Page 14 of Insta [FAM]

Nyree’s mouth tilts up on the side. “It’s because you’re hot, Mikaere. And because her way of getting your attention, whatever her reason may be, is working — you’ve shown up at her house twice now, and you almost always DM her when she posts something you don’t like. My opinion? She wants to ride a Māori dick.”

I spit half my beer out my mouth, and Nyree gives me a few hard slaps when I start coughing. “Fuck, Ny, that was too much, we can’t be talking about dick.”

“Oh, for the sake of all the island Goddesses, we’re both adults. She wants to do you, and I don’t think I’m that far off by saying you want to do her, too. And fuck the dating, you don’t have time for that, and you don’t want someone coming into Aroha’s life right now.”

She has a point. I don’t have time for dating, that became clear when I tried — and failed — to take Holland on a date, but I’m also not planning on having a woman in my life who could potentially become more than a girlfriend until my daughter is older. She’s content, and I don’t want to do a damn thing to upset the balance we have when it’s taken me so long to achieve it. However, I do miss sex. And I don’t mean the emotional aspect. I mean the sweaty, physical side of it, the feel of a woman’s body in my hands, the feel of her breath on my skin, and yes, the feel of a wet pussy. There, I admitted it.

Nyree bursts out laughing. “Oh, shit, you’re thinking about sex right now. You’re pulling that face.”

Okay, I do have a face when I’m thinking about sex, but fuck, I thought I was always discreet about it. Apparently not. I wipe my face, both tired from and embarrassed by this conversation.

“You’d better take care of that,” Nyree adds, finishing her beer. “Before Mama and Papa arrive. You won’t get a chance to get your dick wet while they’re here, you know.”

When I glower at Nyree, she laughs harder, and continues to tease me until she’s worn me out. Unfortunately, our conversation has me not only thinking about sex, but sex with Dion, and, well, like any red-blooded male, I take matters into my own hands, and take myself on a date.

* * *

Iconsider Saturday morning’s sacred, especially when I’m not working at the shelter. It doesn’t happen often, but Shane is filling in for me today, and I’ve given Nyree the day off to see Gabriel, and hopefully, get some studying in. Aroha’s hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head — so is mine — and she’s sitting at the kitchen island in her pajamas, eating the flapjacks I made. She licks her lips, and dips her fingers in syrup, finding the whole event hilarious. Me? I’m in my sweats, and nothing else, and smiling at the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. “Enough?” I ask her, tossing a dishrag over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” she wipes her hands on a wet cloth, “I’m going to get dressed. Are we going to the shelter?”

“Not today,” I reply. “We’re going to do whatever you want to today, puawai.”

“Really?” Her eyes are wide and brimming with excitement. I know exactly what she’s going to suggest we do, it’s the same thing every time, and I had Nyree make sure we’re prepared. “That’s great, Papa. But can you guess what I want to do?”

I close one eye and pretend to mull it over. “Uh, do you want to go fishing?”

“No, silly,” she giggles, leaning over on the barstool. “I want to have a picnic in the garden, and swim!”

“Is that so?” She loves the water, and it won’t be long before I’m closing the pool for the winter. I have the heat on in the fall, which is why the temperature will be perfect now. “I think you should make sure that Aunty Ny packed a picnic basket for us.” Aroha hops off the chair, darts around the corner, and yells, “Papa, how did she know?”

“I don’t know, baby. We can call her later and ask.”

“She even washed my favorite blanket.” She’s back around the corner and bolting up the stairs. “I’m going to change, Papa! You changing into your costume too, right? Kuia will smack your bum if you swim in your jammies.” Her voice trails off, and all I can do is chuckle. My mum will, in fact, kick my ass if I swim in my pajamas, but if Aroha did it, she wouldn’t care. They adore each other, and aside from Nyree, my mum is the most solid maternal figure in my daughter’s life. I’m packing the dishwasher when my phone rings, and I frown when I see it’s a New Zealand number — but not my parents’. I’ve deliberately ignored my phone, and turned my Instagram notifications off, even if it’s just for the weekend, but if it’s a call from New Zealand, I always answer, in case there’s an emergency with my parents.

