Page 39 of Breakaway Daddies

I pause in the doorway, a pang of guilt twisting in my chest for disturbing her peace. But as I watch her, so small and vulnerable, a deep sense of protectiveness wells up inside me.

I let out a weary sigh and slip off my worn-out sneakers, the laces flopping lazily to the floor. I crawl under the covers and settle into the familiar warmth beside her.

The moment my head hits the pillow, she instinctively shifts closer, her body curling into mine as if she had been waiting for this moment. Her skin is warm, and her gentle breath brushes against my collarbone, a soothing rhythm that calms my racing mind.

I drape an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until there isn’t an inch of space between us. Right now, in the stillness of the night, she feels incredibly precious in my embrace.

A lump forms in my throat as I realize just how much she means to me. It’s more than I’ve ever expressed, more than I even understood before this quiet moment.

She murmurs, her voice thick and drowsy with sleep, “Someone needs to feed my babies.”

I grimace, already envisioning the task ahead: feeding her collection of snakes and reptiles. “Yeah, yeah. I got it,” I reply, resigned to the chore, but I’ll happily feed reptiles if it means I get to have Jinx in bed.

I carefully slide out of bed, making sure not to disturb her as I tuck the blankets gently around her sleeping form. The quiet padding of my footsteps barely makes a sound as I move toward the office, where her collection of terrariums and glass enclosures line the walls.

The moment I step inside, the lizards lift their heads, their eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity. Their unblinking gaze sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but mutter under my breath, “Creepy little bastards.”

Despite the eerie feeling, I get to work, measuring and distributing the appropriate food into each enclosure. I glance at the water bowls, ensuring they’re filled just right.

The snakes lie still, their coiled bodies motionless in their habitats, which somehow feels more unnerving than if they were actively slithering around. I can’t shake the feeling they’re silently plotting something.

As I finish my tasks, the sound of footsteps echoes down the hall. Bruno and Rowan appear in the doorway, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Rowan crosses his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed.

“How’s she doing?” he asks, his voice low.

“Sleeping,” I reply, glancing back toward the bedroom.

Bruno’s frown deepens. I nod toward the bedroom, gesturing for them to check on her. “Go see for yourselves,” I suggest.

They exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them before they turn and head down the hall. Left alone with the still, watchful reptiles, I can’t shake the feeling of being observed from every angle.

When I’m finally done, the house is hushed, the only sounds being the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant rustle of fabric.

I tiptoe down the dim hallway, peeking into the bedroom.

There they are: Bruno and Rowan. Each on either side of Jinx, their large frames curled protectively around her like loyal guard dogs. Bruno’s muscular arm is draped over her waist, while Rowan’s hand rests gently on her shoulder.

I can’t help but grin at the sight. These big, intimidating hockey players look as harmless as sleeping puppies.

Staring at them, I feel a comforting warmth spreading through my chest, like the glow of a crackling fire.

This is the longest I’ve ever stayed interested in a girl, the longest I’ve ever actually committed to something without hesitation or doubt.

And you know what?

It feels nice. Really nice.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Jinx

The past twoweeks have been a whirlwind, and it’s not just because I’m clandestinely involved with three different men, like someone straight out of a steamy romance novel. No, there’s a deeper, more profound shift happening within me—both physically and emotionally.

Each morning, I wake up with a tight, uncomfortable knot twisting in my stomach, and it’s not just the typical jitters. I’ve become adept at masking it, though.

I brush my teeth twice before breakfast, trying to erase the bitter, lingering taste of nausea. My day is punctuated by the rhythmic chewing of mint gum, and I keep ginger candies stashed in every pocket for quick relief.

The intimacy, though?

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