Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Benny scrunches up her nose in confusion. “How is that bad?”
I . . . it’s not. But I’m scrambling for something to say and cannot very well admit I let her father bang me without a condom, now, can I? Talk About Imperfect and a Lack of Planning.
Outside, a footstep crunches in the gravel, close. She lifts her chin. “That’s him.”
I nod. “He found us.”
“Dad.” She rolls her eyes.
Hayes appears, big and strapping and so much better looking than he was yesterday; something about him being a hot dad is messing with my ovaries . . .
“Hey, ladies.” His voice cracks on the last syllable. He crouches to fit inside the doorframe, one palm braced on the flower boxes. “You doing okay?”
Benny lifts her chin. “We were talking.”
“I can see that.” His gaze flicks to me—Are you okay?—and I nod.
“Layla was explaining how relationships are supposed to take time and shouldn’t be rushed,” Benny reports, easily summarizing our conversation.
Hayes ducks lower, the frame groaning under his hand as he leans in, filling the playhouse with too much body for too small a space. “She was, huh?”
“Exactly.” Benny crosses her arms, pleased with her summary. “She said it’s tempting to jump into things without thinking about them, but the best things usually take time.”
Damn, she’s good. That’s literally what I said.
Hayes huffs a laugh, low in his chest, then reaches for her hand. “That sounds about right.”
She lets him take it, then leans her head against his shoulder, her verdict rendered. “Okay. I’m satisfied. You can take me to school now.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, surprised. “Now? You don’t want to go back into the house and talk about this some more?”
“Nope, we’re good.” Benny is matter of fact, already climbing to her feet and dusting her knees as if they were covered in dirt. “I’ll grab my backpack.”
We stare slack jawed after her once she’s trekking across the yard, her ponytail swaying jauntily back and forth. I drag my gaze from her retreating figure back to Hayes, and we both blink, caught in the absurdity of it.
His mouth quirks first. “Did she just dismiss us?”
“Yeah. Like a boss.” I am a little stunned, but what do I know about having kids. Is it normally like this? Wouldn’t know.
Hayes scrubs a hand down his face, laughter tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Ten minutes ago she was traumatized you’re leaving, and now she’s demanding to be taken to school.”
I huff a laugh. “Whiplash is real.”
He angles toward me in the tiny doorway, voice dropping so only I can hear it.
“Hey—stay here. Do whatever you need to do—drink more coffee, rub lotion all over your tits, return emails.” His eyes flick to my mouth. “I’ll run her to school.”
“Okay.”
He leans in, thumb brushing my jaw, and the look he gives me makes my knees weak. “And when I get back,” he says, heat threaded through every word, “you’re going to be naked and waiting in my bed.”
Slowly, I nod. “Yes, Dad . . .”
Chapter 25
Hayes
My fingers drum the steering wheel on my way back from school, a leftover jitter I can’t shake. Part adrenaline, part relief, part . . .
Anticipation.
Benny marched into the building on a mission—over an hour late—backpack bouncing, crisis closed. She only looked back at me once after I’d signed her in at the office, two fingers to her eyes, then to mine: I’m watching you.
I did it back.
The light turns green. I roll through, jaw unclenching for the first time all morning. Ten minutes ago I was counting the beats between her breaths in a playhouse. Now I’m counting the streets between me and Layla.
Be naked . . .
I make myself drive like a person who deserves a license.
The neighborhood is ordinary in a “wealthy community” way that makes me proud to deserve this. I’ve been working my ass off the past decade to get here, and damn if I don’t enjoy seeing my house every time I round the bend and it comes into view.
Desert landscape. Low, sprawling, and expensive sand-colored exterior. I bought it because I fell in love with the stacked stone. So different from where I grew up in Ohio, where you won’t find crushed granite, agave and aloe plants, and boulders.
Charcoal pavers lead to my four-car garage with frosted-glass doors; steel house numbers ride the wall beside a tall, up-lit saguaro. Black steel window frames, a hint of a courtyard beyond the gate at my entrance. It’s also nothing like I’d find in Layla’s Washington state with its crowded pines.
Very Scottsdale coded, very bougie—and it’s mine. All mine.
I pull into the drive. Engine off. Keys in my palm. Dick already twitching.
I wonder if she’s going to actually be naked . . .
Once inside the mudroom entry, I kick off my sneakers. Tug off my socks and let them drop to the floor, leaving them like breadcrumbs as I make my way through the kitchen.