Page 42 of Tell Me Lies

“Anytime, Boston.” I wink. “Anytime.”

She smiles impatiently and jerks her thumb toward the glass door. “I should go. You know … get in my non-sexy, real-life pajamas and head to bed. Besides, you have an early morning.”

I don’t want her to go to her own room. I want her to sleep with me. But that would make this even more complicated than it’s likely going to be. I keep pushing her worries aside like they are nothing, but let’s face it; I know what we’re doing isn’t smart.

Yet I can’t stop.

“You’re free to go. But only as long as you think your main character—me—did his job tonight. I want to go on one of those top-tier book boyfriend lists.”

Her eyes widen in shock, and I smirk.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen that shit.”

She tries to fight it, but eventually, she giggles and gently smacks her palm on my chest. “Logan Sterns, you are too much.” She pauses, gazing up at me. “Thank you.”

“For what? I mean, besides that hot, good loving I gave you.”

“For providing me with, I’d say … at least four thousand words of straight smut to write.” She winks playfully, patting my chest. “The readers are so going to appreciate it.”

“Hell yes, they will.” I grin proudly.

“Night, Logan.” She smiles. “See you tomorrow.”

Leaning down, I kiss her on the cheek. “Good night, Boston.”

As she steps out of the shower and towels herself off, fuck if my cock doesn’t grow as I watch her. I wish she could spend the entire night in my bed. I’d give her a hell of a lot more than four thousand words to write with all the things I’d love to do to her.

But having the nanny sleep in my bed? That wouldn’t be what’s best for my daughter. And my daughter is the only person who truly matters to me.

Gradually, Amelia and I walk through the store. “What do you think your daddy would want?” I ask her.

“Hmm … maybe he wants a Highland cow,” she answers thoughtfully, and I can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of me.

“Yeah, I’m not sure about that, kiddo.” I shake my head. “But, hey, you never know. Maybe your love for those furry critters will rub off on him.”

Logan’s birthday is apparently today, but I just found out about it last night. I sent him a text this morning since he was gone before Amelia or I woke up. I kept it very, very simple. Just the wordshappy birthdaywith a balloon emoji. Because after what we did last night, I didn’t want to be over the top and make him scared that I was a stage-five clinger. Which is why this birthday present has to be from Amelia and not me.

Besides, what do you really buy a man who could buy himself anything he wanted? And he really doesn’t seem like the materialistic type to me.

It suddenly hits me that there aren’t a whole lot of pictures of Amelia and Logan at his place. So, I decide right then that I’m going to print and frame a few photos of our getaway to New Hampshire. I took the most adorable one of the two of them in Santa’s sleigh and another of them riding the carousel.

Those framed photos, a card from Amelia, and a homemade cake will hopefully make this birthday a good one.

I have to fight against rolling my eyes and snidely smirking at myself. I hate birthdays. Or at least, I hate my own. But I suppose that’s only because my father died on it. Before that? I loved birthdays. Hell, I was even one of those people who practically celebrated it for the entire month.

Swinging Amelia’s hand playfully, I grin down at her. “I think I know the perfect thing, but let’s hurry. The cake we made this morning should be cooled by now, so we need to get home and frost it before Daddy gets home from the arena.”

Her little legs take off, her hand tugging me with her, and we run through the aisle. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and warmth spreads across my chest because I have come to love that sound so much.

I know Logan and I can’t share anything romantic or deep. But he has helped me a tremendous amount with my writing—and not just from him inspiring spicy scenes, but also from how sweet he is all the time. He treats me with respect, just like the main male characters treat the females in my stories. Being around him—and his daughter too—well, it’s sort of opened my eyes back up to the world I used to believe in. And because of that, I want him to have the best birthday he possibly can.

My body aches, and my muscles are tired as I head toward the house from practice. I’m dreading the fact that I have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow and go to New York for somepublicity shit. Between being up too late last night and a long-ass day of training today, I’m beat. Staying up to fuck Maci into next week clearly wasn’t the smartest decision I’d made all week, but, heck, was it hot.

Turning the doorknob, I push the door open to the house, and right away, the sound of Amelia’s giggles melts away any fatigue I felt because, damn, I’ll never get tired of coming home to my girl. When I hear Maci sweetly tell her to be quiet, my heart does some weird fucking fluttery thing, and I shake it off because … fuck no, I can’t be feeling that type of shit around the nanny.

Fucking her is one thing; catching feelings for her is … a whole other ball game that I don’t even want to buy tickets to.

Dropping my bag, I take off my shoes and head toward the kitchen. As soon as I reach it, Maci pops up from behind the countertop with Amelia on her hip, both wearing party hats.

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