Page 40 of The Prez

His head whips in my direction, his eyes narrowed, but that hard set to his jaw is gone. “Forty-one is not old,” he growls.

“To a forty-one-year-old,” I say sweetly as I fork morefood into his mouth. I laugh as he stares me down, chomping on the food like it was the one to offend him. “I’m twenty-five. You’re even older than my sister and she’s ten years older than me,” I tell him, rubbing it in.

“You’re trouble,” he says as he feeds Little Raf the rest of his carrots.

“So you’ve said.” I take my plate to the sink and rinse it, sliding into the dishwasher when I’m done. Then I come back over and pick up Big Raf’s fork.

“I can do it myself,” he grumbles. “The baby is done eating.”

My eyes downcast, I say, “I know. I like feeding you.”

He’s silent for a few beats, so I chance looking up at him. “Careful, precioso. You don’t want to get mixed up with someone like me.”

“Why not?” I remember my promise, but this involves me too, so I’m not prying. “What’s so wrong with you that I wouldn’t want to?” He shakes his head and takes the food I’m feeding him. “I’m an adult, you know? Not as old as you, but I know my mind.”

Big Raf pulls a tired looking Little Raf from his highchair. “No more digs about my age, troublemaker,” he mutters as he tries to rub the orange from the baby’s cheeks. “You might need someone older to keep you in line.”

“Because you’re doing such a great job,” I say slyly, and I’m rewarded with an honest-to-god smile from him as he glances at me.

I’m speechless. Holy fuck, he’s handsome, inching into the beautiful territory. His smile is stiff, like he doesn’t do it often, but it’s honest and it’s directed at me. I might beintrouble.

“Show me how to clean him up?” Big Raf asks, still trying to get the carrots off Little Raf’s cheeks.

I shake my head to clear it. “Oh, yeah. Are you finished here?” I ask, indicating to the plate.

“Yes. Thank you for making me dinner tonight, precioso. And feeding me.”

“You’re welcome, Raf.”

“Just Raf again?”

I roll my eyes but I laugh as I take the baby from his arms. “Big Raf. I think it’s an ego thing for you now.”

Stepping closer to me, he tips up my chin and plants a soft kiss on my lips. I melt against him. I didn’t expect him to want to touch me or kiss me or do anything with me after I pissed him off last night. My heart thumps at the brief contact. I want more. “It might be,” he says when he pulls away.

“And you call me trouble,” I murmur, walking to the nursery almost in a daze.

I clean Little Raf up, showing Big Raf the right amount of pressure to use so as not to hurt him. Then I strip him of his soiled clothes so I can change his diaper and put on new pajamas. When I have him stripped down, I wave Big Raf over and I show him how to properly change his diaper. When he put the first one on, it was way too tight. “That could be a reason he was so fussy before. Since babies can’t talk, they cry when they don’t like something. It’s up to us to figure out what the problem is.” He tries again and it’s perfect.

“What are some other things they cry about?” he asks as he pulls the baby’s pajama pants on. Little Raf lies still, his eyes drifting closed.

“They could be wet, tired, overstimulated, hot, cold. A variety of things. Just run through the list to see what’s wrong and you’ll usually figure it out.”

“You’re good at this,” Big Raf says as he lays Little Raf in his crib.

I shrug as we walk out of the room. “Yeah. That’s thanks to my sister and the twins. I wish I didn’t have to be good at it. My sister lost her husband a few weeks after the twins were born. A work accident.” Raf murmurs his condolences and I dip my head in appreciation. “I stepped up to help and it turns out babies really like me. I know she’d rather have had her husband, but I think I filled in pretty well.”

We sit on the couch like we were last night, facing each other. “Do you like being in a motorcycle club?” I ask as I lean on my hand that’s against the back of the couch. “It seems … dangerous.”

“Nothing wrong with a little danger every now and then,” he says and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I like being with my brothers. I like riding my chopper. Everything else is a bonus.”

“Like people being afraid of you?” I ask cheekily.

He grins, the expression seeming more effortless now. “You’re not.”

“Says who?”

His hearty chuckle fills the air and I close my eyes, soaking it up. “You’re not. I can tell. I like that you’re not afraid of me. Besides my brothers, and Finn and Shane, you’re the only one who’s not.”

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