It’s all normal things. Couches, end tables, a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall over a small entertainment center. The only piece that seems out of place is a corner shelf on the opposite side of the room. It appears to be made of spindles. It’s obviously handmade and it’s not the best craftsmanship I’ve ever seen, but it’s clear it has sentimental value because of its prominent location.
As if I’m not paying enough attention to him, Chance squeals at me.
“All right, dude. Are you ready to get dressed?” I spend the next few minutes trying to wrangle his squirmy ass into a black onesie that has a picture of an ultrasound on it. Underneath is the hashtag #tbt. I chuckle.
I like that she has a sense of humor.
“Well, little man,” I say as I pick him up. “What shall we do while we wait? Ohhhhh……!”
Out of nowhere, Chance throws up all over us. Not spit-up. No. It’s like a water hose turned on and sprayed us both.
“Well,” I say, taking in the scene. Chance is smiling and giggling, probably because his tummy feels better than it did ten seconds ago. “I was supposed to go on a date with your mom—uh, aunt—what the hell do you call her? I take it this is your way of telling me to keep my hands to myself?”
Chance makes a growling noise at me and reaches for my cheeks. There’s a knock on the door.
I take a moment to peel my shirt over my head, careful not to drop the baby or get puke anywhere else, and wipe us both down the best I can. I go to the front door, still holding Chance and my puked-on shirt. There’s another quick knock before I get there.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. We had a little accident.” A stout woman is standing at the door. Dark hair, round face, probably in her early 20s. She stands frozen, staring at me, eyes wide.
“I, uh,” she starts, clears her throat, and starts again, trying really hard not to stare at my bare chest. “I’m Katie. The babysitter. Is Quincy here?”
“She’s in the back getting ready.” I step back. “Come on in. Chance here seems to be having a rough day.”
“Okay.” Katie avoids making eye contact with me, and her cheeks flush. I’m used to having that effect on woman, but it still makes me smile when it happens. What can I say… I work hard on my physical fitness. I don’t mind being appreciated for it.
“Have you watched him before?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“A couple of times.”
“So you know where all his stuff is?”
“For the most part. Why?”
“As you can see….” I say, gesturing to my torso. Her cheeks flush again. I’m such an asshole for purposely doing that to her again. “Chance puked on us right before you knocked. You wouldn’t happen to know where some extra clothes for him are, would you?”
“Oh!” she says with a giggle. “Yes! Let me take him, and I’ll go change him.”
I pass him to her, warning her his clothes are soaked through. Quincy walks into the room.
“Did I hear Katie come in…?” She freezes at the front of the hall, taking in my lack of clothing. There is a mixture of confusion and interest in her eyes. I give her a few seconds to get her fill before trying to break her out of her trance.
“Quincy,” I say. “Quincy, eyes up here.” I smirk at her, knowing that she knows I just caught her ogling me. She quirks an eyebrow at me.
“I’m gonna go change the baby,” Katie says, and turns down the hallway, leaving Quincy and me alone.
“Why exactly are you half-naked in my living room?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at me.
I cross my arms, making sure my biceps flex. Quincy’s eyes drop to watch the movement for a second before quickly snapping right back up to mine.
“It turns out Chance may not have been hungry after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever you fed him came right back up.”
“He spit up?” she asks, walking toward a table where her purse is sitting.
I laugh. “Uh, no. He threw up all over me and all over
As if I’m not paying enough attention to him, Chance squeals at me.
“All right, dude. Are you ready to get dressed?” I spend the next few minutes trying to wrangle his squirmy ass into a black onesie that has a picture of an ultrasound on it. Underneath is the hashtag #tbt. I chuckle.
I like that she has a sense of humor.
“Well, little man,” I say as I pick him up. “What shall we do while we wait? Ohhhhh……!”
Out of nowhere, Chance throws up all over us. Not spit-up. No. It’s like a water hose turned on and sprayed us both.
“Well,” I say, taking in the scene. Chance is smiling and giggling, probably because his tummy feels better than it did ten seconds ago. “I was supposed to go on a date with your mom—uh, aunt—what the hell do you call her? I take it this is your way of telling me to keep my hands to myself?”
Chance makes a growling noise at me and reaches for my cheeks. There’s a knock on the door.
I take a moment to peel my shirt over my head, careful not to drop the baby or get puke anywhere else, and wipe us both down the best I can. I go to the front door, still holding Chance and my puked-on shirt. There’s another quick knock before I get there.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. We had a little accident.” A stout woman is standing at the door. Dark hair, round face, probably in her early 20s. She stands frozen, staring at me, eyes wide.
“I, uh,” she starts, clears her throat, and starts again, trying really hard not to stare at my bare chest. “I’m Katie. The babysitter. Is Quincy here?”
“She’s in the back getting ready.” I step back. “Come on in. Chance here seems to be having a rough day.”
“Okay.” Katie avoids making eye contact with me, and her cheeks flush. I’m used to having that effect on woman, but it still makes me smile when it happens. What can I say… I work hard on my physical fitness. I don’t mind being appreciated for it.
“Have you watched him before?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“A couple of times.”
“So you know where all his stuff is?”
“For the most part. Why?”
“As you can see….” I say, gesturing to my torso. Her cheeks flush again. I’m such an asshole for purposely doing that to her again. “Chance puked on us right before you knocked. You wouldn’t happen to know where some extra clothes for him are, would you?”
“Oh!” she says with a giggle. “Yes! Let me take him, and I’ll go change him.”
I pass him to her, warning her his clothes are soaked through. Quincy walks into the room.
“Did I hear Katie come in…?” She freezes at the front of the hall, taking in my lack of clothing. There is a mixture of confusion and interest in her eyes. I give her a few seconds to get her fill before trying to break her out of her trance.
“Quincy,” I say. “Quincy, eyes up here.” I smirk at her, knowing that she knows I just caught her ogling me. She quirks an eyebrow at me.
“I’m gonna go change the baby,” Katie says, and turns down the hallway, leaving Quincy and me alone.
“Why exactly are you half-naked in my living room?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at me.
I cross my arms, making sure my biceps flex. Quincy’s eyes drop to watch the movement for a second before quickly snapping right back up to mine.
“It turns out Chance may not have been hungry after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever you fed him came right back up.”
“He spit up?” she asks, walking toward a table where her purse is sitting.
I laugh. “Uh, no. He threw up all over me and all over
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