Page 131 of Bottles & Blades
Chrissy’s words.
But I’m thinking it’s mostly an excuse to see her dad—or maybe torture him.
Hence the scowling.
Jean-Mi called on his way home from the office, ordering me (yup, more orders) to get naked and meet him in the bedroom because he had plans for me and my naked body…
Which was when I had to tell him about the kittens.
And about Chrissy and Rory and company.
Hencehence…scowling.
Even as he lounges on the floor with a mob of tiny fluff balls using his body as a climbing pole.
“How are you guys doing?” Chrissy asks, stopping beside me and bumping my shoulder with hers.
I feel my face go soft.
“I guess it’s going well,” she says knowingly, her mouth curving.
“It’s been a dream. He’s kind and sweet and…more than anything I could have ever hoped for,” I whisper then remember who I’m talking to. I quickly add, “I know he’s your dad and this is probably weird?—”
She takes my hand. “I asked.” A beat. “And it’s not weird. He’s happy.”
Something in her voice has me looking up, holding her gaze, and my heart squeezes when I see her eyes go damp.
“He deserves to be happy,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
“And you do too.”
My throat works as I rasp out. “Yes.”
She sniffs, fans her face, then pulls it together. “Damn pregnancy hormones.”
“What do I get to blame this”—I point to my face—“on?”
“Hormones by osmosis.” She grins when I laugh. “I’m glad he has you, and especially glad that Rome got the intel from Stefan and Brit”—her man had played on the Gold before he played for Jean-Michel’s Eagles—“and they say you’re good people.”
“They’re the ones who are good,” I say. “Great,really. Stefan was there for me at a really tough time, and they looked out for me when they didn’t have to. So, yeah, they’re great.” I bumphershoulder this time. “Kind of like other people I know,” I say, nodding around the room.
“The feeling is mutual,” she says. “Mostly because he’s my dad and you make him happy and you stood by his side when my mom was pulling her shit a few weeks ago, and you didn’t hesitate when Rory and I kidnapped you?—”
Huh.
I just realized that seems to be a Dubois trait.
Shaking myself, I turn to her, “Chrissy, I?—”
She’s still talking. “But mostly because my dad likes you and I’m excited to spend more time with you because I like you too.”
“Dammit,” I whisper. “We just got it under control.” I sniff. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Then stop being so damned wonderful.”
Only, it’s not Chrissy speaking.
