Alex grinned down at her. “I didn’t realize I was that late. I had carpool duty this afternoon, so I didn’t get to leave on time. I didn’t even stop to change. I came straight here.”
“I’m glad you did,” Willow replied.
“So am I,” I muttered.
With a laugh, Alex said, “Just let me go get changed.” She thrust a glittery pink bag at me. “Can you get Willow ready for me?”
“You can’t be serious.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed on mine. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask since I picked up all the things she would need. Besides, we don’t have a lot of time to waste.”
I looked from Alex to Willow. Ever since she had come to live with me, Mama Beth had taken care of bath time and getting her dressed. Yeah, she was my kid, but I didn’t exactly know the rules when it came to seeing her without clothes. Although I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, there was something that felt pervy about it.
Before I could argue anymore, Willow reached out and took my hand. “Come on, Deacon.”
When Alex shot me a triumphant look, I scowled at her. Instead of mouthing off, I let Willow drag me back to the men’s locker room. “Miss Alex can take the ladies’ room,” Willow informed me.
She started to barge right on, but I jerked her back. “Wait a minute. I need to make sure nobody’s in there getting dressed.”
“Okay.”
Releasing her hand, I ducked inside. The smell of sweat and jockstrap assaulted my nose. When I saw it was empty, I held the door open for Willow. She came skipping inside. She put her bag down on one of the benches and started digging inside. Another one of her ear-splintering squeals had me jumping out of my skin. “Look, Deacon. Miss Alex got me a sparkly pink leotard just like I asked for.” The contents of the bag came flying out—there were panty hose–looking things—pink, of course—some shoes, and a flimsy-looking skirt thing.
Once everything was out, Willow tore her shirt off her head and then stripped out of her jean shorts. She plopped down on the bench and held out the panty hose–looking thing to me. “Help me with my tights.”
“Uh, okay,” I muttered. I reluctantly took them in my hand, and then I knelt down in front of her.
“Hold out the one leg so I can get my foot in there,” Willow commanded.
“I don’t know—”
“Like this,” she instructed, rolling the fabric down. I held it out, and she eased her foot inside. Then I did the other side. When both were at her ankles, I started wiggling them up her legs. I grimaced as I tugged them up over her pink panties. Once they were in place, I eased back on my heels.
“Now help me with the leotard.”
I exhaled a long sigh. “Okay, then.”
One of Willow’s tiny hands reached out for my shoulder. Balancing herself with one arm, she stuck one of her pink legs into the hole of the leotard. When she swayed a little, I reached out and grabbed her by the waist, steadying her.
“Oops.” She giggled as she stuck her other leg in the hole. I then took my hands off her waist and helped tug the leotard up to her chest. Then she wiggled her arms in. After I helped her adjust it, she ran over to the mirror and let out yet another ear-piercing squeal. “Deacon, look at how pretty I am!”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “No false modesty for you, huh?”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Huh?”
“Nothing. Yes, you do look really pretty.”
When she grinned, she reminded me of Lacey. While she looked just like me, she still had little mannerisms and quirks that were her mother’s.
“Ooh, now I need my hair put up in a bun.” She eyed me curiously. “Can you do my hair?”
Scratching my head, I replied, “I can try.”
She nodded. Digging in her bag, she produced a hairbrush for me and then something to hold her hair. “Sit down,” I instructed, motioning to the bench in front of me. She quickly obeyed. The moment I ran the brush through her hair, I became assaulted by a barrage of memories.
“You know the only reason why I sort of know how to do this?” I questioned, my voice choking off with emotion.
“Uh-uh,” Willow replied.
“I used to brush and braid your mother’s hair.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I did.” I could almost hear Lacey’s sultry voice begging me to brush her hair. Although it often rendered her catatonic from relaxation, it also tended to get her fired up to fuck me. Something about the tender touch of my hands on her hair turned a switch inside her.
After a moment of silence, Willow softly asked, “Did you love my mommy?”
My hand froze, stilling the sweeping motion of the brush. As I thought of the feelings I’d once had for Lacey, an ache burned through my chest. “Yeah, I did.”
“Did she love you?”
“Yeah, I think she did at one time.”
“You think when I grow up I’ll be prettier than her?”
“Probably. Let’s face it. You look just like me, and I’m pretty damn handsome.” When Willow didn’t acknowledge my comment, I said, “Yes, you’ll be prettier. Is that what you want, to be the prettiest?”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Yes … as long as it doesn’t make me hurt people or let them hurt me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mommy was so pretty that she let lots of men hurt her. Sometimes they hurt me. But most of the time, it was Mommy who hurt me.”