Page 106 of If Love Had A Manual

Rubbing my hand down my face, I blow out a ragged breath and follow the sound downstairs.

And the sight is like a punch to the gut.

Fuck me.

Rosie’s in Lena’s arms, squealing with laughter as Lena spins them both in circles.

Lena’s wearing my T-shirt.

There’s the third red flag.

It’s so damn big on her that it brushes her thighs. Her legs are bare, and her hair is tangled from sleep and everything we did. I wish I could say it was just once, but when I woke in the middle of the night and found her bare skin pressed against me, my cock was hard as a rock. So yeah, I woke her.

All this scene does is remind me of that.

Of her underneath me, of how her breath hitched when I kissed down her neck. Of the way her nails scraped down my back as I fucked her, whispering filthy things in her ear, dragging it out until we were both wrecked, trembling, and desperate for more.

My jaw clenches because I can’t go there. Not now.

None of it matters if it risks her being in Rosie’s life.

That’s the part that gets me, the thing I can’t ignore, no matter how fucking good last night was.

I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms and watching as Lena twirls Rosie around again, both of them laughing and completely oblivious to the fact that my entire world just tilted on its axis.

Lena spots me first.

She slows, her breath coming out uneven as she holds Rosie tighter. “Morning.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Morning? Try almost noon.”

“Figured I’d let you sleep. You looked like you needed it.”

I huff out a laugh and dip my chin. “Yeah, well, someone wore me out.”

Her cheeks flush.

Rosie finally notices me then. Her face lights up as she wriggles in Lena’s arms. “Dada!”

I push off from the doorway and head toward them, taking Rosie from Lena. She immediately grabs my face, patting my cheeks and babbling nonsense.

I kiss her forehead before looking back at Lena. She’s watching me, expression unreadable.

We need to talk. We both know it.

But right now?

Right now, I don’t fucking care.

Not when Rosie’s safe in my arms.

Not when Lena’s standing in my living room, wearing my shirt, looking like she belongs here.

“The Cure, huh?” I ask, eyeing the record player as Rosie nestles closer against my chest.

Lena grins and tickles Rosie’s side. “We were having a dance party. Saturday morning essentials.”

She starts to sway her hips again, her bare legs shifting as the hem of my shirt inches higher with every twist of her body.

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