More than she anticipated.
Fine with her. She should feel relief she’d shut down his advances in the park. Sticking them together could be a monumental mistake.
But her daughter’s face haunted her.
She had to ask. She had to try. Then at least she could tell Becca she’d exhausted all possibilities.
With shaking fingers and a pounding heart, she made the call.
A fucking ballet recital.
Tristan didn’t experience fear very often, but right now, his heart was slamming against his chest. He was going to be trapped with Becca, and he had no idea how to behave. When Sydney called him, he’d been ready to say no immediately but then stopped at the hint of desperation in her voice. His entire family was busy. It seemed this recital was a big thing to her daughter, and there was no way she’d be able to get home in time. If he drove across town to get her, then went back to pick up Becca, she’d end up missing the recital. He’d already been close to My Place and had no big plans tonight he’d have to break. His lie from last night mocked him. But how could he say no?
His fingers gripped the steering wheel. Thank goodness Raven always kept an extra booster seat at the restaurant. Becca sat in the booster seat in the back, obviously upset her mother was going to be late. He cleared his throat. What could he say?
“Umm, don’t worry. Your mom will get there in time.”
“Do you know what to do?”
No. “Yes, no problem. I’ve handled recitals before.” He waited for the lie to strike him dead, but nothing happened. “Piece of cake.”
“You have kids?” she asked in amazement.
He coughed. “No. I mean, I’ve gone to recitals when I used to live in New York.” He decided not to tell her those were at Lincoln Center with professional ballerinas in The Nutcracker.
“Oh. But you said you were too busy to come.”
He’d go to confession later. Right now, he needed to save face. “My appointment got canceled.”
“My hair has to be in a tight bun. My teacher said it’s important to look the part because then you feel the character and can tap into your ability to dance the character.”
Huh. She was smart. Big words. Still, his palms sweated at the idea of doing her hair. He’d never get through this. “I’m good at hair. No problem.”
“Did you ever take ballet when you were little?” she asked. “Mama said boys and girls can do anything. Boys dance ballet, and girls build houses.”
“Yep, they do, but I was never a good dancer. I was better at basketball.”
He pulled up to Sydney’s house. He’d gotten the code to the alarm, so he quickly escorted Becca in, punched in the correct numbers, and shut the door behind him. Okay, he’d just need to focus. He was sure she already knew what to do.
He turned around, and she stood in front of him, staring.
He stared back. “Umm, so I guess you should get dressed.”
She nodded like she understood. “I have my leotard and my tights upstairs.”
He almost sank to his knees in gratitude. This whole thing would be easy. He knew mothers complained all the time about taking care of kids, but honestly? They only needed structure and discipline. Raising kids wasn’t brain surgery. Tristan began to relax. “Great. You get dressed, I’ll do your hair, and then we’ll drive to the recital. Sound good?”
“Yes!” She bounded upstairs, and he let out a breath. Flexed his fingers. He grabbed his cell and quickly texted Sydney that everything was okay, adding a smiley face. No need for her to worry. He had it under control.
“Tristan!”
He jumped. “Yeah?”
Her voice seemed tearful. “I got a run in my tights! I need help!”
“Oh, okay. Coming,” he called out. He eyed the staircase with pure trepidation but decided he had no choice. When he hit the top of the stairs, she showed him a small hole in her upper thigh. He frowned. “Won’t the lacy thing cover it?”
She shook her head. “No, the hole will end up running, and I’ll be onstage and look awful.”
“Do you have an extra pair?”
“Mama bought pink, but it’s way too much pink, and I just can’t wear it. I’ll look ridiculous!”
“Uh, okay. Maybe we can Krazy Glue it?”
“Mama said nail polish does it. She keeps her polish in the bathroom, under the sink in a big brown basket.”
“Got it.” He headed toward the bathroom and stopped short. Whoa. It was damn scary in there. Endless jars in various shapes cluttered the long counter, and the claw-footed tub held an array of body lotions and bath soaps, emitting a fragrance that was too familiar. Orange blossoms. He’d always wondered how she managed to cloak herself in the fragrance. Loose clothing was hung over the shower rod, and he immediately spotted a black lace thong that froze his brain for several precious seconds. Focus, he reminded himself. Nail polish.
He rummaged under the sink and yanked out a big basket, and a ton of other stuff tumbled out with it. Smothering a groan, he began stuffing junk back in, until his hand closed around a large object that had a familiar shape, encased in a plastic bag. He stared at it for a few moments before his brain slammed into high gear.
A vibrator.
His mouth hung open. The contraption featured several interesting buttons and was an impressive size. He had a searing image of Sydney soaking in the tub, thighs spread, head thrown back, vibrator humming as she stroked herself to climax. Heat exploded through him, and he clenched his fingers around the object. So, she kept it in the bathroom instead of the bedroom drawer. Interesting choice. He thought of all the fun ways they could engage in all sorts of fun play together and put this piece to good use.
“Tristan! Did you find it?”
He shoved the bag to the back of the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of red polish. “Got it.” He walked out and began twisting open the bottle.
“No!” He stopped, staring at her in confusion, and she began giggling. “You can’t use red nail polish. It needs to be clear, or I’ll have a red spot on my tights.”
“Right. Sorry.” He went back in, found the bottle of clear, and painted around the hole. One crisis down. “Surgery complete. Do you have your shoes?”
“Downstairs. Can you do my hair now? And spray it with the pink glitter? Mama said I could for the recital.”