Page 7 of Breakaway Daddies

“Alright, alright,” I murmur, as I set my bag down with a small thud and make my way to the tanks.

I start with the turtles, watching as they paddle eagerly through the water to snap at the food I drop in. Then I move on to the frogs, who leap and gulp their meal with gusto, then Gremlin, before finally tending to the snakes, carefully placing their food in the terrarium.

With everyone fed and settling into their evening routine, I let out a deep, contented breath and lowered myself onto the floor beside Gremlin’s tank. I should probably head to bed, but the idea of sleep feels distant.

Instead, I pull out a blank canvas, unscrew a tube of paint, and squeeze a vibrant line onto my palette. With a steady hand, I let the brush dance across the canvas, the colors blending and swirling as my thoughts unwind with each stroke.

My hands work quickly, the form of a man and a woman’s body intertwined forming on the canvas before me. The outline of a woman’s hand across his back, her fingertips digging in, creating dents across his rippled flesh.

Vibrant purples, reds, and oranges flash across the canvas, creating the lights and shadows that bring the piece to life. I look at it for a moment, feeling my chest heaving with excitement as I take in my work.

I need to sleep.

I rinse my brushes in the sink, watching as the colors swirl together in a mesmerizing dance before turning a muddy, indistinct shade as they disappear down the drain.

The sharp, chemical scent of acrylic stubbornly clings to my hands as I scrub them vigorously, the cold water offering a soothing balm to my paint-stained fingers.

By the time I finally peel off my clothes and slip into the embrace of my bed, I expect exhaustion to swiftly pull me into a deep slumber.

But it doesn’t.

My mind becomes a restless adversary.

Thoughts of Rowan invade my consciousness: his strong build, the commanding way his presence fills a room, that undeniable magnetism.

Then, there’s Thomas. His effortless smile seems to light up any space, his hands always reaching, as if searching for something just beyond the horizon.

I bury my face in my pillow, a frustrated groan escaping my lips. Why am I consumed by thoughts of them now?

I picture Rowan pinning me against a wall, his hands possessively gripping my hips, an intoxicating mix of strength and desire.

I envision Thomas pressing his lips to my neck, whispering something suggestive and tantalizing in my ear. I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, my pulse racing beneath my skin like a runaway train.

Ugh, fuck me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to banish these vivid images, but they linger in the darkness, stirring a restless longing within me.

It takes over an hour for sleep to finally claim me.

But even then, I’m haunted by dreams of strong hands, warm mouths, and an unyielding heat that refuses to dissipate.

CHAPTERTWO

Rowan

I watchas Jinx strides away, her hips swaying beneath her black yoga pants, each assured step causing her perfectly shaped ass to move with a captivating grace.

Her walk exudes an effortless confidence, as if she commands every inch of the pavement beneath her feet, and it undeniably stirs something within me.

As I’m soaking in the scene, she abruptly spins around, catching me off guard. A wide smile, unapologetic, flashes across my face as I offer her a slow, deliberate wink.

A blush blooms up her neck, painting her cheeks a rosy pink, and she quickly diverts her gaze, pretending to be absorbed by the music blaring through her headphones. She bobs her head to the beat, but I can tell—she knows I was watching her every move.

I release a sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as she disappears around the corner and slips into the rink’s bustling lobby.

Damn, I want her. Bad. Like, really bad.

Jinx is like a complex, enigmatic puzzle that I can’t quite piece together. But I want to spend hours figuring out how every piece of her fits.

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