Page 65 of Coast

As I drove all the way back to the motel that she called home, all I would let myself think about was how I was going to touch her, how she was going to feel under me, around me, how sweet she’d sound moaning with my cock inside her.

I couldn’t think of anything else.

Until we were wrapped up in the bed afterward, her being all soft and sweet, the baby sleeping peacefully a few minutes away.

And I realized that was the one thing they couldn’t get with me in their lives.

Peace.

That wasn’t something I had to offer myself, let alone anyone else.

Did I feel like a complete shithead to walk out after sleeping with Zoe? Yeah. I wasn’t a complete dick. Because I knew where her head was at, how alone she was, how much she needed a hand.

Enough that she let those hands be mine.

Then went and put me on a pedestal just because I gave her medicine and some basic necessities.

I’d taken advantage of her loneliness and desire to have someone around to lighten the load.

I needed to show her that the hands she was letting hold her baby were permanently fucking stained in blood.

And while I believed everyone I’d put down had deserved that shit, I also knew that women like Zoe didn’t belong with men like me.

Not casually.

Damn sure not in any serious sort of way.

And that was what a mom was going to be looking for, wasn’t it? Not a fun weekend fuck. They wanted stability. They wanted a man who wanted to put down roots with ‘em, grow with ‘em.

No decent mom wanted a revolving door of “mommy’s friends” in their kid’s life. And Zoe was more than a decent mom.

But she couldn’t root with me.

Which was exactly why I never should have put my dirty hands all over her in the first place.

I was selfish, plain and simple.

“You’re back,” a female voice said as I stood outside of Zoe’s apartment, hands on the railing, taking a steadying breath. Because I couldn’t quite force my legs to carry me away just yet.

“Hey, Brooke,” I said, looking down at the pool.

“Keep an ear for my goblins for a minute? Just gotta pop down to toss this in the dumpster,” she said, lifting her trash bag.

“I can take it down,” I offered.

I knew what was coming when she set the bag down.

Her flip-flops slapped the cement as she walked over to me.

“Okay. Spill.”

“Nothing to spill.”

“Riiight. Because it’s every day a man takes care of a sick woman and her baby. And buys them lots of presents. Hell, the father of my children doesn’t even do half of that.”

“You deserve better than that,” I said, glancing over at her.

“I know it,” she agreed. “But we’re not talking about me. Why are you out here looking like someone kicked your puppy?”