Page 32 of Off-Limits Daddy
Silence buzzed between us, stretching thin, like fishing line pulled tight across open water.
Another voice called for Cael again.
“Gotta go. Client’s ready.” He blew me a kiss. “Go get your guy, Ari.”
The call ended, leaving me staring at my reflection on the darkened screen.
Go get my guy.
Easier said than done.
But maybe... not impossible.
Not anymore.
TWELVE
ARI
Group texts were exhausting on a good day. Add one near-drowning and suddenly everyone in town wanted to be your best friend.
My thumb hovered over the latest message from some guy I barely remembered from high school—something about prayers, something about howGod must’ve had a plan—and I nearly dropped the phone in favor of rolling my eyes straight out of my head.
I was debating whether I could fake being asleep when a knock sounded at the door.
Not Mom’s knock. Hers was always rushed, like she was running late to check on me.
This one was slower. Intentional.
But when the door eased open, it wasn’t Mom.
It was him.
Daddy stood there, jeans low on his hips, fresh T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. Clean. Sharp. Too much. Too much and not enough, all at once.
And he was holding a package.
“Brought you something,” he said, voice low.
“Is it another near-death experience? Because I’m kind of booked on those this week.”
That earned me a twitch of his mouth. Almost a smile. Dangerous thing, that.
He stepped inside, quiet on bare feet. A bag hung from his fingers as he moved closer. When he reached the side of the bed, he hooked the handle of the bag on one finger, holding it out between us. “Figured you could use something to do that doesn’t involve dodging texts from kids who used to cheat off your homework.”
I pushed up onto my elbows. “You’ve been spying on my phone now?”
His mouth curved at the corner, making the man look infuriatingly sexy. “Spying? Nah. This place runs on routine—and gossip.”
Okay. Fair.
When I reached for the bag, his hand shifted, knuckles brushing mine. Stupid, how much that did to me. Just that one soft drag of skin, and suddenly I was hot under the collar, like my nerves had been waiting for this exact excuse to act out.
I curled my fingers around the handle, breaking the touch before I embarrassed myself. Inside were sketchbooks, pencils, a tin of charcoal with a sleek metal lid. Better than anything I usually bought for myself. Thoughtful in a way that made it harder to breathe.
“How did you kn?—?”
His gaze held mine for a second... and then, gently, he pried the bag from my hand. “I pay attention.”
