’ pay. She couldn’t go back to a cold mobile home in the dead of winter without at least knowing she’d be able to get the heat, water, and power turned back on. And even then, Lord only knew what she’d do next month. After paying the back charges on her most pertinent bills, she had no idea how long she’d be able to survive on what she had left.

  “I’m done,” Beau called out.

  Josie reluctantly made her way to the shower, this time reminding herself not to look, not to even glance at Beau Prescott’s ridiculously amazing body.

  Back in high school, the one time they’d had sex, she’d been too busy making the biggest mistake of her teenage life to really take a good look at it. However, there was no denying what she’d seen in the shower. Beau Prescott had it going on in the body department with thick muscles that rippled down his arms, across his abdomen, and over his tree trunk legs. As if designed to match all over, what lay between his legs was also larger than usual and ridged from the massive mushroom on top, all the way down its long, thick shaft.

  When she’d seen it, she’d felt her womanhoo
d clench so hard, a gasp had escaped her lips before she could stop it.

  She could still see the smug smile that had crossed his face when he asked her, “What’s wrong?”

  So now he was probably going to fire her and he’d have the satisfaction of knowing Josie had been ogling him like the moony school girl she used to be.

  This time when she moved the shower curtain aside, she made it a point to keep her eyes firmly on the bath’s gleaming fixtures, and she turned the water off with two firm twists, chanting, “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look…” in her head.

  However, she was so busy not looking that she failed to notice Beau climb out of the shower on his own, and she ended up gasping again when she straightened up and found him standing right beside her, naked as the day he was born. For a moment she fell into a bit of a trance, staring at his body, at the droplets of water running down his chest all the way to his…

  She raised her eyes again, keeping them firmly on the ceiling when she asked, “Did you, um, need something else?”

  And the smug smile came back. “Yeah, a towel,” he answered, his voice all Alabama drawl.

  Red-hot embarrassment suffused Josie’s entire face as she went over to the gold-colored towel rack and pulled off a fluffy white towel with a forest green “P” embroidered on it. She managed to hand the towel to him, keeping her arm long and stiff between them as she did so.

  He took it but to her consternation, he didn’t cover himself up with it. Instead, he swiped the towel over his hair and beard a few times before letting it drop to the ground.

  Still, Josie kept her eyes planted on the ceiling when she asked, “Do you want another towel?”

  “No, I like to air dry.”

  She quickly glanced at his Ray-Bans, which were also wet now, and thought about Mindy asking if he still had dreamy eyes.

  “How about your sunglasses? I could dry those off for you.”

  “I’m letting them air dry, too.”

  He was blind, but at that moment Josie knew he could see right through her, and he knew he was making her very uncomfortable. He knew and was unabashedly enjoying it.