A Very Daddy Christmas (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 3

3

Dakota

M y alarm is ringing somewhere, far, far away.

But my dream is so sweet and spicy that I can’t bring myself to leave it. Three sets of hands roam up and down my naked body. Strong hands of strong men with shades of green in their eyes. Their fingers trace the contours of my full hips and the softness of my lower belly. Two of them knead my breasts, delighted by their generous size. Another set caresses my face. Fingers then find their way between my legs, searching for that hot wetness… almost there, Archer. Almost there…

“Mommy, wake up!” Maisie’s voice tears through the haze, yanking me out of my dream. My lovely, pint-sized bucket of cold water. Slowly, my eyes peel open. “Mommy, come on. It’s time to wake up!”

I look at her, briefly confused as to where I am. For a moment, I thought we were still in that shoddy apartment in Los Angeles.

“Come on, your alarm keeps ringing.”

“You know how to turn it off,” I grumble and rub my eyes.

“It’s Saturday. You set it on a Saturday.”

I give her a long, intrigued look. “You’re right. I did it on purpose.”

“Where are we going?” she asks, putting on a curious, eager smile. I love the dimples that appear whenever she whips up that signature grin of hers. It makes my heart melt.

“Oh. Actually, only Mommy’s going somewhere.”

And there it goes, fading with remarkable speed. “That’s not fair.”

“I’ll drop you off at Chelsea’s,” I tell her. “I won’t be gone long, and when I come back, what do you say we pop by the Science Museum? There’s that puzzle exhibit I told you about. How does that sound?”

She is clearly excited, but she tries to play it cool, my smart little whip. “Only if we get ice cream after,” she says.

“I’ll even spring for hazelnut gelato.”

“Yes!” she replies, then runs out of my bedroom and straight into the bathroom. “I’ll brush my teeth first then you need to get ready!”

It’s like she knows my habits better than I do. I knew she was special long before those IQ test scores came back. Maisie was quiet for the first two years of her life. At one point, I was getting worried there might be something wrong with her on a developmental level. But then she started to talk, and she blew me away.

There are moments when even I feel like I might not be able to keep up with how fast she’s growing and how fast she’s learning.

Maisie is halfway into her fifth year of life, and she can already read at a fourth-grade level. She is learning how to write—moving on to more complex words—and she speaks Spanish just as well as English. She’s insanely good at chess and has this unique way of breaking down any challenge into manageable pieces. She’s calm in stressful situations but also strong-willed and stubborn.

It’s hard for her to make new friends, but Chelsea keeps a close eye on her during daycare. I fear she will always have a bit of trouble fitting in unless she is able to learn in an environment with equally brilliant kids whom she can relate to.

Most children her age are still enticed by mud pies.

Once we’re dressed and ready to go, we stop by the kitchen for Maisie’s mandatory oatmeal and raisin bowl, on top of which I always add extra fresh berries and a handful of nuts.

I check my phone.

It’s seven fifty-five.

There’s a message from Chelsea confirming that she’s waiting for us. I texted her last night, though I didn’t give her a specific reason as to why I have to drop Maisie off. It’s weird enough that I’m going on a coffee date with a guy who tracked me down through my phone number, one who’s also drop-dead gorgeous and has a smart mouth on him.

“Okay, so I’m probably going to be out for a couple of hours,” I tell Maisie while she scarfs down her breakfast. “You need to be a good girl for Chelsea until I get back.”

“I’m always a good girl,” she replies, slightly insulted.

“I know, baby.”

There’s a knock on the door. A rather familiar one, judging by the weight of its sound.

“Hold that thought,” I tell Maisie and step over to open it. The sight before me, however, is not what I expected.

“Hi, Dakota,” Reed says.

He didn’t come alone. Archer and Maddox are with him. And so is a young boy of about seven who’s busy playing a portable video game. He has shaggy black hair, deep brown eyes, and soft caramel skin. He is completely different from his three adoptive fathers in every physical sense.

“What, um, what is happening?” I ask, trying to smile through my obvious confusion.

“We figured the kids could meet, maybe make a new friend,” Archer says. “This is Trevor, by the way.”

Trevor remains busy playing his game. My heart genuinely breaks for the kid. He’s clearly guarded, reeling from a terrible loss. I was in that same spot a long time ago. I remember how it all felt, so I smile gently as I look at him. “Hey, Trevor, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Dude, come on,” Maddox mutters and gives the kid a gentle nudge.

