Page 26 of Campus Daddies

Birdie is so good about it, though, and we’ve been discussing a plan for her to convince him. It’s all on her now.

Noah’s already asleep up on the spare bed where we’ve been staying while Brax has been gone. God, it’s still odd to call him that, but I enjoy the way his eyes darken when I do.

And Birdie is right behind him, down for more than an hour before he texts me that he’s nearly home.

I’ve been lounging on the couch with a glass of wine and an old movie on the television. I’m not really watching, but the background noise is nice. Turning to the sound of the door opening, I see Brax peek into the living room from the front entryway.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and rumbly.

“Hi.”

“Everyone asleep?” His duffle bag drops to the floor with a muted thump before he’s moving toward the couch and lowering himself beside me. “Everything go alright?”

I smile. “Yes, and yes.”

The way Brax sinks into the couch tells me he’s had a long weekend, but it also shows off the long, languid line of his body—broad chest, flat, wide stomach, strong legs. God, he’s a brickhouse of a man. And so at ease in his body.

Biting my lip, I turn back to the TV. “Did it go that badly?”

He laughs softly. “No. It went well. Just a long weekend.”

“Too many people?”

A sigh. “Yes.”

My chuckle turns his head my way, and his eyes are dark and nearly bottomless as I say, “I’m good around people. But only for a little while. Then, I need to come home and recharge. Usually by watching a movie.”

“Hence the old Western on my flatscreen?”

“Maybe. I like the background noise.” Taking another sip of my wine sits him back up. “Did you want a glass?”

“I can grab it.” Brax rubs his face with both hands, and it’s obvious he’s exhausted, so I get up to pour him one.

When he looks up at me, a powerful wave of lust zaps through me. For a few seconds, I consider crawling into his lap but think better of it and slide back into my cushion beside him.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

We sit in silence, only filled in with the rumbling of horse hooves on screen. The tension that builds isn’t one of discomfort. It’s lazy and warm.

I have to distract myself. “You know, Birdie and I finished a few videos this weekend on her art. I think you’ll be impressed when you see what she’s done.”

“Finished how?

“Edited and polished, but not posted. I wouldn’t let her until she talked to you about it, but I have to say, she’s excited about what she’s accomplished. And I’m proud of her.”

A grin crawls across his face—a very fatherly one. “Yeah. Me, too. I don’t even need to see them to know I’m proud.”

He takes a long sip of his wine, draining nearly half of it.

“She’s going to talk me into letting her post them, isn’t she?”

“That’s the plan. I do suggest watching them. I know she’s only eleven, but it’s tasteful and it’s focused on her art—not her.”Not that the lack of screen time for her personally will keep the hateful comments at bay. That’s the nature of the internet, unfortunately.

“I’m afraid of the trolls crushing her spirit. You know how sensitive she is. What her school life is like.” The worry in his features is sweet.

“They’ll always be there, but the support and love she’ll get will outweigh it tenfold. She can also disable the ability to comment, but I’d wait on that. I’m sure she’s going to get so much love with what she’s created.”

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