Page 48 of The Way We Collide

“I say.” Now it’s my turn to be stern. “Our agreement is for three months, then I’m going back to Atlanta to collect my trust and launch my career.”

“Why can’t you launch your career in Los Angeles?”

“It’s not what we agreed to do.”

“So change the agreement!”

“I’m not doing that.” My throat burns, and I shake my head. “Hendrix agreed to this to help me, and I won’t take advantage of his generosity.”

“Who says you would be?”

“He told me very plainly he’s not interested in settling down or even having a serious relationship. He’s focused on his career. He loves football. He’s building a legacy, and I’m not going to get all clingy and make him sorry he helped me.” Heat is in my chest. “That’s not who I am.”

“Okay.” My sister’s lips pull into a frown, and she exhales heavily. “What a waste.”

“Anyway, I’m focused on my career, too,” I push back. “I have goals and dreams, and that means sometimes you have to make sacrifices.”

“So you’re going to sacrifice your libido just so you don’t get attached to the father of your child?”

“Yes.” My answer is firm.

“I give it two weeks before you’re boning til the cows come home.”

I’m about to argue when I hear a noise in the kitchen.

“Honey, I’m home!” Hendrix teasingly calls to me, and my neck heats.

“Da da da!” Haddy squeals, bending her knees and dropping to the carpet in an effort to crawl to him.

“Where’s my little nugget?” Hendrix breezes into the room, in full view of the phone.

Mimi’s eyes widen, and she smiles like she already won. “Make that one week.”

“Later, gator.” I press the button as she sayscrocodile, and my phone screen goes black.

Hendrix scoops up our baby, and she pats his face, repeating her new word. “That’s right, Dada’s home.”

She continues making noises like she’s actually trying to talk to him, and I cross my arms, pretending to pout. It’s impossible when he leans forward to kiss her neck, and our daughter lets out a belly laugh.

Hendrix’s eyes are shining when they meet mine, and I swallow my swoon. My sister is right. My husband is truly a work of art, all six-foot-two, toned muscles of him.

The ends of his brown hair are damp, like he showered before coming home. His jaw is square with a hint of scruff, and he’s wearing a blue T-shirt that stretches across his muscled chest. The short sleeves stretch around his biceps, and his jeans hug his tight ass. Such a nice tight end.

Inhaling warm, woodsy vanilla, I exhale a sigh. It really is unfair how perfect he is, and I’ve taken a vow of chastity.

“You know on the West Coast, hurricanes are called cyclones?” I find meteorological facts highly effective at killing lust.

Almost as effective as a bucket of cold water.

Full lips part over a straight, white smile. “I think I knew that one.” He nods at my phone. “Who was that?”

“My sister called to see Haddy—and to see how things are going.” I reach up to rub her little back. “I also talked to my dad.”

His dark brows rise. “What’d he say?”

“Oh, you know. He was pouty at first. Then he came around the more we talked. He said he’d liked to have been here, but… you know.”

His jaw tightens, and he nods. “I can understand that. It’s a big step, and he’s your dad.”

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