“Thanks,” Trevor says with a heavy sigh as he puts the video game in the back pocket of his jeans. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Maisie pops up beside me. “Hello!” She says, then frowns as she looks at the triplets. “Wow, that’s weird.”

“Honey,” I tenderly chastise her. “That’s not nice.”

“But it’s weird. They all look the same.”

The triplets laugh wholeheartedly, and Archer gets down on his knee to gingerly shake her tiny hand. “You must be Maisie,” he says. “I’m Archer. And these are my twin brothers, Maddox,” he points to Mr. tall, dark, and brooding, “and Reed.”

“Triplets?” Maisie asks, genuinely curious.

“We were born at the same time,” Archer says. “We shared our mom’s belly.”

“Whoa. How big was that belly?”

“Maisie,” I laugh and blush at the same time. “Forgive her; she has a knack for asking questions without any filter.”

Reed chuckles. “Maisie and Archer will get along just fine, then. Two peas in a pod.”

“And to answer your question,” Archer tells my daughter, “It was a really big belly. Our mom still gives us grief about it to this day. She says she felt like she was lugging around three giant watermelons.”

“Poor lady.”

“Maisie, this is Trevor,” I say, motioning for her to shake the boy’s hand.

Maisie puts on her brightest and most polite smile, always the sociable type, and reaches out. But Trevor just gives her a wary look and takes a couple of steps back, almost hiding behind Maddox, who places a protective hand on his shoulder. I find the gesture to be endearing. Tender. Fatherly. These three may feel like they are struggling with fatherhood, but I can tell that Trevor feels safe with them. That is huge in the situation they are in.

“He’s actually super friendly,” Reed says to Maisie. “He just needs a bit of time to warm up to new people.”

“That means you need to have patience, honey,” I add, looking down at my daughter.

She nods slowly and takes my hand. “Am I still going to Chelsea’s?”

I glance at the triplets, then back at her.

“I guess not. I guess you’re coming with us.”

“Single parents unite, huh?” Reed quips.

“Let’s go to the Science Museum, then!” Maisie says. “Mommy promised she’d take me today.”

“Hey, the Science Museum sounds fun. We can take one of the guided tours,” Archer suggests.

And just like that, my coffee date that was supposed to be just for two turns into something else entirely. I don’t really know how to feel about it. Excited? Yes, definitely. But I had another scenario in mind. A story that is yet to be written, and it certainly didn’t involve Archer’s brothers or our children.

I don’t mind getting to know Reed and Maddox, too. Lord knows I was dreaming about them going to town on me less than an hour ago. Note to self: Speak to a therapist about this.

“Ready to go?” Archer asks.

I’m suddenly flustered again. My mind has gone haywire.

I smile and nod, then grab my purse, keys, and phone while Maisie steps outside. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter, fingers trembling as I secretly struggle to lock the door.

I ride shotgun while Archer and Maddox sit in the back of Reed’s SUV with Trevor and Maisie. Glancing over my shoulder, I can see my daughter occasionally stealing glances at the boy, ready to smile if he peels his eyes off the video game, but he never looks her way.

Maisie is a smart and friendly girl by nature, yet I understand Trevor’s reluctance to make new friends straight away. In the meantime, his other two dads are watching me like hawks. Reed is too busy driving, but he gives me his full attention along with a charming smile at every stop.

“Thank you for doing this,” Reed says at one point. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested.”

“We’re taking the kids out,” I reply. “Besides, it’s the Science Museum. The children’s exhibits are always fun.”

He chuckles softly. “Maisie seems like a bright girl.”

“She is— way more than most kids her age,” I say, beaming with pride. “They were actually interested in her over at Prescott Academy.”

Archer scoffs from behind. “That uppity place? Don’t bother.”

“I thought you wanted to enroll Trevor there,” Maddox mutters.

“Eh. They said he might not meet their requirements. Let’s face it—Prescott is the precursor of all that Ivy League BS we swore we’d never put our children through.”

Reed smiles. “They can be pretty elitist; I’ll give them that.”

“And you’d expect they would appreciate a hefty donation on top of that stinging annual tuition fee of theirs,” Archer grumbles.

My guess is Trevor didn’t quite make the cut to become a Prescott student.

“Why would you want Maisie to go there anyway?” Archer asks.

“It’s a top-rated prep school for gifted children,” I reply. “It’s actually the best in the state and one of the highest-ranked in the country. It would give Maisie the opportunity to develop much faster with other kids like her and in a safer environment than a public school.”

“What’s wrong with public schools?” Archer wonders aloud. “We went to public school, and we turned out more than fine.”

