Page 22 of I Knead You Tonight

“Then Simon is your dad, right?”

“Yeah…” I draw out. “Who are you again?”

She places her hand in mine. “I’m Drew Woods. Your dad just hired me for the waitressing position.”

“What waitressing position? We aren’t hiring.”

“We are now,” my dad interrupts, appearing behind the bar, arms crossed, eyes hard. “Winston, you’re fired.”

Mouth agape, I glance back at Drew, who is barely holding back her laughter.

“Guess I just took your job. Tough luck, virgin.”

And just like that, I hated her.

I mean, sure, my dad gave me my job back after two days of begging, but whatever.

The damage was done.

It didn’t matter that she had an amazing rack or that her curves were what dreams are made of. It didn’t matter that her sharp tongue made me laugh more than it ever hurt me.

I hated her because she was everything I always wanted and nothing I could ever touch. She wouldn’t let me get that close; that much was obvious, so I’ve kept my distance. Played into our game of who can hurt who the most. Let everyone think we’re mortal enemies all while I have to talk my dick down any time I’m around her.

I hate Drew Woods.

But not because I don’t like her.

I hate her because I do like her…and she won’t let me have her.

“There. That should do,” Drew says as she arranges the pillows on the couch for the millionth time.

I have no idea how they ended up on my bill, but I’d already swiped my card and the last thing I wanted to do was stand there arguing with the salesperson when there was a screaming baby in my ear, especially after we’d already been there for so many damn hours.

Decorative pillows it is.

“I’m going to go make us some dinner, if that’s okay.”

“You don’t have to ask my permission to eat, Drew.”

“You know, I was going to ask if you wanted me to make enough for two but”—she lifts a shoulder—“go fuck yourself.”

I bark out a laugh.

Only she would be brave enough to tell the person helping her to go fuck himself.

She flounces out of the room, not a care in the world.

I stare down at the baby sleeping on my brand-new couch, barricaded in with pillows. It’s hard for me to fathom how something so sweet could come out of something so sassy.

He looks so tiny, his little hands balled into fists as he snoozes away. His cheeks are chubby, and bright red hair peeks out from under the hood of his polar bear jammies.

Which is odd, because neither his mother nor his shitbag father have red hair.

I would know. I had my fingers tangled in a fistful of it as I held him off the ground.

When I found out how he reacted to Drew being pregnant, never coming around and basically calling her a whore and saying the baby wasn’t his behind her back, I didn’t waste any time in hunting his ass down and giving him a piece of my mind…and my fist.

“Fine.” I snap my eyes Drew’s way as she stomps back into the living room. “I’ll—” She pauses, her attention dropping to the couch. “You can hold him. If you want to, I mean.”

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