Page 245 of By His Play

I’ve just finished showering when my buzzer rings again.

My heart immediately jumps into my throat.

Could it be her?

It’s wishful thinking, I know.

I race toward the front door and turn the camera on. I’m not being blindsided by my visitor this time.

The second the screen comes to life, a laugh breaks free.

“Hello, Uncle Kieran. Can we come up?”

It might be Kingston’s voice that hits my ears, but all I can see on the screen is Prince.

“You can. Not sure about your daddy, though.”

“Bad luck, Bro. Guess you’re waiting out here,” Kian says with a laugh.

Unable to turn down my cute nephew, I let them in and open my door.

In only a few short minutes, they’re stepping inside.

“Aw, who’s the cutest little boy in the world?” I sing, immediately diving for Prince, who’s smiling up at me from his pushchair. “Isn’t it a little late for a walk?”

“He won’t sleep,” King complains.

When I look up, I see the evidence of that fact written all over his face.

“We sent Lori and Tate for an evening session at the spa,” Kian explains.

“And how is that going?” I muse, unable to contain my smirk as I bounce Prince on my hip.

“Wonderful,” Kingston grumps.

“It’s been pretty fun…for me. First, Prince pissed all over his dad. Then he refused point blank to eat his pureed avocado and instead sprayed it in his dad’s face. And now, he won’t sleep. I’ve never seen Kingston so close to losing his shit. Ever.”

My smirk grows as I picture all of this happening.

“You’re trying to feed your kid pureed avocado?” I ask, although it’s no surprise really.

“He loves it when Tatum gives it to him.”

“She probably laces it with something that tastes good,” Kian says before I have a chance.

“Did Effie do that?” Kingston says, suddenly changing the subject as he nods toward the cut on my temple.

“Very funny,” I mutter, although I refrain from telling them the truth. It would probably be less mortifying to admit that Effie was responsible. “You want beers?”

“Why else do you think we’re here?” Kian says, getting comfortable on my couch.

“Assholes.”

“Hey, language,” Kingston complains.

“Dude, he’s a baby.”

“Yeah, and when his first word is asshole, I’ll know who to blame.”

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