“But did any of you qualify as budding geniuses at the age of five?” I ask.

Silence ensues as all eyes—except Reed’s—fall on Maisie. She just smiles and shrugs, tiny hands resting in her lap. “Yeah, they said I’m a genius,” she replies.

“Her IQ is exceptionally high, and she is already reading and writing at a fourth-grade level. She can checkmate any chess club kid between the ages of fifteen and eighteen,” I add. “She’ll be ahead of everyone else in class in a public school, and it would be a disservice to her if I didn’t at least try to enroll her in Prescott.”

Reed raises an eyebrow. “Then do it. I’m sure she’ll be well looked after.”

“Don’t mind Archer, he’s just a tad bitter because they rejected us.”

“I just think all kids deserve a fair chance,” Archer insists.

Reed sighs deeply. “We’ll try again next year. I think Trevor just needs a bit more time to settle down and get used to his new family. Isn’t that right, Trev?”

But the boy doesn’t answer. He sticks to his game, willfully ignoring everyone around him. I give Maisie another look, and she responds with a muted shrug. I smile in a bid to reassure her.

Once we reach the museum, Trevor’s demeanor shifts ever so slightly. His eyes are wide and sparkling with curiosity, though he barely says a word. He puts the game away, at least for the time being. Maisie glues her hand to mine, and the six of us walk into the Science Museum, delighted that there’s not much of a crowd. It’s easier to keep an eye on the kids when there aren’t many people and other children around.

My heart beats faster whenever one of the brothers looks my way. It stops altogether when all three set their sights on me. Whatever this thing is between us, it’s growing fast and getting hotter with each passing minute.

The air thickens between us whenever we are close to one another. I do my best to stay focused on Maisie, eager to give her the best museum experience available. Archer’s earlier suggestion of a guided tour sounds great, and we hire a guide for the children’s exhibit, the triplets and Trevor eagerly joining us.

“On this side, we have one of the first computers ever built,” the perky tour guide says at one point.

The machine is huge, a cluster of grey boxes and screens, complete with a keyboard and a multitude of knobs and buttons scattered across the front panel. By the looks of it, this thing was built sometime in the 1980s, but it’s quite fascinating to look at.

“Wow, Maisie, imagine that this computer is an ancestor of my smartphone,” I tell my daughter.

The tour guide giggles. “That’s right. The computer chips that once powered this big, beautiful system laid the groundwork for the chips they use in smartphones today.”

“What year is this from?” I ask.

“Nineteen eighty-two,” the tour guide replies.

“It’s old,” Maisie replies. “Older than you, Mommy.”

“Older than most of us,” Archer chuckles.

Trevor is speechless, his lips slightly parted as he gazes upon the front panel. The dance of colored lights and the green strings of numbers and letters darting over the screen have him positively mesmerized. And he’s not alone, either. Slowly, Maisie moves closer, and they both spend a couple of minutes simply looking at it.

Trevor seems to forget his surroundings as he examines the machine, the world falling away. He is in his purest, sweetest form, and I can see it. The light in his eyes is still burning brightly despite the tragedy that caused him to be in Archer, Reed, and Maddox’s care.

The tour guide notices, as well, and starts telling the kids about the history behind the computer and what it was used for. That buys us another couple of minutes of perfectly still children.

“This was in the main room at NASA for two different Apollo missions,” the guide says. “And the algorithms used for each mission were based on the originals used for landing on the moon.”

“You mean the moon landing?” Maisie gasps.

“That’s right!”

Archer leans closer, and his cologne tickles my senses with a playful waltz of musk and lemon blossoms. It suits him. “Would you look at that? Our kids are getting along. Isn’t it great?” he whispers.

“Maisie is friendly by nature,” I reply with a warm smile. “And Trevor is such a sweet boy.”

“I know he might come across as shy—”

“It’s okay. I think I understand him perfectly,” I interject.

He gives me a long, soulful look. “Based on what you told us last night, yeah. I think you understand him better than most people, in fact.”

“There’s a coffee shop just down there,” Reed chimes in. “Do you want something, Dakota?”

“Yeah, I’d love a latte, thank you,” I reply. “With a drizzle of hazelnut, if they have it.”

Reed nods once and swiftly goes away, leaving both Maddox and Archer exchanging irritated glances. Archer mutters, “Maybe I would’ve liked a coffee, too.”

