Page 90 of Perfectly Naïve
Chapter Twenty-Seven
OLIVIA
All it takes to pull Cici out of her sadness is a bottle of pink nail polish. Deep down, she’s probably still hurting, but for right now, she simply gets to be a young omega painting an alpha’s nails.
“Don’t touch it, Hayes,” Cici shrieks at the giant alpha.
Hayes looks up at the tiny tyrant with a guilty expression, his finger hovering barely a centimeter over the semi-dry coat of color on his thumb. “But it looks dry.”
Cici lets out a long-suffering sigh, her eyes rolling back into her head. “That doesn’t mean it is. You’ll mess it up, and then we’ll have to start over.”
“Definitely don’t want that,” Hayes mutters under his breath, and it takes everything in me to stifle my laughter.
Liam’s little sister has all of these guys wrapped around her tiny finger. I love it.
“Boys,” she says, meeting my gaze and sighing deeply.
This time, I can’t stop my giggle. “I know, right?”
“You talking shi—I mean smack, sweetness?” Wilder ruffles my hair before pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.
It’s such an affectionate gesture, it makes my insides warm and my lower belly tighten. Sometimes, omega biology can be incredibly inconvenient. The last thing I need is to show signs of arousal around Liam’s kid sister, who hasn’t even awakened yet.
“I know you were going to sayshit, Wilder. I’m notthatyoung.” Cici rolls her eyes again but doesn’t look up from Hayes's large fingers. She only has one left, and then he’ll have a full set of hot pink nails.
Wilder clutches his chest and gasps. “Cici! I cannot believe you, young lady. Such a vulgar word.”
She giggles hard enough that it makes her hands shake, and Hayes ends up with pink on his cuticle.
“Dude.” Hayes shoots his twin a glare, which only makes the rest of us laugh.
“So, Liv.” Cici gives me a quick look before finishing Hayes's nails. “Are you going to mate my brother?”
It’s a good thing I hadn’t taken a sip of my hot chocolate before that question, because I would have choked on it. “Umm...”
What do I say to that? They’re courting me, and I hope we end up mated, but they haven’t officially asked yet. I don’t want to be presumptuous.
“We’re not quite there yet, squirt,” Liam answers, rubbing my back. “But that’s the hope.”
“Ohmygod,” Cici squeals. “That’s so exciting. You’re so pretty and smart. Personally, I think boys smell, so I don’t understand, but I’ve always wanted a sister.”
“Me too,” I tell her honestly. Henry was great, but what would my life have been like if there had been another girl in the family? Maybe even another omega to help bear the burden of my mother’s judgment?
Once Cici is done with Hayes's nails, Sawyer asks her if she’s in the mood for an ice cream sundae. As if any little girlwouldn’tbe? I watch from my spot at the kitchen island as Liam, Wilder, and Sawyer create an impromptu ice cream bar on the counter. Hot fudge and all.
They’re all so sweet with her. Each of the big men speak gently to her, crouching down a bit when they’re talking so she’s closer to eye-level. When she struggles to scoop the ice cream out of the container, Sawyer wraps his big hand around hers to help, earning a massive smile from the sweet girl.
It makes me feel...funny. Flushed and warm. Like all of a sudden, a hole has opened up in my chest, and there’s an ache there. Not the kind of ache that would indicate a true cardiovascular episode, but something more subtle. Something more metaphysical.
“She’s a good kid.” Hayes's voice is soft from his spot beside me. “It’ll be fun having her around for a few days.”
A peal of laughter reverberates through the large kitchen as Wilder wipes a dollop of whipped cream onto the tip of Cici’s nose, and that ache intensifies. I swear my body is on fire. My gaze shoots to the thermostat, checking to see if one of them cranked it up, but it’s a cool sixty-eight degrees in the house. Is this...baby fever? Preteen fever? Is that even a thing?
“Do you want kids, vixen?”
Do I? Honestly, it’s not something I’ve ever thought about. I’m not much of a dreamer, and—outside of mathematical and scientific theories—I don’t deal much in hypotheticals. I’ve always been odd. I know that’s how people see me. How men usually see me. It seemed pointless to consider the possibility of children when I’d never so much as kissed a guy before Sawyer.
But as I watch these men laugh with and cheer up an eleven-year-old girl, something about it suddenly feels more tangible. More possible.
