But am I still just a fuck buddy to her? I’m trying to earn trust to prove myself as a worthy…what? Boyfriend? That’s the next logical step. Is that where we’re heading? There’s only one answer to that. I can’t picture myself with anyone besides the woman enveloped in my hold.
“Take care of my little girl,” she whispers in my ear.
I press Keegan closer, reveling in the feel of her body aligning with mine. “Always,” I vow.
We break apart with a sigh, sharing a secret smile. Promises for after dark spark in the air crackling between us. She blows me a kiss, and I send her a wink. Cheesy as fuck, but the bizarre flurry of warmth spreading through my chest approves.
Millie is already waiting by the car. Even in the heat, she’s wearing her jacket and petting the pink sleeves. A surge of pride launches in my heart. It’s damn good to know I can do a few things right.
After getting situated and buckled in, we hit the road. The drive takes less than fifteen minutes. Millie fills the miles with entertaining chatter about Elsa and Keegan. I’m content to coast along while listening to her soft voice. It still boggles my mind that this little girl refuses to speak with some people. Around me, she’s nothing but outgoing and spirited. My lips lift on their own accord. Being good with kids, or rather one in particular, isn’t a talent I thought I’d acquire.
I park alongside the concrete building and hop out. Millie follows suit, letting Elsa run free along the way. Her gaze zips from one corner of my property to another as if witnessing everything for the first time. I guess it’s been over a month since she was here last. Damn, the days have flown.
“So, what should we do?” I open the main entrance and usher her inside.
“I get to choose again?”
“Of course, Peep. This is all about you.”
She taps her lips. “Do you have any motorcycles that need fixing?”
“Always. There’s never a shortage of broken bikes at my shop. That’s how I stay in business.”
Millie giggles. “Good thing you have me to help.”
“You can say that again.”
“We’ll make a great team, Ford. I won’t even make you pay me.”
She earns a loud laugh for that one. Millie joins in, her twinkling tune painting the dingy walls with glitter. Another roll of humor barrels through my chest as I stride over to the row of waiting projects.
I get a chopper rigged up on a set of blocks and open the engine cap. With a quick crank, I fire up the bike to get the fluids pumping. Then I lay out a few essential tools and grab a drain pan. Millie watches me silently, waiting for instructions. After I kill the pipes, I settle onto the ground beside her.
“We’re going to start by changing the oil. Sound fun?”
“Uh-huh. What’s the first thing we do?”
I explain the process as we go through the stages. This type of routine maintenance usually takes me less than half an hour. With Millie following along, I slow my pace so she can digest the steps. The steady flow of our work distracts me from the storm clouds rolling in.
Tires spitting up rocks is my only warning. When the red BMW comes into view, my gut plunges to the stained floor. A muted groan billows out of me. Talk about the worst fucking timing.
The little girl crouching beside me tracks the vehicle’s approaching path. “Who’s that?”
“My father.” I attempt to keep the bubbling hate out of my tone. The efforts fail as a burning inferno rages up my esophagus.
“Oh.” Millie visibly shrinks beside me. She’s smart to be wary. He never comes just to chat.
A boulder the size of Wyoming drops in my gut. This man has a sixth sense for showing up at the most unwelcome moments. Not that I ever enjoy his visits.
My father steps out of his luxury coupe, and he’s not alone. The passenger door opens and Grant appears. A growl strikes a match in my chest. The weasel brought reinforcements, of course.
I stand and move in front of Millie to block her from their view. Both men are imposing forces that I prefer not to wrestle with. If they stay out of my business, I’m more than happy to pretend neither of them exist. That’s how we’ve carried on for years, other than these inconvenient visits my father likes to taunt me with.
They pause before crossing the threshold into my garage. Smart decision, considering I’m ramped higher than a cage fighter facing his opponent. This is my turf to defend, and they’re about to cross the line. I flex my fingers, curling them into wrecking balls. Based on how they’re studying me, narrow eyes and stiff posture, my fuck-off vibe is coming across. But my father has never been one to surrender or accept defeat.
“Hello, son.” His tone is crisp, sending frost into the dehydrated air cloying at me.
The fire beneath my skin boils hotter. “What’re you doing here?”
“Cutting pleasantries? How surprising.”
I allow a sneer to curl my top lip. “Killing ’em with kindness isn’t my style.”
“Since my calls continue to go unanswered, I brought Grant along to talk some sense into you.” His snort is clogged with phlegm. I gag on a mouthful of bile. My father seems to take great pleasure in making me nauseous, a cruel smirk cracking his thin lips. “But now I can see that you’ve been preoccupied.”
“I’m a busy man. Feel free to leave the