“This is Mika,” I answer.

“Mikaere.”

Her voice makes me freeze, and squeeze my eyes shut. “Nina. It’s late there,” — they’re about seventeen hours ahead, give or take — “what can I do for you?” I supposed I could be more polite, and ask how she’s doing, but that ship sailed when I almost lost my spot on the team because of her.

“I’m fine, Mika, thank you for asking. How are you? Still enjoying America?” Her tone is taut with bitterness, and just thinking about her makes me glad I jumped ship when I did and moved here after I graduated from veterinary school.

“Yeah, it’s all good here,” I reply. “Why are you calling me, Nina?” As the publicist for the New Zealand All Blacks, she can only be calling for one reason — she’s seen the stink Dion’s posts have left and doesn’t like how it reflects on my image. I wasn’t lying to Dion when I said I have a public image to uphold, even as a former player I’m still a representative of my national team.

“Your social media has been flagged, Mikaere,” — have I mentioned how much I hate it when Nina uses my full name? No? Well, I do, — “And I’ve already spoken to…” there’s a beat of silence… “Dion, I think it is.”

“You did what?” I try not to shout, but I shudder to think what Nina would have said to Dion, and knowing all about Nina’s ugly side, it makes me weirdly protective of Dion. Explain that to me. “Nina, if you said a single scathing word to her —”

Nina tsks, “A little defensive there, love. She mean anything to you?”

I make the fatal mistake of replying, “None of your fucking business, Nina. Leave her the fuck alone.” My voice is naturally deep, but when I’m angry, or fired up? It’s deeper, and it sounds like I’m snarling.

“Now now, before you lose your head over her, I simply, and politely, asked her to remove her social media posts, and —”

“Papa, I’m ready,” comes Aroha’s voice. I spin and see her standing between the living room and the kitchen. She’s dressed in her costume, with the picnic blanket and basket at her feet. “You’re not dressed.”

I hear Nina’s sharp intake of breath at the same time I tell my daughter, “I’m just on a call, baby. Will you wait for me on the couch?” She nods, unaware of what’s going on inside my head, or the ramifications of this phone call, and jumps onto the couch.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Nina says, her voice sharp, but quiet.

“If you were so good at keeping tabs on me, you’d know that,” I bite back. “But we’re not discussing my daughter now, Nina. Or ever. But you can tell me exactly what you said to Dion.” I grind my teeth and try to calm myself down.

Nina clears her throat. “I just asked her to remove her posts, and if she didn’t, I’d get the team’s attorneys involved. I could give two shits about your image, just so we’re clear, but when it affects the team’s image, you know where my loyalties lie. As entertaining as her little journal-like posts are, I can’t have the team associated with anything solely related to your private life, especially if you’re seeing someone so…uncultured.”

Rather than ask how Dion responded — I can hazard a guess that she gave Nina a good run for her money — I ask, “It’s nice to know my private life is still such a concern to the team,Nina, but there’s nothing that can, or will, make the team look bad. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my daughter is waiting for me,” I think on my feet, “and Dion just arrived. I have to go.” I hang up, and the moment I do, I regret lying about Dion. Uh, not really, but let’s run with it. I am, however, left wondering whether I should check in with Dion and make sure Nina didn’t threaten her. And then I remind myself that it’s Dion — if anyone did the threatening, it’s her, and Nina probably only phoned me because for once, someone gave her a taste of her own medicine. I leave my phone in the kitchen, change into some swim trunks, and spend the day with my daughter. Who, thank fuck, isn’t a damn drama queen hell-bent on getting a reaction out of me. Not yet, anyway. I’ll give her ten more years before that shit starts.