Page 29 of Second Chance Daddy
The door jingles. Tina struts in like we’re on the Vegas strip, heels that’ll take her down faster than tequila shots if she hits the wrong tile, giant sunglasses, the works.
“Yesterday was wild,” she says, peeling off her jacket. “Some finance bro practically begged for your number.”
“Hard pass.” I hand her a coffee.
“Why? He’s cute, single, loaded.” She counts off on her fingers. “And not a psycho like Gino.”
“Low bar, Tina.” I roll my eyes. “Besides, I don’t have time to date. I’ve got Aria, the bakery?—”
“Oh, come on, Cass. You need to get laid—scratch that—you need a vacation with a hot stranger with abs. I’ll watch Aria for you, I swear…”
Her words are background noise to the mental slideshow I can’t turn off: Dante on repeat.
Driving away from him while my muscles still contracted from the pleasure he’s given me, and his juices leaked down my thighs. How, two months later, I’d stared at a positive pregnancytest with trembling hands. How I’d let Gino believe the baby was his, because Dante was gone, and Gino was there, yelling at me about the divorce papers we were about to sign, and I was scared.
“Hello, bitch? Am I dead or something?”
“What? Sorry.” I shake my head, dragging myself back to Earth, even though Earth kind of sucks right now.
Tina narrows her eyes. “Don’t ‘sorry’ me. You’re zoning out like you’re thinking about some guy or something. Which one was it? Drake? Butch?”
She’s not wrong. My anxiety is basically at DEFCON one, though Tina’s not one to notice. That girl walks around with blinkers sometimes.
“None.” I roll my eyes. “With names like that, I’d rather date women.”
“Oooh.” She leans forward at the counter, visibly excited. “You serious?”
“I’m joking, girl. What the hell’s wrong with you?” I snort and chuck a rag over at her.
“We should go swimming later,” she continues. “Lake’s finally warm enough. Aria’ll love it. And you need some Vitamin D along with a hot lifeguard with a great D of his own to distract you.”
I snort, half-laughing, half-imploding inside.
Distractions? Sweetheart, I’ve already got one in mind.
The kind of distraction that wrecks lives, ruins car paint, and kisses like there’s no tomorrow. The kind of man who’s flexiblewhere to fuck—and makes the woman forget about common decency. Who growls and grunts like he’s in agony and pleasure at the same time.
I grip the countertop a little tighter. My body’s not dumb—it remembers. Every word that came out of Dante Romano’s mouth. The way his hands slid under my shirt like he had every right. The ache, the stretch, the downright sinful way he filled me up and made me cum.
“Cass? You’re doing that thing again,” Tina interrupts, snapping her fingers like I’m hypnotized. Which… fair.
I shake myself out of it, throat dry, thighs still clenched tighter than a nun’s prayer circle.
“Sorry, the lake’s nice,” I croak, deflecting. “We should go.”
Because hell, maybe icy water will cool me off after the mess Dante’s put back in my head.
The restof the day passes in a blur of customers and baking and trying not to spiral every time the door opens, half-expecting to see Dante walking in. By closing time, I’m deadbeat tired.
“Ready to go home, nugget?” I ask Aria.
“Can we have macaroni for dinner?”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
We lock up, step into the warm, late-evening air.
Aria skips beside me, chattering about how she wants to be a baker like me when she grows up.