“You’ve entranced him, Dakota,” Maddox tells me, and I am not sure if he’s joking or if he’s irritated. He is incredibly hard to read, and it’s frustrating because I can almost feel our inner fires resonating. I see the stolen glances, the hunger in his eyes. We’re not indifferent to each other. But the problem is, it’s all four of us that aren’t indifferent to each other. “Rest assured, if they don’t have hazelnut syrup in that bar, he will make them find it or go out and buy it before he comes back with your coffee.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I like hazelnut, but not that much.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Archer smiles. “That’s how we do it. We set our minds on something, and it’s game on. No compromises, no shortcuts, nothing. We aim to please.”

“Sounds rather strict,” I say.

“The military will do that to you,” Maddox replies.

“Oh,” I mumble, realizing I may have a little bit of a uniform kink developing in the back of my head.

“Marines, to be specific,” Archer adds.

I nod once, trying hard not to look doe-eyed. I’m practically drooling with mindless desire as I stare at him. “Former Marines. Wow. That’s… um, that’s badass.”

“Sure, until you’re in the middle of the action and there are bullets darting past your head,” he mumbles, then gives Maddox a sideways glance. “We’re more into business entrepreneurship these days, aren’t we, brother?”

“Yeah, the same excitement, but no guns or landmines,” Maddox replies.

“Except the ones hidden in contracts.”

I laugh lightly, appreciating the dynamic between them. They’re at ease with one another, in perfect sync even. Their body language is fluid and smooth. Their eyes are quick to register the tiniest detail, the subtlest change in demeanor. They’re hawks, and I feel like the rabbit that’s about to go up the hill in hopes of reaching my burrow before they snatch me.

As we laugh, Archer discreetly slips his arm around me and briefly rests his hand on the small of my back. It’s swift, but it’s enough to get my blood pumping, tiny fires exploding across my skin as I struggle to keep my composure.

By the time Reed comes back with the coffee, I’m feeling lightheaded, so I’m thankful for the shot of espresso combined with sweet hazelnut syrup and frothy milk. I’m also thankful for the tour guide, who gets us back on course and escorts us through the rest of the exhibit.

“They’re not really talking to one another, are they?” Reed asks as we look at our kids.

“Nope. But at least Trevor doesn’t seem as tense as earlier.”

“I do appreciate how patient Maisie is,” he says. Archer and Maddox walk behind us while Trevor and Maisie are just up ahead, tailing the tour guide as she takes us into the next room, which is filled with various models of cell phones dating back to the 1980s. “I assume she’s usually chattier and eager to play,” Reed adds.

I nod slowly. “For the most part. But it really depends on who she’s with. Hyperactive kids turn her into a little gremlin sometimes. I think Trevor has the opposite effect on her. He seems mellow.”

“He wasn’t like that before.”

“I assume he’s changed since his parents died,” I reply, giving Reed a long and thoughtful look. “Am I right?”

“He used to be so full of energy. We used to call him ‘Atomic Trev.’ From the minute he learned to walk, he kept his parents on their toes. The kid was an expert at bolting. His dad repeatedly contemplated getting one of those children’s harnesses.”

“Oh, no,” I giggle, then take a sip of my coffee.

“Oh, yeah. But then Kayla told Tyler she would absolutely divorce him if he put that thing on their child. For a minute, Ty was tempted to challenge her on it, but in the end, he had to adjust. Lucky for them, Trevor grew out of the bolting stage pretty quickly. Or they just got used to it. I’m still not sure which,” Reed says.

The softness in his gaze and the tenderness of his voice as he remembers his best friends cause something to tug at my heartstrings. I can only imagine how it must’ve felt for Reed and his brothers to lose Trevor’s parents. I guess the kid isn’t the only one still grieving, but the Faulkner brothers are at least old enough to understand the whole thing.

“So, Trevor was happier, more energetic before,” I say, trying to help the conversation pull out of a sad detour.

“Restless is more like it. But in a good way. You just had to keep a close eye on him. He had a way of constantly testing the laws of physics. It didn’t matter how many times you told him not to do something because he might get hurt. The boy would give it a shot and suffer the consequences afterward.”

“That bad?” I laugh.

“Trevor has seen his share of emergency rooms,” Archer says, briefly glancing over his shoulder just long enough to make my skin feel tight again. “A broken leg, a broken arm, lots of sprains and bruises.”

“The doctors thought he was having a difficult situation at home,” Reed remembers, half-amused. “They called in social services and everything. We actually had to step in and show them video recordings from our weekends together just to prove that Trevor was, in fact, a little daredevil. It was so awkward.”

