Page 54 of Playboy’s Purgatory

“You know,” he drawls lazily, “I was just in the neighborhood with some hot food and thought I’d stop in to see if you ladies were interested in dinner again.”

I eye the bags in his hands warily. Vanessa does not have the same reaction. She practically leaps out of her chair and rushes toward him.

She’s so fast that he doesn’t have time to brace himself and steps back half a step when she slams into him. Her arms wrap around his waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world while my heart clenches.

Every time I’ve watched Vanessa and Playboy interact, I’m left wondering if I’ve done her a disservice because she doesn’t have a father in her life. Lola didn’t know who the father was, there were too many possibilities, and it didn’t feel worth it at the time to figure it out.

I’m realizing now that it might have been a mistake.

“Jettson,” she gushes, “I had a feeling you’d be coming by tonight.”

“Are you psychic?” There’s a tease in his voice as he asks the question.

“Maybe,” Vanessa muses. “I should start playing the lottery.”

I chuckle at her words. Whenever she sounds like an adult, I find it both hilarious and sad. Time seems to move both too fast and too slow at the same time when it comes to being her parent.

Unable to help myself, I challenge him, but there’s no anger in my voice, “You were just in the neighborhood?”

“Well,” he considers me with a long look, “I was in town.”

Laugher comes out of me before I can stop it and his chocolate eyes light up like he just won something. Maybe he did. I can only shake my head at how ridiculous he is.

Having finished up, I walk around the counter and toward the front door. Vanessa is peering into the bag Playboy is holding and licking her lips.

“It smells good,” she chirps and I have to admit she’s right. It does.

When I take a step to pass him to lock the door of the bakery, his voice drops low enough for only me to hear, “If this isn’t okay, I can leave the food and go.”

It’s not his offer that has me stopping and looking at him; it’s the way he says it. There’s no avarice or calculation. He’s completely serious.

If I don’t want him here, if I don’t want to let him up to our home, he’ll walk away.

“No,” I murmur, “it’s okay.” I look down at the bag and then back up at him. “Since you were in the neighborhood, I can’t exactly turn you away.”

He grins from ear to ear and I find myself doing the same. It’s completely ridiculous. I should be keeping my distance from him except for our tattoo appointments. The fluttery feeling in my belly, the anticipation of spending more time with him, is proof I’m walking a dangerous line.

Part of me doesn’t even care.

“Good,” he grunts before straightening up slightly. He looks down at Vanessa, and his hand gently rests on her head. “Your mom gave me your drawing. It was really good. I put it on the wall in my shop.”

Vanessa’s eyes light up. “You put it on your wall?”

She doesn’t sound skeptical; she sounds thrilled. Not one part of her doesn’t trust Playboy.

“Yup,” he pops the p and winks at her. “Great art should be displayed.” He gets a thoughtful look on his face before tapping a blank space on his arm. “I’ve been thinking about having Riti tattoo your drawing right here.”

Vanessa practically falls over as her eyes go as wide as dinner plates. “You’d have my drawing tattooed on you? Like forever?”

“Just like forever,” he murmurs, his voice soft and indulgent in a way which slices right between my ribs.

Vanessa chatters away as we head upstairs, get drinks together, and sit around the table. There’s something surprisingly domestic about it.

I hate it.

I love it.

I’m all mixed up about it.