Page 33 of The Dating Charade

She opened the door to let him out. He’d be out of his mind to go on another date after this.

“See you tomorrow, crazy cat lady.” He winked and hopped down the front steps.

Her icy breath of relief formed crystals in the air. “Looking forward to more compliments on my insulation.”

Jett stopped at the fire engine, calling out as he put his hand on the passenger door. “Just so you know, I’ll be covering the three-point line in pine needles.”

“Sure.” She laughed. “Whatever it takes to give you a leg up.”

Back inside, Cassie waved from the living-room window as she watched the engine roll out of the driveway, then collapsed on the couch, her head falling into her hands.

Well, that had gone worse than she anticipated.

She had to tell him. Surely she had to explain everything, emphasizing that nothing about her situation would change anything for the two of them.

Right. Because a heavy conversation on a second date wouldn’t make him flee like a spotlighted convict.

She rubbed her temples, eyes closed. It was a catch-22 all the way around. If she was a proactive communicator, she could scare him away; if she hid the situation, she was playing with fire—and looking a little insane over cats and pine trees. Not to mention all this trouble could be for naught. How could she successfully date a man who didn’t want kids? She couldn’t change the man. She knew that from painful personal experience.

But was it possible she could turn the girls away if the time came to make that decision?

Cassie squeezed her eyes tighter, then opened them. Straight in front of her sat a red streak of crayon across the perfectly white sofa. She hesitated, then ran the tip of her finger along it.

Another muted giggle floated down the stairs, and Cassie rose.

Another day. She would just have to table the worry for another day.

“Making room for me up there?” she called, and legged it up two at a time.

10

Jett

“You hear that, man?”

Even Sunny sensed something was wrong.

A newborn had been in their apartment less than three days, and already they could tell the different types of TJ’s cries through the front door. Jett turned the lock and pushed it open.

The light of early dawn was just starting to break in through the living-room window, but otherwise the place was dark. No light came from the lamp on the table beside him at the door’s entrance. No light came from the kitchen or bathroom or hall. The TV was off.

Still, Jett felt an impulse that made him push the door open wider, ready to charge to TJ, pick him up, and start scouting out the rooms.

At least he tried to open the door wider. But something pushed against it from the other side.

He looked down and around. Dakota and Drew were pressed up against the wall, faces toward the crack beneath the door.

“Guys?” Jett knelt down and touched their shoulders. They were breathing heavily, Dakota’s blond curls covering her face. Drew was shirtless, his belly pressed against Dakota’s back. The room smelled so foul it suffocated.

How long had they been sleeping there? More specifically, why?

“Man.” Sunny covered his nose with his T-shirt, stumbling over couch pillows and toys for the deck window. “Your kids made our place smell like Donna Gene’s,” he said, throwing the window open.

Jett dropped his overnight bag and moved swiftly to the Pack ’n Play beside the dining room table.

“Oh, buddy. Hang on.”

TJ was flat on his back, staring up at Jett with freshwater-blue eyes that contrasted deeply with the red, almost purple, splotches covering his face. His cries were hoarse, cracking at each tail end, and his small fists pulsed up and down with what little fight he had left in him. Half of his sleeper was covered in a dark-yellow stain.