Page 118 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
We watched him give her the bare minimum and pretended like it was enough when we all knew, deep down, it wasn’t.
And maybe, in some twisted, messed-up way, what’s between us and her now is the first time anyone’s actually treated her like she matters.
Like she’s not some afterthought.
But how the hell do you even start that conversation when you’re also sleeping with your best friend’s daughter?
And not just you, it’s two of your other closest friends sharing the same bed.
That’s not a bridge you can ease your way across without worrying.
That’s stepping into a minefield with a blindfold on and hoping nothing happens as you cross to the other side.
My thumb moves out of my and Reece’s text thread to bring up my contacts.
Jack’s name is at the top of them and my thumb hovers over the call button, the urge to just hear his voice rumbling on the other side aches.
But then, I hesitate.
And after a while, I sigh and lock my phone, staring at the black screen like it’s going to give me answers.
Not tonight.
Reece’s truck is idling at the curb when I step out into the cold, a thin snow drift already falling from the dark sky overhead.
The air bites my face, sharp and pointed.
His headlights throw long shadows across the street, and for a second, it’s just me and the steam of my breath out here in the open before I jog to the passenger side.
The door creaks as I climb in, and blessedly he’s already got the heat blasting.
My hands sting with the shift from frozen air to warmth. I hold them out in front of one of the vents, flexing and unclenching my sore joints until the feeling comes back.
We pull away from the curb, tires crunching over the light dusting of snow, and get back onto the main road.
“You look like you’ve been stewing on that text,” Reece says after a beat.
“You haven’t?”
His mouth pulls to one side.
“I don’t know. My first thought was maybe something happened with the bakery, but…she didn’t sound stressed in that way.”
“Yeah. Sounded like something different.”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the dull thud in time with the faint hum of the tires.
“Could be personal. Could be about Carson and her mom.”
“Maybe. Or that she wants to break things off with us.”
Reece’s mouth drops into a deep frown at that.
The heater roars in the silence that follows.
The snow outside flurries harder the further we get down the road, smearing into white streaks against the windshield from the wipers.
Christmas lights blur past in flecks of red and green and soft blue, warm and inviting. The exact opposite of the tension sitting between us.
