Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
‘She’s eleven!’
‘She’s becoming a young lady.’
‘She’s becoming a pain in my fucking arse, that’s what she’s becoming.’ Or a bigger one.
‘You’re being way over the top, Jesse.’
Over the top? I don’t think I am at all. ‘Ava, last week when I picked her up, some dirty little pervert was practically drooling over her as she walked from the school gates to my car.’ I feel the blood begin to boil in my veins, just recalling the incident. Had a fucking traffic warden not moved me from the restricted parking zone, I would have been out of my car and across the street faster than a roadrunner.
She smirks at me. ‘A dirty little pervert?’
‘Yes. He’s lucky I didn’t shove his head down his trousers so he couldn’t ogle my daughter.’
‘And how old was this dirty little pervert?’
‘I don’t know.’ I brush her question aside, knowing exactly where we’re heading here.
‘I do.’ Ava laughs again, half-amused, half-exasperated. ‘He’s eleven, Jesse. Just like Maddie. His name is Kyle and he’s in Maddie’s class. He has a crush, that’s all.’
I snort and head for the fridge. ‘He’s a pervert,’ I state with utter finality, daring her to continue the discussion as I rummage through the top shelf looking for my peanut butter. But I should know my defiant little temptress by now. And she dares to continue.
‘Jacob has a crush on a girl,’ Ava says casually. I turn away from the fridge, seeing her collecting the jars of peanut butter off the counter and moving over to the cupboard. My boy has a crush? The only crush he has that I know of is a crush on football. The kid’s mad for it. ‘Does that make your boy a pervert?’
My lips twist as I return to the fridge and continue searching for my comfort food. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because our children are growing up and you need to let them do that. Maddie’s going to the school party, and you are not chaperoning her. It isn’t cool to take your dad.’
‘She isn’t damn well going without me,’ I snap, slamming the fridge door. ‘Where’s my fucking Sun-Pat?’ I swing around and find my wife holding out a new jar, her eyebrows high and knowing.
I swipe it from her grasp without so much as a thank you and whip off the lid. My finger goes in, sweeps around the edge, and I plunge the big dollop into my mouth, still scowling at my wife, who is now shaking her head in dismay. She can shake her head all she likes. My daughter isn’t going to the school party without me, and she definitely isn’t going in those denim shorts.
‘Where is Maddie, anyway?’ I ask Ava’s back, not missing the opportunity to relish in the sight of her arse. That arse. I want to bite it.
‘She’s waiting for her daddy to get home so she can butter him up.’
‘Butter me up how?’
‘Daddy!’ Maddie’s squeal of delight – a totally fake squeal, it should be noted – stops my questioning in its tracks. Oh no. She called me Daddy. Not Dad. I just know the puppy-dog eyes are coming.
I do the wisest thing I can. I put down my peanut butter and edge out of the kitchen without making eye contact. I’ll be fucked. Screwed.
‘I need to get changed.’ I bomb out of the door, hearing Maddie in pursuit.
‘Daddy, wait!’
‘I have things to do,’ I call behind me as I race up the stairs, catching a glimpse of her long chocolate hair bouncing over her shoulders as she chases after me. ‘Speak to Mum.’
‘Mum said I needed to speak to you!’
I just make it to the top when I feel something around my ankle. ‘Fuck!’ I lose my footing and trip up the top step, crashing down to the carpet in a heap.
‘Daddy, watch your mouth!’
‘Maddie, for crying out loud!’
‘Then don’t run away from me, and face up to your responsibilities.’
‘I’m sorry?’ I roll over to my back and sit up, finding my girl lying across the final few steps of the staircase, her small hand still wrapped around my ankle, her head tilted far back to look up at me. She’s already fluttering her lashes, the little minx. ‘My responsibilities?’
‘Yes.’ She releases my foot and pushes herself to her feet, and I only mildly register that she has on jeans and a jumper. Long jeans and a long-sleeved jumper. This should please me, yet it doesn’t. Because this is my little live wire of a daughter, and she’s a little fucker when she wants to be. Like, all the time. And like now, when I know she’s only covered from top to toe because, in the words of her mother, she’s trying to butter me up. It won’t work.
Maddie sighs, shaking her head at me. ‘Dad—’