Page 69 of Promiscuous Lies

“I’d suggest you listen to the lady,” Dutton tells him.

Waylon raises his hands in the air and shakes his head.

“You know I don’t want any bad blood with you, Dutton.” Waylon looks back at me. “But, Posie, you know he’ll eventually find out if that’s his kid.”

“He threw money at me and told me to fix the problem,” I hiss. “So I did. I left.”

A flash of understanding passes over Waylon’s expression. “He still loves you.”

“No, he loves control. Nothing more.”

The tension is palpable as Waylon glances back at Dutton, who looks like he’s ready to snap Waylon’s neck at any moment. But the last thing I want is to start a fight between these two men. I know Dutton can hold his own, but I’ve seen the levels of loyalty and violence Waylon offers.

Besides, the desperate need to run is flooding my bloodstream.

“I was invited by your cousin,” Waylon says, gesturing at Eli. “But it seems I might be unwelcome after all, and I hold no ill will about that.” He places his drink down. I glare at him as he turns to leave. When he walks past Dutton, he offers a curt nod. Eli follows him out.

What the ever-loving fuck is he doing here in Manhattan?

“Fuck,” I murmur, beelining straight for Bentley. I grab him and thank Dawson before I hurry outside. I see Waylon get on his motorcycle. Just before he slides on his helmet, he nods at me. And I know he’ll tell Bobbi he saw me and where. Which means it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.

“Where are you going?” Dutton questions.

A car pulls up to the curb, and I realize it’s Dutton’s. Dutton tips the valet and takes the keys. “Get in the car, Posie.”

I buckle Bentley into his booster seat in the back, and then I climb into the passenger seat.

With a calm voice, I ask, “Why was Waylon Striker at that party?”

Dutton seems to understand my tone. Despite Bentley almost falling asleep immediately, I don’t want him overhearing us having an intense conversation.

“My cousin has business with him. It’s not uncommon to invite those we’re in business with to family events such as these as a gesture of goodwill.” My jaw clenches as he asks, “And how do you know the president of the Boston Delinquents?”

“Waylon’s the president? Since when?” I whip my head to face him but quickly glance at Bentley to make sure I haven’t woken him.

“For a year now,” Dutton tells me, and I sink back in the seat. I just want this all to go away. “Why are you so scared of that club? What are you running from?”

When I don’t answer, he falls silent. We’ve come a long way from the insufferable man always demanding answers. I don’t know why I don’t want to tell Dutton. I know he’s a powerful man and could protect us, but I don’t want to ever have to depend on a man again. I also don’t want anyone revisiting the past with me.

The more I tell Dutton, the more I’ll come to depend on him. Won’t I? And then he’ll leave me. It’s only a matter of time. But what if my stubborn pride is preventing me from taking advantage of the best way to protect Bentley?

Fuck.

I need to think.

My knee is bouncing out of control as we arrive at my house. We get out of the car, and I grab a passed-out Bentley from the back seat and then try to grab his booster, but Dutton stops me. “I can get that,” he says, then unlatches it with an efficiency a man who doesn’t have kids shouldn’t have. By the time he meets me at the door, I’m struggling to get the keys out of my bag, so he helps me and unlocks the door.

“Posie.” His voice is quiet. “Let me understand,” he pleads.

“You can go now. Thanks for tonight,” I tell him, walking inside.

I’m not ready to accept this man into my home, into my family, and my heart. Surely, I’m just a novelty to him, a season that will pass. I need to find someone who’s ready to become a pillar for me and Bentley.

I hear the front door close as I carry Bentley to his room and lay him down in his bed. After removing his shoes, I tuck him in.

I’ve only ever thought of Bentley, and the more time I spend with Dutton, I want to be selfish. I want to spend even more time with him. But won’t that take away my time with my son? I try to push back all of my irrational fears.

My heart is not ready to be disappointed, even though I’ve told myself for so long that I’m okay with what I have.

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