Page 22 of Love Without Demands

“Annnnnd, my ovaries just exploded,” Nicolette hissed, and Artie nodded.

“Mine too.”

“You don’t have ovaries,” I pointed out, and he shot me a glare.

“I spontaneously grew some brovaries, and then they exploded, thank you very much.” He circled a long finger toward niece and uncle. “But not before this little scene got mepregnant. I think I’d like the theme of my baby shower to be baby woodland animals. Make it happen.”

And with a saucy snap of his fingers, he strutted off, leaving Nicolette and I laughing in his wake.

We found a couple benches arranged perpendicular to each other and brushed off the snow. Artie and I sat on one, and Nic claimed the spot beside Cruz, who had Noelle on his lap on the other.

He pulled the little girl’s hood down and brushed a hand affectionately over her dark riot of curls. “How did you get chocolate on your forehead, baby girl?” he asked, swiping the offending smudge with his thumb and sucking it off. Noelle shrugged, unconcerned, and continued eating her chocolate chip cookie.

“Dear god, if I dropped my cookie on my lap, do you think Blue Eyes would lick it off?” Artie asked me from the corner of his mouth.

“Would you stop it?” I attempted to glare at my friend, but I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. Artie was always a good time.

Digging in the pocket of my coat, I pulled out a small bundle and tossed it to Cruz. “I always carry a spare set of gloves. They’re the stretchy ones and will be way too big for her, but at least she won’t get frostbite.”

He blessed me with a grateful smile before unfolding the gloves and pulling one onto Noelle’s bare hand. The knitmaterial flapped off the ends of her fingers, which seemed to delight the little girl.

“What do you say?” Cruz prompted, and she grinned at me with tiny white teeth between rosy lips.

“Tank you, Lehra.”

And yeah. There may have been some ovary detonation inside my own abdomen at that point.

Chapter 6

As August dawned, Irealized I had been in New York for almost a year. Things were going well at work. I was quiet, respectful, and damn good at my job as Auburn Bouvier’s driver and personal security agent.

I smiled at the thought of him. The past few months had been pretty eventful in his life. Auburn met a woman, and it wasn’t that horrible girlfriend he’d dated on and off for years, Magdalena Lewis. I’d driven her a few times, and she was a complete shrew. I was so glad he was done with her.

Auburn’s new lady was much younger than him, an intelligent woman named Gianna Moschella who didn’t take one bit of his grumpy shit. And the billionaire was head over heels in love with her. They were still keeping their relationship a secret because Gianna’s father was Tony, Auburn’s personal assistant, but it was only a matter of time before he locked her down and made her Mrs. Bouvier.

I only wished I could find a woman like that. Well, I had, but she was taken. Yes, I was still harboring a crush for Lehra Kincaid, even though she was still dating that Dwight character. I knew I should move on, but I couldn’t bring myself to find interest in any other woman.

Changing out of my suit, I dressed in a royal-blue polo shirt and jeans in preparation for my Monday night dinner. My eyes found the shoebox on the top shelf of my closet, and I pulled it down, feeling the weight of it in my hands.

I opened it and stared at the letter on top, noting the slight yellowing of the envelope, which wasn’t surprising, given that it had been written over two decades ago.

As my fingers brushed lightly over the faded writing, I flashed back to last year when I’d accidentally come across this box in my mother’s home.

“Thank you for doing this, mi tesoro,” my mother says, kissing my cheek. “I didn’t want to have to call a plumber.”

“No need, Mama. I’m perfectly capable of changing out a hot water heater. I stopped by Home Depot and bought one on the way.”

“Give me the receipt, and I’ll pay you back,” she insists.

“Make me a few dozen tamales, and we’ll call it even. The guys in my unit love them.” I’m a member of Houston’s Special Weapons and Tactics detail, better known as SWAT, and my teammates live for Estrella Estrada’s tamales.

Correction: Stella Estrada, which is what she’s gone by since marrying my father because she said her full name sounded estupido.

“I’ll make them this weekend. Now, do you need me to get the tools out for you?”

“Mama,” I said sternly, “I know where everything is. Go to work. You have a business to run.”

My father was a private investigator, and my mother worked with him for many years. After he died from a heart attack last year, Mama had gotten her P.I. license and took over the business. I was so fucking proud of her.

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