Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

28

Rachel

“Look, Justin! Elk!”

I point to the shore, and his baby gaze seems to follow mine, but it’s hard to tell. I don’t know how far a six-month-old can see, how sharp his vision is at picking out the large, brown deer-like creature from the rest of the woods, or whether he cares. He grabs my finger and babbles, so that seems like a good start.

Justin, Brody, and I are out on Brody’s small fishing boat on one of the lakes in the national forest, soaking up some mid-summer sunshine and each other’s company, and, man, this is the life. After I suggested to Brody that he try to spend more time with Justin, he told Zoë he wanted to take Justin out in the boat, and she said it was fine, as long as he wore a life jacket. So he’s twice as roly-poly in one of those little baby life vests.

I carry Justin back to where Brody is casually piloting the boat and wearing yet another form-fitting t-shirt and pair of butt-flattering ripped jeans. I let myself enjoy the ink-and-ropy-muscle forearm porn for a moment, until Justin squawks and reaches for Brody. I tip the baby into Brody’s arms.

Gah, the two of them. Squishy baby and ripped dad. I allow myself the luxury of ogling. And enjoy the melting sensation in my chest.

Brody steers us to a spot that’s shaded by the angle of sun and mountain, and we drift a bit. Brody takes advantage of the opportunity to let Justin “steer.” He plants Justin’s fat little hands on the wheel, and Justin appears delighted, slapping his palms repeatedly on the wheel and turning to give his father a gummy grin.

“You’re so good with him,” I say.

“I don’t know about that.”

Brody’s scowling, something I realize I haven’t seen him do in quite a while.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to say.”

“What makes you think that?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Your scowl.”

“I’m not scowling.”

All I can do is laugh. For a second, Brody’s scowl deepens, then breaks. Not quite a smile, but the corner of his mouth quirks. It makes me feel like I’ve been crowned queen of all I survey.

Justin reaches up and grabs Brody’s mouth.

“Ow,” Brody says. “Dude, that hurts. Save the hooks for the fish.” He untangles Justin’s fingers from his lower lip. Justin puts both his baby hands on the sides of Brody’s face and smacks his forehead into Brody’s chin.

“Why?” Brody demands, lifting Justin up so they’re face-to-face. “Why do you want to hurt me, little man?”

Justin chortles and drools on Brody’s face.

“Oh, God,” Brody says. “You need a new diaper.”

He grabs the diaper bag, plops Brody down on a mat on one of the benches in the stern, and proceeds to execute a surprisingly speedy and hazard-free change. It’s been years since I babysat, and I was never an expert, but I can recognize true skill when I see it.

There’s something ridiculously hot about a tattooed biker bad boy changing a diaper without batting an eyelash.

He gets Justin dressed again, lets him lie on the seat, kicking his legs. He finds a bright colored toy with a million dangly bits and hands it to Justin, who alternates between shoving it in his mouth and hooting at the sky.

We both watch him, because babies. They’re full-time entertainment.

“Do you want kids?” I ask Brody.

He nods. “I didn’t think I did. And then this guy came along. So yeah, I do, but…”

He stops.

“What?”

He shrugs, and pulls the lure—the one from his dad—out of his pocket. Fidgets with it. I know him well enough by now to know it means something big’s bugging him.

He worries the body of the “fly” with his thumb, then sighs. “I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got a taste of how much responsibility there is. And I guess I just don’t know if I’m the guy who signs up for that.”

“I think you could be. If you wanted to be.”

“Yeah,” he says.

I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s scowling again, and worrying the lure, and I don’t want to press.

“Hey,” he says, a moment later. “What about you? I’ve gotten to go on three of my favorite dates now: a motorcycle ride, a river fishing expedition, and a day on the boat. What about yours? What’s your dream date?”

I have to think about it a minute. “This is pretty great,” I admit, surveying the gorgeous scene around us. “But I think my favorite would be if someone ever cooked for me.”

“If someone ever cooked for you,” he repeats. “Does that mean no one has ever cooked for you?”

I think about this, hard, and conclude: “I mean, my parents and my grandparents, of course. But no guy, no.”

“Your ex must have, though. You lived together, right?”

I shake my head, finally able to admit to myself that Werner was a straight up …

I abandon the attempt to find a non-filthy way to characterize Werner. He was an asshole, pure and simple. “He cooked for me if you count eggs and mac and cheese. And takeout pizza. Also, he made me cold cereal right before he cheated on me.”

Brody’s eyes narrow, and his jaw ticks. “Can I just repeat that your ex is a criminally shitty human being?”

“As many times as you’d like.”

He squints into the sun, then smiles at me. My body temperature rises a hundred and fifty degrees.

“So here’s how it’s going to go,” he says. “We’re going to drop Justin off with Zoë, head back to my place, and I’ll cook you dinner.”

“You cook?” I ask, although if the bad boy changes diapers, why am I surprised that he also cooks?

“Just one of my many, many skills,” he says, eyes all sexy intent. “Wait till you experience all the things I’m good at.”

Okay, maybe I’m not so much surprised as struck dumb by the embarrassment of riches that is Brody Wilder.

And a little bit terrified, because I’m pretty sure that I’m falling for the bad boy.