“Kat?” I turn to see Andy blinking up at us.
Daniel’s right behind him.
“Ahhh, not just open legs. Open minds, and hearts, and…openness is good,” I ramble, glaring at Adam for not evaporating in a puff of smoke the moment Andy appeared.
Can’t he see he’s corrupting the next generation?
“Hey, Andy, go back to your room.”
The kid hesitates, but does what his dad says.
“Everything okay?” Daniel looks between us. His expression is dark, his posture stiff.
“Yeah. My…friend was just leaving.” I turn back to Adam.
“Come on, please Kat.”
Adam reaches for my arm, but Daniel moves between us. “She said you were leaving. Get out of my house.”
Adam straightens to his full height, which matches Daniel’s. My boss doesn’t flinch.
Eventually, Adam’s shoulders slump.
“Whatever. I’ll see you around.”
My heart thuds in my chest. Not out of fear, because he’d never touch me, but because of Daniel’s protectiveness.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I say once the door’s closed and we’re alone.
His expression doesn’t soften. “Was that Clay? The guy blowing up your phone?”
“No.”
I swallow the laugh, but that only seems to make him angrier.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny when strange boys show up at my house in front of my son.”
He emphasizes the word boys. It seems petty to point out Adam’s the same age as me.
“Adam’s harmless. I’d never put Andy at risk.”
“I’m his father. I’ll be the judge of that.”
The hairs on my neck lift. He’s implying I have bad judgment, but more than that, that I don’t care enough about his kid.
It hurts way more than I expect.
“Because you know everything. When was the last time you told him a story?” I demand, and Daniel frowns. “I tell him stories. That’s why he’s sleeping.”
“I don’t tell stories.”
“We all do. About our lives and the people we care about and what it all means. You do it at the front of a classroom. Hell, I bet you do it in the mirror at night, telling yourself that if you can just keep everyone and everything in order, life will be right again.” His nostrils flare. “How’s that working out for you?”
I brush past him for the stairs.
Jules: You going to the Kappa’s “Good Gone Bad” party?
There’s a photo of a flier along with the text.
Our kegs are going bad. So are we.
They have this party every year. It’s before Halloween and an excuse to bust out wild costumes.
That’s exactly what I need.
Put on a cute outfit.
See guys my age.
Drink a little.
Forget about the single dad who made me feel one inch tall this afternoon.
It’s the perfect way to get back to being a normal student and blow off some steam. I’m twenty-two. I don’t want to be sweating about my hot boss or anything bigger than making it to tomorrow.
I text back.
Kat: I’ll be there.
I file my nails into points, painting them neon yellow.
Next, I flip through all the clothing I brought.
Nope to a red dress.
Nope to skin-tight jeans.
Perfect.
Daniel hasn’t come out of his office all night.
After feeding me and Andy and getting him bathed and into bed, I went to my closet.
Now, I pull out a black faux-leather mini skirt and a bustier top. Then style my hair in sexy waves and apply liner and shadow, plus a slick of lip gloss before checking myself out in the floor-length mirror.
A surge of confidence flows through me.
The past week, I’ve been wearing more practical clothes. Tonight is my excuse to put on exactly what I want.
My attention lands on a set of fox ears I picked up at the Museum of Nature with Andy. I slip them on my head.
Hell yes.
After I grab black boots and a tiny clutch, I go down the hall to Daniel’s office door.
I start to knock but it’s ajar. Through the inches-wide gap, I spot Andy in his pajamas curled into his dad’s lap, his dad talking in low tones.
My anger softens in seconds. No matter what he said to me, it’s obvious how much love this man has for his kid.
When things got hard for these two, Daniel doubled down. Committed to be everything his kid needed, even when his life was challenging too.
This isn’t my family. They’re not mine, either of them. They’ll go back to this and I’ll be alone and that’s how I like it.
As if feeling my attention, Andy looks up.
“Kat!” He’s sleepy but still awake.
I push the door wide. “Hey. I didn’t hear you get up.”
“He wanted another story.” Daniel’s gaze runs over me, lingering on my heeled boots and mostly exposed legs before making its way to my face.
I tug my skirt so it covers my ass and a good quarter of my thigh. “I’m going out to a thing on campus.”
He crosses to the doorway, stopping just out of reach.
He smells like heaven, and I hate how much I want to stay.
Even after he gave me shit for no good reason.
Which is exactly why I’m going. To remind myself that this stupid attraction is a bad idea.
Daniel reaches toward my face. I think he’s going to touch me, but he only straightens my headband.
“I’ll wait up.”
It sounds like an apology.
I counter with an easy smile.
“Don’t.”
12
DANIEL
Kat is avoiding me.
She said she was going to campus.
A party no doubt.
Wearing an outfit that left little to the imagination.
I’m concerned. The guy at my door wanted her—her attention, her help, maybe more. And instead of telling me about it, she called me out on being a shitty father.
“How’s that working out?”
It pissed me off. I seethed and denied it.
But when my kid came down, I told him a story.
After getting Andy settled in bed, I head out to pace the back sunroom.
I can’t sleep. I pace the wooden floors, the boards creaking under my feet. I open the front door and stare out. My attention lands on the mailbox, the flag I still haven’t fixed.
Eventually, I hit a contact on my phone.
“You’re calling late,” my best friend answers dryly.
“Just put Andy to bed.”
“The nanny keeping you up?”
“She’s out.”
The low sound might be Sawyer’s chuckle. “That a yes or a no?”
“I need to go to Rona. Can you keep an eye on Andy for an hour?”
Ten minutes later, Sawyer’s installed in my living room and I’m pulling out of the driveway.
On the way to the hardware store, I take a detour.
Greek Row is big old houses and manicured lawns. Tonight, it’s alive with students crawling from one place to another.
Not every house is hosting an event—only two.