Page 125 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

He didn’t recognize himself, and it made him smile.

Because it wasn’t half-bad.

But the chef and bartender were coming, so his hellcat had gone downstairs to get them set up. Since then, he’d been catching up on work. He checked on the player’s brother in Memphis and arranged a discreet tow truck for an athlete who ran his car off the road and plowed through a fence on private property.

“Dude, road head,” the football player had said. “You’re not gonna pass that up.”

Now, he was showered and dressed and heading downstairs. Because, frankly, he’d run out of excuses. Today, the guests would start arriving. Including his high school friends.

He shouldn’t be this anxious about it. Enough time had passed that it shouldn’t matter.

And even if they’d tried to stay in touch, it wouldn’t have amounted to anything. Booker had moved away. In any event, he had more important things on his plate than worrying about guys he hadn’t seen in nearly thirteen years.

He’d been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he only noticed the quiet as he crossed the living room. He checked the time. Shouldn’t they have a full house by now? Low conversation came from the kitchen, and he entered to find Stevie, her grandparents, and Hellcat.

Buds of happiness bloomed in his heart when he saw her holding a spoon to their daughter’s mouth. She was so pretty. And that blush reminded him she was well-fucked.

Which sent a surge of desire roaring through him.

She glanced up. “Oh, hey.” She stopped talking as they held a knowing gaze, her cheeks burning, and a smile brightening her features. “We’ve got a change of plans.”

Stevie ignored her because she was busy voicing a conversation between a fork and a spoon.

“Honey, come on.” Hellcat grew exasperated. “The sooner you eat, the sooner we can get to the festival.”

“Wild West Days?” Booker headed for the French press. “Aren’t the guests showing up today?” They’d planned a spa day.

Hellcat abandoned the spoon and got up, leaving her parents to deal with the preoccupied toddler. “Ginty’s teammates can’t come till later because they’re working the festival.”

“Working?”

“Yeah, he forgot about it because he was supposed to be in St. Lucia right now. It’s the travel hockey team’s annual fundraiser, and the team raffles off signed jerseys, sticks, and pucks. So, we’re going to meet everyone at the fairgrounds. It’ll be fun. We’ll spend the afternoon there, grab some dinner?—”

“Cone doggies!” Stevie shouted with glee.

“There won’t be any corn dogs if you don’t eat your lunch.” Her grandpa held the spoonful of yogurt to the little girl’s face, but she was distracted by Ginty coming in through the back door.

He clapped his hands. “Noa’s looking for a hat to match her outfit, so we should be ready sometime next week.”

Everyone laughed. “Let the woman have the right disguise,” Hellcat said. “Unless you want her to sign autographs instead of winning the baseball toss for the second year in a row.”

Ginty held up both hands. “Whatever makes her happy.” He clapped Booker on the back. “Hey, man. Had an idea. What if I called the Canadian kid’s family and told them my experience as a client? Might help.”

“What a goodfriend.” Hellcat had her gaze on Booker.

“I’ll tell them how your primary concern is your clients’ well-being and not the bottom line,” Ginty said.

“Let me see how it plays out, but I appreciate it.”

“One bite, okay?” Stevie’s grandpa said.

Booker headed to the table. “What kind of yogurt is that?”

Stevie looked to her grandpa, who said, “Vanilla.”

“Cool. You know what I like in my vanilla yogurt?”

She clutched the table as she swiveled her whole body back and forth to say no.

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