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He gasps, kneeling next to me. “That’s an Isa-raptor.”
She gives him a toothy smile as he inspects it closely. “It famoghinuts, siwwy.”
Remi turns to me. “Translation?”
I bark a laugh. “It’s how she says ‘flamingo’.”
“I see.” He gives Isabel a kiss on her forehead before planting a quick one on my cheek. Pulling back, he winks at me.
A thrill shoots through my belly. “Stealing kisses now, are we?”
“A man’s gotta eat,” he rasps, shrugging one shoulder.
I could give him plenty to eat. By the growing smirk on his face, he knows exactly where my mind is. The flare of his nostrils tells me he’s imagining the same.
“Kiss, Mommy. Kiss.” My kid points a finger at me and then Remi.
Oh, Lord, did he rope her into this?
Remi inches closer, pointing to his impossibly high cheekbone. “Yes, Mommy. Kiss.”
Rolling my eyes, I begrudgingly touch my lips to his cheek, rubbing against the manny’s smooth, freshly shaven skin. Hints of leather and spearmint tickle my nose. The desire to take his mouth is throbbing in my gut. It takes pure iron will not to give in.
When his hand holds the side of my neck, keeping me in place, I almost do. With him this close, I can’t think straight. Trying to keep hold of my restraint, I exhale a sharp breath against his skin. He shivers, and I swear I hear a small whimper from the back of his throat. Before I do anything reckless, I stand.
Red splotches dot Remi’s cheek as he dips his head, hiding a bashful smile. Regaining some composure, he raises onto his feet before scooping up Isabel. I snap a picture of them on my phone, loving that he’s wearing my kiss holding my daughter.
They are mine. As unrealistic and untrue as it is, the thought rolls through my head like an avalanche—impossible to ignore, much less survive. But I don’t say anything about it as we walk out the door.
“You have an epi pen handy, right?”
“Yes, smartass. I’ll be carrying a first aid kit every time I’m around you.”
“Oh, good. There’s a bunch of other shit I’d like to try.” As soon as I say it, I cover my mouth.
What was that? Freudian slip?
A sexy smile forms on his face. “Yeah? Like what, Queeny?”
I hold my fist to his face to get him to stop with his innuendo. “Like what you’d look like with a broken nose.”
He licks his plush bottom lip before pressing it against my knuckles. “You would never.”
I feign indifference. “Try me,” I breathe, fighting a shiver.
“You like my face too much to mangle it. What is it that you call me?” He taps his temple. “Oh yes, Hot Manny.”
That breaks the spell. I shove him away with my hip. “You’re so full of yourself.”
His eyes are roguish. “I’d really like you to be full—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” This is getting into dangerous territory.
Pushing Isabel’s stroller, I power-walk ahead of him. His deep chuckle follows me, making my mouth quirk up without my permission.
I’d really like to be full of him as well. The image of me deep-throating his celestial cock comes to mind. Stop that, libertine.
The waterfront is decorated in bright oranges, blues, purples, and yellows with world’s fair nostalgia. There are clowns with balloons, kiddie rides, and what looks like a beer garden. The smell of charred meat wafts in the air. It’s a proper shindig. There’s also what seems to be a mixture of cosplay and everyday garb.
