Page 107 of Power Play

His phone dings, and he takes it out of his pocket. A postcard with “Merry Christmas” pops up on his screen.

“Did someone forget to text you on Christmas?” I ask curiously.

Roman shoots me a quick glance, a lopsided grin splitting his lips. “No. I’m Orthodox. We celebrate Christmas on January seventh.”

“Why?”

“That’s actually the twenty-fifth of December, according to the Julian calendar our church uses. Catholics use the Gregorian calendar.”

I blink. “Okay…I think I zoned out. That doesn’t make sense.”

“It kinda does, but—” His eyes fly to the door when he notices Drake step into the backyard. “I gotta go. I think Nev is here.”

“Sure.” I watch him stand up from the bench and hurry over to Drake.

As I’m about to stand up too, Maya appears in front of me. Today, her hair is tied into two little braids, something she asked Layla to do. Her blue long-sleeved dress, pastel pink leggings, and dark blue boots make her look incredibly cute. She puts one hand on my knee; her other hand keeps Bon-Bon pressed to her chest. It’s her favorite toy now. She does everything with it, carries it around everywhere.Last night, I’m pretty certain she even walked out of the bathroom with Bon-Bon tucked under her armpit.

“What is it?”

“Smokey.” She pouts. Her chocolate brown eyes veil with tears behind her pink glasses. “He hid from me.”

I smile sympathetically. “Ava’s cat isn’t the biggest fan of people in general.”

“But Michael was holding him, and I wanted too. He run away.”

I look around. Everyone is busy with last-minute preparations. I’m sure we can sneak into the house and try to catch Smokey. That little gray devil better be ready for me to cuddle him.

“Let’s go find him.” I stand up from the bench. Maya slips her hand in mine, and her pout stretches into a big, toothy smile.

We head inside the house. My skin is humming with how tiny her hand is compared to mine. I’m like a marshmallow: big and soft and ready to melt from this girl’s gentle touch. I love this kiddo so fucking much as if she’s my own.

“Do you like cats or dogs better?” I ask Maya.

“Both.”

I chuckle. “Point taken.”

“But I want Willa. I want Mommy to buy me Willa.”

Willa? Who the—Oh, I remember now. Layla’s been sending me vids of those two dachshunds, always saying it was Maya who asked her to.

“You want Willa?” I cock an eyebrow at her, and she nods enthusiastically. “And you’re ready to help Mommy with everything? To take her for walks?”

“Yes.”

I know that asking that is nonsensical. Of course she’d say yes and promise to help Layla with everything dog-related. All kids do that. Even I did that when I wanted a hamster when I was seven.

But I still want to make her happy. Still want to continue winning her over. So, like the smug bastard I am, I bend down to Maya, our eyes level, and say in a conspiratorial whisper, “I will talk to your mommy, okay? Because if you want a Willa, then I’m going to get you a Willa.”

Her eyes round as she pauses in the middle of the hallway. Then she lets go of my hand, wraps her tiny little arms around my legs, and hugs me tight. “I love you, Clay.”

I stop breathing.

I stop understanding where I am and what I’m doing.

All I hear are her words echoing in my brain.I love you, Clay, she said, and I swear to God, it feels just as good as when I heard Layla say it to me for the first time.

Gently, I wrap my arms around her too, my head resting on top of hers. “I love you too, Princess,” I say quietly.

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