Page 46 of The Big Puck

“It’s Krissy,” she says. Before I finish my next ragged breath, she flies from my arms to the stairs and races up with quick taps of her heels, disappearing and taking with her all the heady escape from reality I was shamefully feasting on.

Sweeping a shaky hand through my hair, I head for the kitchen to the refrigerator and grab one of the Night Shift beers from my emergency stash in the back. I was saving them for either an emergency or a celebration—whichever came first.

Guess which this is.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I twist off the cap and take a long swig from the cold bottle, thinking I ought to pour it down my pants to cool off my dick, when Lainey trots down the back stairs holding Krissy. They’re a matched pair, both gorgeous, disoriented, and a little rumpled, Krissy from sleep and Lainey—from being kissed to within an inch of…going somewhere I have no right to take her.

But as long as she holds Krissy in her arms, or I do, all is right between us.

The doorbell rings, and she looks at me.

“It’s Shonda,” I confirm.

Fuck.

Chapter 17

SPENCER

She stares at me with those big blue eyes, and even I know we need to clear the air because this is so fucked up. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and I need to put her mind at ease, to apologize, to beg forgiveness for letting her tempt me.

Then I need to ask her what the fuck she was thinking, inviting me to kiss her in the first place. Because what the fuck’s with that?

But I can’t do any of that right now because the doorbell rings again while I stand planted, mute, and breathing too hard, clueless what to say to Lainey and knowing Shonda’s not a patient woman.

“I need to get that.”

She nods like a bobble-head on speed, and I move fast to the front hall, running my hand through my hair as if that’ll help anything and attempting to get my breathing under control. When I realize I still have the bottle of beer in my hand, I figure what the hell and guzzle the rest down. Placing the empty bottle on the new entry hall table—courtesy of Lainey—I pull open the front door to greet Shonda.

“What took you so long to answer the door? I thought you were going to be happy to see me after all this time.” She steps inside, leaving her bags on the front porch, and wraps her arms around me, aiming her face up to mine.

I’d forgotten how much shorter she is than me as I lower my mouth for a kiss, hoping the beer washed the taste of Lainey away. Her lips touch mine, and she opens up for a deep big hello kiss which I’m not at all ready for.

Two hot kisses from two different women in two minutes after two months of nothing is like going from the arid depths of Death Valley to drowning in lake Winnipesaukee. What jumps out at me immediately is that the kisses are completely different, and my dick knows it.

I cut Shonda’s kiss short. Then turn when I hear Krissy behind me. With Lainey. Fuck. I hope to hell she didn’t see Shonda kissing me. When my gaze meets Lainey’s big confused blue ones, there’s no doubt she saw that kiss. Double fuck.

Well, what the fuck did you think was going to happen when you invited Shonda here for the weekend?

“And who do we have here?” Shonda says, staring at Lainey with a smile that looks like it would crack into a million little pieces if I touched it.

“This is Krissy’s nanny. Lainey. Hall.” Awkward much. I can barely meet Lainey’s eyes, or look at her just-kissed lips, moist and plump. The muscles in my shoulders tighten like someone’s winding the screws to make them taut enough to snap.

“I’m Shonda Evans, Spencer’s long-lost girlfriend, who I doubt he mentioned to you. He certainly didn’t mention you to me.”

It takes only two bats of her eyelashes for Lainey’s smile to take over as she comes forward to greet Shonda with undeserved warmth.

“I’ve heard all about you, Shonda. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve only been working for Spen—Mr. Logan for a week, and I’m sure he’s had plenty of better things to talk to you about than me.” She reaches out to shake Shonda’s hand when I know for a fact she would normally hug a person.

But she reads Shonda right. My girlfriend takes her hand with shameful reluctance and a suspicious squint in her eyes.

“And this is Krissy,” I say, taking her from Lainey’s arm. Touching her as we transfer the baby like we’ve done dozens of times before feels more intimate this time, as if we have a shared secret. Because we do. My chest tightens when we exchange a look for the briefest of seconds, and I wonder if she can read my mind.

Let’s pretend the kiss between us never happened and make sure it never happens again. It was a mistake.

She withdraws her hands abruptly as if she got my message and averts her eyes as if she can’t stand to look at me. She probably can’t—because from where she stands, I look like a cheating asshole. Fuck. Maybe I am.