Page 26 of Sexy Bad Daddy

“I thought you had it with that last putt.” Callum settles on a stool beside me at the club bar.

“Guess not.” I shrug without bothering to look up from the bar.

“So you’re trunk slamming?” He motions to the bar attendant for another round of shots and chasers. “It’s been a long time.”

“Ages.” I toss down a double shot of whisky that scours the back of my throat. “Forgot what it felt like.”

“It’s not so bad,” he says.

“Not so bad,” I repeat and drain half of the three beers still lined up in front of me. That probably depends on the why. In this case, the why is my inability to block out Erin’s voice from our phone call the night before. The sound of her voice in my head. I could listen to her for hours.

“Plenty of groupies here this evening,” Callum says.

I drag my gaze from my glass. “What?”

“Groupies. Your game’s off. Any chance you haven’t sunk any other kind of balls recently either?”

“You can’t be serious,” I grumble and throw down the contents of my glass. Fireball whisky. Fireball has sponsored plenty of after-tour benders, but not this time. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it?” Callum takes a more leisurely approach to his whisky. “Because there’s been a noticeable absence of your social escapades in the media lately.”

“That has nothing to do with my hiring the new nanny.”

“I didn’t say it did.”

“That’s because it doesn’t.” Just because it’s been months since I’ve been on a date doesn’t mean she’s the cause. Just because the only action I’ve gotten was a poorly executed foot job that I was only into because I thought it was Erin doesn’t mean she’s the reason I’m off my game, golf and otherwise. It’s pure circumstance that she showed up at the same time Callum convinced me I needed to be more careful with my image. “I’m trying to keep the sponsors happy. Weren’t you the one who told me I need to be more careful?”

“Careful, yes. Celibate? Christ, no.” He shakes his head and summons the bar attendant again. “We’re going to need a row of shots. One after the other. Line them up on the bar for my man here.”

The guy nods and reaches for the Fireball.

“That’s not necessary,” I say. “I’ve booked the next flight out and ordered a car service to take me to the airport. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Cancel it.” Callum points at the bar in front of us again. “Stick around. A couple groupies over there keep giving you the eye. We’ll invite them over and buy them a drink. Don’t you want to wake up forty-eight hours from now neck deep in soft bodies and permanent marker?”

I should give it more than a passing thought. But, truthfully, I don’t even bother to do that.

“The last thing I need is a night I don’t remember and phone numbers I’m never going to call.” I drain the final beer as I get up. “I’m going to go pack then catch my flight. Time to get home to my daughter.”

And Erin.

“Give that cutie a hug for me.” Callum salutes me with a shot. “I’m going to go find Ada Honeycutt. I hear her contract is up for renewal.”

***

Entering the apartment, I drop my suitcase and clubs against the wall and shut the door quietly. There’s no point in letting the girls know I’m home, not this late at night. Peeling off my jacket, I cross the living space to the kitchen. I need coffee. And to sober up a little. Probably wasn’t smart going to town on the whisky and beer, continuing with several drinks on the plane, not when I couldn’t stop thinking about Erin and what she and Abby were doing. What book she read to my little girl at bedtime and whether they talked about me before she shut off the light. Does she talk about me to her friends? Or even think about me in the same way I can’t get her off my mind?

Doubtful. She’d talk about Danny, wouldn’t she? Because this arrangement between us is all about Abby. Only about Abby.

I drop my jacket over the back of the sofa and toe off my shoes as I pass. Popping the buttons on my shirt, I’m pulled up short the moment I enter the kitchen. Every muscle in my body clenches. Blood rushes straight to my dick, leaving a slight nausea in its wake as I catch sight of Erin. Her back to me and her head bowed over whatever she’s doing, she hums. The illumination from the decorative lights hanging above the island glints in her hair that hangs in waves over one shoulder, making them look like a sea of fire. Damn, she’s pretty.

And too young for me, and my nanny, and she’s got a fucking boyfriend. And we’re supposed to be friends. Just friends. Only that and nothing more.

I swipe my hand over my face and try to clear the mental fog that urges me to scoop her up in a fireman’s hold and cart her off to my bedroom. That would be stupid. Especially when she’s so great with Abby. And still I wander my gaze down the white dress that stops rather distractingly mid-thigh. Saliva pools in my mouth as I imagine touching her there. Stroking my fingers up that sensitive bit of flesh, moving higher. Gripping her hip while I slide her panties down and fuck her. Whatever I do, I’d take my time with her.

Hot damn. I have to check that I’m still standing across the room, that I haven’t followed my damn dick. Don’t screw up a good thing, man.We need her. Abby needs her.

Clearing my throat, I cross the room to make myself a coffee. Not that I need it any more. There’s something sobering about coming face to face with reality.

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