Page 25 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

You cannot be that girl again.

“Well,” Wayne finally says in the calmest manner possible. “We can head over to the house now. I thought it’d be easier to show you where you’ll be staying and go over Evan’s routine there.”

Right.

The child.

The reason I’m here. The reason this isn’t just a spectacularly awkward coincidence but an actual, real problem I have to navigate without giving anyone a reason to look at me sideways.

The reason I can’t afford to mess this up.

“Sure,” I say quickly. “That sounds good.”

Hank straightens. “I’ll stay here and pretend to work.”

“You do that every day,” Wayne mutters.

Hank clutches his chest. “Wow. Betrayal before nine a.m.”

I want to hug him. Or cling to him. Or ask him to keep talking forever so I don’t have to think.

Wayne grabs his jacket and keys. He doesn’t look at me as he walks past, and the space he leaves between us feels intentional.

A familiar, ugly thought rears its head.

He regrets it.

He thinks I crossed a line.

My throat tightens as I follow him outside, my pulse pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

The drive is too quiet.

Wayne’s truck rumbles beneath us, and I’m painfully aware of how close we are despite the distance he’s creating. My knee brushes the door. His hand rests on the steering wheel, knuckles scarred, grip loose but controlled.

I sit stiffly, terrified of moving wrong. Of breathing wrong.

This shouldn’t feel like this.

But my body doesn’t know the difference between awkward and danger. It just knows I’m alone in a car with a man who now has power over my housing, my job, my stability.

Power I didn’t consent to last night.

I stare out the window and try to remember how to be normal.

Well, if he’s not going to mention last night, then I won’t either. But I need to break this silence somehow.

“So,” I say, because if I don’t speak, I might implode. “Um. Thank you. For… for hiring me. I know live-in is a big thing.”

“You have a good resume,” he replies evenly. “And the timing worked.”

That’s it.

No warmth. No reassurance. No acknowledgment of the fact that we shared a bed, a breath, a moment that felt real.

It feels like being erased in real time.

What do I even say to that?