Page 126 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
A response with eleven exclamation marks pops up in response to my open invitation.
Sammi must have Jack’s phone.
Emily and Cynnie’s phones ping a moment later. Emily’s eyes twitch towards her phone, but she leaves it face down on the table. A good rule, I think. I like the ways Logan keeps Emily’s attention on him. But there’s a charm to Cynnie’s excited squeal as she snatches her phone off the dining table and reads the message, too.
“We’z doing pottery, Oppa?”
I slide my arm across her shoulders and peer into the colorful display on her phone.
I should have guessed that the littles’ chat would not be the utilitarian black and white of the mommies and daddies’ chat. The background looks like something out of Willy Wonka and each chat bubble is in a different color. Virtual bubbles risethrough the lines of text and pop in sprays of candy at the top of the screen.
Other than seeing there are more than eleven exclamation marks in Sammi’s message to the group, I don’t try to decipher the comments. My eyes cross from just that casual glance.
“Sound like a good way to spend the afternoon, baby? It’s only a few blocks away so we can walk over, get messy playing with clay, and head back to mine afterwards.”
Logan shakes his head. “Yes to a walk in the sunshine. Yes to playing with clay. No to going home. I need more time with you here, Maxie, where I know you’re safe. The last couple of days, knowing they were after you ... they haven’t been good. Invite everyone here for a barbeque afterwards and stay another night, yeah? That’s okay with you, babydoll, isn’t it?”
Emily nods without hesitation.
“Let me order the barbeque fixings while we’re at Clay Makers and that’s a deal.”
Logan grumbles about guests not paying for things, but concedes more or less gracefully. When Emily drags Cynnie upstairs to get changed into “clay appropriate” clothes, I thumb over to my message string with Mac and pop him a text with the plans for the afternoon.
Master Chief: Sorry, Maxie. I’m headed to FL for the week. Checking out an apartment when I get back if you have time?
Absolutely, I respond.
“Mac’s out. He’s had to go to Florida.”
Logan grunts. “Amy problems.”
“Sounds like it. You’d think with their divorce finalized, those would be over.”
Logan props a hip against the dining table, crosses his arms over his chest, and shakes his head. “You know what Mac’s like. He was in it for life. Sometimes I think it won’t really be over forhim until he finds someone else. And even then, I worry Amy’ll still have her fucking claws sunk in him.”
I hate that idea. Almost as much as I hate Amy herself. She’s poised, polished, perfect on the outside. Inside, she’s pure poison. Mac deserves so much better.
Then Logan tips his head back with a chuckle. “But Emmy has plans to fix him up with Brenna, so maybe that’ll pry him loose.”
“Wi-with DirtyGurl?”
My whole body tightens as I reject that idea. Then I shake myself. Mac’s the best of the best. Brenna’s miserable, even if she’s hiding it well. I don’t know if they’re kinkcompatible, but if they are, they deserve a chance to make each other happy.
Even if that means I need to distance myself from Brenna. Mac won’t pursue her if he thinks I was ever interested in her. My head understands why Brenna and I can’t be more than friends. And I’m more and more committed to my bumble with each passing day. But I’m attracted to Bren, and if Mac spends five minutes with both of us in the same room, he’ll see it.
He's always known me better than I know myself.
Logan nods. “Setting you up with Cynnie has convinced her she has a future in matchmaking.”
I whistle. “That’s dangerous.”
“Don’t I know it. While the girls are upstairs, let’s talk about these blackhats for a tick. Will it start a war if we decide to be more proactive when it comes to these bastards?” Logan asks.
I rub the back of my neck as I consider it. “Lo, there’s a reason I didn’t come in with you. I don’t want you and Man tangled with these fuckers. You have too much to lose.”
Logan tips his head at the ceiling. Emily’s little room is what’s directly above us, but I know what he means.
“I have a lot to lose now, too,” I agree. “Thanks for getting the panic button made for Cynnie while I was gone.”
