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It was pure instinct; her body’s innate reaction to a volatile man baring his teeth at her.

I felt like shit.

Halley Foster was getting under my skin like a splinter. Poking, painful, and increasingly hard to ignore. Of course, my steady presence at this house had made the much-needed distance difficult, so I’d had to settle for digging her out of me with a dull pair of tweezers. The residual sting lingered, and she was determined to crawl back inside.

Halley jutted her tongue between her lips as her gaze settled on Ladybug and her shoulders deflated. “Are you staying the night?”

I scratched at the back of my neck. “No. Why would I?”

“With Whitney.”

Frowning, I shook my head. “Whitney and I aren’t together.” We weren’t, and we never would be again. I admired, respected, and cared about Tara’s mother, but we didn’t fit romantically. Ten years ago, we’d become oil and water, and it wasn’t a recipe I was looking to try again. “Are you going out with Tara tonight?”

“No. I have a date.”

My eyes skimmed over her, from toes to top. She was all dolled up with curls in her hair, her slender body encased in black leather that accentuated her curves. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl, her dark-berry lips lined with sadness, reminding me of the night we’d met. “A date?” I hedged. “What’s his name?”

“He’s a friend of Jay’s. Why does it matter?”

It didn’t matter, therefore, I didn’t have an answer for her. “Jay’s in his twenties.”

“So?” Her lips pursed. “I’ve been with older.”

I ground my teeth together.

I refused to flash back to that night on Jay’s bed when my tongue was in her mouth and my fingers were buried deep inside her. She’d been soaked. Aching for me. Needy, bold, and devastatingly willing. She’d seemed experienced, and while the notion had spurred me on at the time, now it only festered in the back of my mind, clouding me with dark, toxic thoughts.

How many men has she been with?

Jesus. It didn’t fucking matter.

Not at all.

We stood across from each other in tense silence while Ladybug tugged at the leash, eager to escape our silent standoff.

Halley sighed before whirling around and heading toward the front door. “I made a turkey casserole,” she called over her shoulder. “Enjoy.”

Then she stormed inside the house.

My breath looked like a plume of smoke when I huffed out a long sigh, letting Ladybug do her business before shuffling inside and unhooking the leash. Maybe I’d overstepped with Pimple Guy, but that shit didn’t fly with me. Guilt-tripping girls into going to the bluffs—a place notorious for drugs and hookups—was where I drew the line.

Maybe it was my protective, fatherly instincts kicking in.

Or maybe I was feeling even more protective of her after the incident out on the deck. A way to right my wrongs.

Regardless, it was for her own good.

Halley was nowhere in sight when I slipped off my boots and found Whitney in the kitchen, stirring gravy in a saucepan. “Hey,” I greeted.

She glanced up. “Hey. It’ll just be the three of us tonight. Halley has a date.”

I pressed my tongue against my cheek, wondering where they were going, what they planned to do. Halley had been living here for almost two months and I hadn’t seen her socialize much, aside from mall adventures with Tara and a handful of park dates. Not that I was any different. I’d left all of my friends and social acquaintances back in Charleston, and it wasn’t easy for me to make new connections. I was too busy, too guarded.

“All right.” I eyed the array of food dishes on the counter. “Dinner looks good.”

“I whipped up a gravy to go with the potatoes, but Halley made the casserole. She’s talented. I’ll admit, I’m going to be disappointed when she moves out.”

I shouldn’t feel the same, but some part of me wondered if I’d also be disappointed. Halley was a good cook and my daughter had never looked happier than when the two of them were playing games, watching movies together, and gossiping until dusk. Whitney seemed happier, too.

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