Page 32 of My Hotshot

Maybe I wouldn’t be seeing her anytime soon. I hadn’t thought it through last night, not really. I’d let myself enjoy it—her, the quiet, the memory of what we used to be—but reality was crashing in now.

Boone and Gibbs were still out there. Still dangerous. And I was going to be tied up with this promo shoot and whatever else the production crew dreamed up in their quest to make us look good.

Bringing Lainey into all of this?

Might not be the smartest move.

She didn’t need this world and this chaos. And I didn’t need another weakness on the board—not right now.

Later might be better. Safer.

I tapped out a message to her and sat back in my chair.

I sat there and hoped like hell I’d figure out what to do before I lost my shot with her all over again.

Chapter Eleven

Lainey

I poured my third cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen island. One hand wrapped around the warm mug and the other massaging my temple like that would somehow make the dull ache go away. The caffeine was doing its best, but I was still one degree south of functional.

“Mom, I’m home!” Lottie’s voice rang through the front door.

I smiled, just a little. Something about hearing her call out like that always settled the chaos in my chest. “I’m in the kitchen,” I called.

Lottie padded in with her overnight bag and dropped it with a thunk onto the hardwood floor. She took one look at me and wrinkled her nose. “You look tired.”

I raised a brow. “Hello to you, too.”

She laughed and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Sorry. Hello, Mom.” She paused dramatically. “You look tired.”

I took a slow sip of my coffee. “I stayed up late watching TV.”

“Really? I figured you would’ve been out by eight.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m thirty-four, Lottie, not eighty-four.”

She snorted and walked over to the trash, pulled a wrapper from her hoodie pocket, and tossed it. “You didn’t do anything else?” she asked casually, moving to the fridge and opening the door.

I kept my expression neutral, though a small flutter stirred in my stomach. “Just had Chinese, pigged out on stuff from the farmers market, and watched TV. I started a show about tow truck drivers.”

That wasn’t a lie. I just… conveniently left out that a six-foot-something, tattooed blast from my past had been on the couch beside me for most of it.

Lottie turned with a bottle of water and twisted the cap. “Tow truck drivers?” She laughed. “That sounds a bit out of the norm for you.”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know what my norm is anymore.”

“Are you going to become a tow truck driver now?” she teased.

I rolled my eyes and took another sip of coffee. “That is a negative. I’m more than okay running my marketing business. Pretty sure I can’t be a tow truck driver from my computer in the spare bedroom.”

“Touché,” Lottie said, grinning. “I don’t think you could fit a tow truck in there.”

We both laughed, and it felt good. Easy.

“How was your night?” I asked. “Did you have fun at the movies?”

She nodded and leaned against the counter. “Yeah, it was good. We had pizza and tacos at Tiff’s and just hung out all night.”

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