“Then it happened,” Maddox says. “The accident.”

“I’m so sorry,” I reply.

“None of us expected it. Tyler was an excellent driver. But the truck was out of control. Black ice on the road. They didn’t stand a chance,” Reed says.

“And Trevor? Where was he?”

“He was staying at our place for the weekend, thankfully. Tyler and Kayla were driving up into the Rocky Mountains for a getaway. They needed some time for themselves, and we were always happy to oblige. Besides, we loved hanging out with the kid.”

The picture is becoming clearer now. It’s showing me three men who are completely out of their comfort zone where raising Trevor is concerned. They love him to the moon and back, that much is obvious. They care about him, and they make sure he has everything he needs, even though they have yet to figure out how to get him out of this emotional limbo that he’s stuck in.

The picture is showing me three men with the means to buy this kid whatever he wants, but they’re so full of love and so determined to give him a safe home and a stable family that material possessions do not matter.

“We used to have game nights when Tyler and Kayla were alive,” Reed says. “They’d bring Trevor over, and we’d put together this huge barbecue in our backyard. Kayla would make one hell of a salsa to go with Tyler’s so-called healthy vegetable chips.”

“Which I’d toss into the trash and replace with actual chips because you don’t experiment during a game night feast,” Archer scoffs, drawing a light chuckle out of Maddox. A rare sight, I’ve realized.

I keep up with the conversation, fascinated by how eager they are to talk about their friends. For the time being, our museum tour guide keeps the kids busy while we walk between glass boxes and admire several models of flip phones from the ’90s.

As much as Maisie tries, she can’t seem to get through to Trevor. More than once, she tries to talk to him, but he keeps turning away and ignoring her. He’s doing it on purpose, and I can tell that Maisie is a little hurt about it, so I gently pull her aside for a moment.

“Are you okay, honey?” I ask in a low voice. Archer inches closer, paying attention to our conversation while also keeping an eye on Trevor.

“Is Trevor mad at me?” Maisie asks, giving me a worried look.

I shake my head. “No, Maisie. Not at all. He’s just sad, baby. He lost his mom and dad a few months ago in a car accident, and he’s still trying to get used to life without them.”

“Oh,” Maisie whispers, lowering her gaze. “That’s really sad.”

“Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll eventually warm up to you, and you’ll become friends.”

“Next thing you know, you’re not going to be able to shake him off,” Archer quips with a playful smile. “Here’s a hint: The kid will talk your ear off if you mention airplanes. You might want to try that as a conversation starter,” he adds with a wink.

“Planes?” Maisie asks.

“All kinds of planes,” Archer replies. “Trevor loves them. He’s more into military jets now, but a couple of years back, he was sure that he’d grow up to become a commercial airline pilot.”

By the end of the exhibit, Maisie is looking pretty tired. I know she is still disheartened by the fact that Trevor is actively ignoring her, but at least they were both paying attention to the tour guide and seem to have similar interests.

“How about we take this to the next level?” Archer says, looking deep into my eyes.

We’re now outside the museum, bathing in the golden sunlight. Above us, the sky is so blue and clear; it’s breathtaking.

“The next level?” I ask, somewhat confused.

“Well, yeah, this isn’t an actual date, you know.”

“It isn’t?”

He laughs lightly, and I am momentarily entranced by his smile. The sunlight is really bringing out his best features, and I doubt I’ll be able to say no to anything he might suggest. “Of course not,” Archer says. “I actually booked us a table at Dante’s for later.”

“I see.”

I know that place. It is ridiculously expensive. I worked the bar there a few times, but I’ve never been there as a patron.

“Well?” Archer asks.

“Okay.”

That’s pretty much all that I am able to muster.

Hours later, I find myself sitting at one of Dante’s best tables, nestled inside a semicircle of potted monstera plants. A soft amber light gleams overhead while the waiter brings us a selection of their best cocktails. Trevor is at home with his babysitter, and I dropped Maisie over at Chelsea’s.

This has to be one of the strangest yet most interesting dates I’ve ever been on.

“You have to try the mojito,” Reed says. “I’m told it’s the best in town.”

“The mojito?” Archer scoffs. “Nah, man, I’m a mint julep kind of guy, you know that.”

“I’ll take the old-fashioned, then,” Maddox mumbles.

All I can do is stare at them with a mixture of excitement and disbelief while a playful bossa nova plays from a ceiling-mounted speaker system. I don’t know when or how this happened, but I am on a hot date with three gorgeous men who look at me like I’m tonight’s main course.