Page 9 of The Au Pair Affair

That he’d probably lose another one every season until he retired.

Sighing over the unwanted thoughts, he hit play again on the tutorial, though he wasn’t really seeing it now. He was thinking about Tallulah—again—wondering if she’d connected with Chloe and started the move-in process. He’d searched crime statistics in the neighborhood and done a Google street view of the building, satisfying himself that it was safe.

Didshelike it, though?

“Dad, can you justtry?”

He dragged two hands down his face. “Why the sudden need for this complicated hairstyle?”

“It’snotcomplicated. We have a volleyball scrimmage today and everyone on the team is going to have their hair French braided. I was the only one who didn’t have their hair braided last time.” She plucked at the black hairband around her wrist. “I don’t want to be left out again.”

Sympathy nudged him in the chest. “Did they plan it without you?”

Her face turned red, eyes suddenly full of tears. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know. Sorry.” Christ, he didn’t understand his own daughter. Every time he opened his mouth that became more and more obvious. He’d had no sisters. No siblings at all growingup. His youth was nothing but hockey, as was the entire life that followed. French braids and training bras and the politics of elementary school girls were an alien language to him that became more indecipherable by the day. Whenever it was Burgess’s turn to have Lissa, she grew more unreachable. Or he grew denser. It was hard to say which.

“All right, let’s do it.” He stood up and circled the couch, accepting the comb she handed him. “Trial and error is obviously how I’m going to learn, because Braiding Besties on YouTube isn’t cutting it.”

Lissa turned so her back was propped up against the arm of the sofa, muttering, “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Guess what? She was lying.

Yes, it fuckingdidhave to be perfect.

Burgess watched his blunt, crooked fingers move in an unnatural pattern, attempting to weave hair into something resembling a braid, but one section went misplaced every time. The three pieces were uneven, leaving him without enough hair to complete the braid. Or bumps. Bumps appearing out of virtually nowhere. And bulges. Plus, she kept pulling out these little strands around her templeson purpose.

“Why are you doing that?”

“It looks cuter that way.”

“They didn’t do that in the video.”

“Oh my gosh! Sowhat?”

Burgess shut his mouth and reached for the rubber band, securing the uneven bottoms of the three sections, praying to the God of Single Dads that it was good enough. When he heard tears coming from the bathroom a minute later, he knew the braid hadn’t passed muster and he hung his head, massaging both eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m not going to school.”

“Youaregoing to school,” he said patiently. “I have a meetingwith the Bearcats manager this morning and practice in the afternoon. I won’t be home to watch you today.”

“Can I go with you?”

The desperation in her voice raised his antennae. Was something going on at school with her classmates? Was her whiplash mood about more than a braid? And if so, was he even qualified to handle the problem? “Lissa—”

The apartment buzzer rang, cutting him off. Both of their gazes zipped to the door. It wasn’t unusual for Burgess to get deliveries. There was always stuff coming in. Equipment samples, shit he needed to autograph, game footage sent from the coaching staff. However, the doorman usually accepted the delivery for Burgess to collect later. No reason the buzzer should be going off.

“Hold on a second,” he said, crossing the floor of the living room to the electronic panel on the wall, tapping the button that would bring up the security feed from the lobby.

Tallulah stood there with her arms crossed.

Just like every other time he saw this particular woman, the muscles in his stomach flexed involuntarily, his pulse doing something ridiculous in his neck. He got sweaty without actually being sweaty, which made no sense. This morning’s reaction was no exception. Although this time, a touch of dread crept into the pleasure he got simply from looking at her.

Because that was one ticked-off lady.

His love life might be nonexistent now, but he’d gone through a divorce.

Therefore, he knew.

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