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“No, you will go to school.”
The lip pushed out even more. “No.”
“Yep,” I said, ignoring the impending tantrum on the horizon. “School first, and then we’ll go to Peppi’s for pizza and maybe even hit Freezy Pete’s for some ice cream.”
Katie didn’t immediately melt down, which was a good sign. She was contemplating this deal, her head tilting to one side.
I moved while I had the advantage. “Come on, let’s go find your favorite pink leggings and the dump truck top.” Katie had proven herself to be a unique mix of proclivities pretty much since birth. She was definitely a girly girl—loving sparkles and rainbows and pink, but she also had some surprising favorite things—construction vehicles and skateboards, to name a couple.
“I’m tired of school,” she said, but she turned to follow me to her bedroom.
“One more week after today,” I reminded her, internally hoping my own plans worked out that speedily so I could be here for her more often. I was at the end of the interview process for the field supervisor position, which would put me back in the office most days, and even let me work from home more regularly. I’d have a reliable schedule, more responsibility, and most importantly, I’d be here to take care of my daughter. There was no doubt I’d miss being in the field, but maybe it was time I make the sacrifice to care for Katie. She was worth it.
Katie sighed dramatically, but she cooperated all through getting dressed and having her hair brushed, and by the time she was finishing her toast, she was already telling me all about Celeste Adams and the birthday party she was planning for the end of June, which Katie was pretty sure would involve actual, live unicorns, and absolutely no clowns.
“We hate clowns,” she said, pointing at me with her toast as if instructing me to agree.
I complied. “We do.”
She nodded once, seemingly pleased that was settled.
I finally got her off to school and was just pulling back into the driveway when my phone buzzed. I glanced over at it on the passenger seat, wondering if it was work. Maybe news about the job?
I reached for the phone at the same time a loud thump came from the front of the car, and I jammed my foot onto the brake violently and screamed. Had I hit a dog? The car shuddered from a slow roll to a stop as my eyes flew to the front windshield, where Sly stood with his hands planted firmly on the hood.
Did I hit him?
Why was he shirtless? And so sweaty?
He looked angry, but I was beginning to realize maybe he was always angry when I was around.
I threw the car into park and pushed the door open and jumped out. “Are you okay? Did I hit you?”
He stood, removing his hands from my car so he could cross his arms in front of him, making the sizable muscles in his chest pop. I ripped my gaze from those and moved it back to his face.
“You don’t know if you hit me?” he asked, sounding like Katie—there was clearly only one right answer here.
“I mean,” I glanced back toward my phone. I still didn’t know if that had been work. “I got distracted for one second. You literally came out of nowhere!”
“I literally came from the sidewalk you rammed your car over in an extremely speedy and violent fashion.” He glared at me.
Wouldn’t I have seen him? He must have snuck up on me somehow. “I would have seen you.”
He dropped his arms and stared at me. “You clearly didn’t. I can assure you, I didn’t materialize out of thin air. I didn’t jump out of a hedge. I was jogging. On the sidewalk.”
“Hmm.” I shrugged. “Okay. Sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know that I am. You really startled me. I mean, you tried to kill me.”
Now that it was clear he was definitely not hurt, I found myself admiring the way the sweat glistened on his tanned skin in the sunlight. His arms were like sculptures, every muscle standing out in sharp relief, every vein pulsing there beneath his skin. His torso was miles of golden skin with scattered dark hair across his chest, and all that muscle tapered down into long, loose shorts that hung across his very developed six pack. Was it an eight pack? Was that even a thing?
Shit. I was staring. “I need to get inside, so if you could move...”
“I don’t know if I should let you get back behind the wheel. Have you been drinking today?”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“So yes?”
