Page 26 of Destiny

“Um, no. I don’t think so. But I did want to warn you—” She gets closer. “Alessia included me on that family tree of hers. I promise I didn’t tell her to. But I didn’t tell her to erase it either.”

“I think that’s sweet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not? I mean, you’re around all of the time. I don’t see why they wouldn’t see you as family.”

“But that doesn’t complicate us.”

I sigh. “Well, it just affirms how delicate we need to be.”

“Yeah, I agree. Oh! And I wanted to tell you that we bumped into my mother at the grocery store.”

“You went to the store?”

“Yeah. Did you honestly think you had Pecorino Romano in the fridge?”

“I don’t know. Just let me know how much I owe you.”

“Okay. But that’s not the point. She wasn’t the warmest to the girls. And they even asked me why she was so mean.”

“Why would she act like that?”

“Um . . . she isn’t the biggest supporter of me ‘playing mommy,’ as she puts it.”

“But you’re not. You’re just helping me out. Plus, you like being around them, right?”

“Of course. I adore them. This isn’t about my feelings. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I told them that she was just having a bad day.”

“Does she know?” I gesture to myself and then to her.

“No. But I’m going to tell her before she hears it from somebody else.”

“I think that’s probably a good idea. Why make it seem like a secret when it isn’t . . . well, to some people.” I look over at my children.

“Right.”

At that moment, I desperately wanted to kiss her supple lips—just like any other guy could to his girlfriend after a rough day at the office. But I resist. Our situation is unique, and I’m not like any other guy. I’m a single dad who has to protect his daughters’ feelings.

However, none of that stops me from admiring her ass in the tight black jeans she’s wearing.

One night, when she was sore from our previous shenanigans, I asked if I could just rub myself against her butt cheeks, and she agreed. That was another instance in which her back required cleanup.

I’m getting hard just thinking about it, and I have to cross my legs to hide it.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ve never seen you sit like that.”

“Oh, uh . . . I had a hard day at the gym. Leg day.”

“Ah.” I can tell she doesn’t fully believe me. “Well, dinner is ready.”

I walk as quickly as I can to the table, and she puts a plate in front of me—still looking skeptical or worried.

But I get to work shoveling the tasty food into my mouth. The little taste I had was good, but the complete dish was exquisite.

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