Page 97 of Skate the Line

What the fuck was I thinking?

Emory snorted each time I’d pull my phone out.

Though, at one point, he was even watching the videos of her furiously working over a canvas with colorful paints. It was pretty damn mesmerizing.

Malaki eventually snatched it out of my hand with a cocky smirk on his face that I wanted to wipe off with my fist.

“Afraid of men?” Malaki asked after reading my screen.

I glanced away, refusing to spill her secrets.

“That’s unnerving. Do we need to fuck someone up?”

I grunted. If I knew who it was, yes.

“There. Problem solved.”

It took me far too long to read what he’d typed, but he assured me I’d thank him in the morning.

Which I did.Silently.

Things could have taken a turn for the worse, and I could have lost the best nanny I’ve ever had. Ellie would have been devastated, and I would have been granted theworst dad everaward.

I pull in front of the house and sit in my truck for a few seconds to mentally prepare myself to face Sunny. I’m man enough to apologize for my inappropriate texts, but I’ll only do so if she acts awkward.

Maybe she’ll just do what Malaki said and pretend I wasn’t drunk-texting her and implying things that are completely inappropriate.

Shit.

My hand moves across my in-need-of-a-shave face.

Since when do I get all bent out of shape over a woman? Usually, I’d be nonchalant, and I wouldn’t give a damn what was thought about me or how I made her feel.

I pause outside of the door with my bag slung over my shoulder.

I’m afraid to lose her.

Not in the way that most men would be, I’m sure. But as a single father who is struggling to make up for Ellie not getting the attention she deserves and for her lack of a mother, I am.

I sigh and go inside. I’m immediately hit with Sunny’s signature scent.

Coconut.

My mouth waters.

The floors are shiny, and I'm comforted that her shoes are tucked neatly underneath the entryway table.

At least I didn’t scare her off.

I place my keys in the catch-all basket and drop my bag near her shoes.

The sound of feet shuffling on the floor catches my attention. I slowly head toward the noise and find her in the kitchen with her back facing me.

Tight leggings draw my attention to her curves.

A hot swallow works itself down to the pit of my stomach where my conscience lies.

She’s bent over, paying close attention to whatever is on the counter, giving me even more room to trace her perfect round peach.

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