Page 49 of Sexy Bad Daddy

Chapter Thirteen

ERIN

“These are nice digs and all, but why am I here again?” Danny asks from where he’s standing on the beach, admiring Paynter’s massive, brick Stepford house in the distance.

I glance up to ensure Abby and Spot are still within sight, that the goat isn’t eating anything it shouldn’t, and that they aren’t anywhere near the water, and then I hand him the end of a tape measure. “Hold this and don’t move. And you’re here because I need the help, you have time on your hands, and you stole Garrett’s condoms, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well, I was thinking about my hot date and getting laid but ensuring at the same time that I manage to avoid unplanned pregnancy. And how do you know I stole his condoms? You guys so close he tells you when he’s getting a little tail now?”

“Oh, shut the hell up.” Holding the tape measure, I walk backward from him so I can determine how large this space is, to report it back to Ronnie, who’s in New York at the moment. She says she needs to order tents and decorations this week in order to ensure we have what we need for Paynter and Chloe’s wedding in July.

“You know damn well we’re sleeping together. What, were you hoping I’d accidentally get knocked up? Are you that sick of a best friend?”

“Dude, I know you’re on the pill. I figured y’all already had ‘the talk’ and that it was cool, because he probably wasn’t using them anyway.”

I type the number from the tape measure into my phone and then head across the beach toward the water. “Okay, your personal space issues aside, until two weeks ago, all we were doing was screwing each other. On the down low, I might add. So, no, there was no ‘talk.’”

“Is it weird I’m kinda stoked that I cock blocked my favorite golf pro?”

“Yes. And you didn’t.”

“Couldn’t stop yourselves, eh?”

I roll my eyes and note the second number, then start walking again.

“So how’s it going, anyway? This whole let’s-pretend-we’re-in-a-relationship gig? The media’s been all over it. G-man is now the Prince Charming of professional golf. It’s pretty freaking nauseating, frankly.”

I smile for a second and then frown. “We aren’t pretending. We’re legitimately trying to make a go at a relationship.”

“In order to appease the gossip-starved media.”

“Yes. No. What are you trying to say?” I stop walking and put my hands on my hips while glaring at him.

He lifts his arms as if to fend off whatever accusations I’m about to throw at him. “Hey, I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just calling it like it is, sister. I mean, I know you’re in love with him, but how’s he feel about you? Seems to me he pretty much does whatever his manager tells him to do. And you said yourself this was Callum’s idea.”

“I’m not…” Oh crap, is Danny right? These past two weeks have been heaven, pure and simple. Like the happy ending in a romance novel, the part you want to go on and on because you’re so glad your hero and heroine have finally figured it out and gotten together and it’s probably forever.

The three of us have been out and about in Chicago, smiling, holding hands, acting like a family. Garrett swings his arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek any time someone with a phone or camera appears in front of us. He bought Abby and I a dozen more matching outfits. We’ve made plans for me and her to accompany him to the next tournament, which is nowhere near Dallas, by the way. He even made a comment about us joining him for every tournament in the foreseeable future.

And we’re sharing a bed. I’ve almost entirely moved into his bedroom. We spend so much time between the sheets, I actually kind of miss our secret liaisons in the kitchen or dining room or bathroom. Although the other night, after we tucked Abby into bed, we were outside on the balcony, splitting a bottle of wine. One thing led to another, and I ended up sitting astride him, watching the twinkling lights twelve stories below us bob up and down while I rode him to a spectacular climax.

We haven’t heard from Morgan, although it has only been a couple of weeks. Fiona’s gone quiet, too, which is nice but doesn’t necessarily mean anything. That woman can sniff out juicy gossip like a Brittney tracking pheasants.

And Callum has orchestrated this entire thing. He’s brilliant, actually, and I’m so glad he’s part of Garrett’s team, but … Danny’s right. Garrett didn’t decide he wanted to date me because he had some sort of revelation that he’s in love or even that he likes me enough to want to do stuff other than bang each other senseless at every available opportunity. No, he made that decision based on advice from his manager. And his manager offered the solution as an attempt to improve his public image.

And, by the way, he’s still paying me to be his nanny.

Our relationship really is a sham.

“Well, this sucks,” I say as I tap the final number into my phone, send the text off to Ronnie, and tell Danny to release the end so the tape measure will roll back into its holder.

Danny shrugs. “Hey, you’re getting laid on the reg, right? And I’m guessing he’s pretty damn good, although that’s based purely on that Garrett’s Wood website I stumbled across the other day.”

“Wait, there’s really a website called Garrett’s Wood?”

“Yes, and trust me, you do not want to go there. Also, I checked, and none of those pictures are less than six months old.”

Pictures? Of Garrett’s wood?

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