Page 65 of Daddy Issues

I was out my door and around the front of the truck before she’d had time to even shut her door. I enjoyed the brief moment of shocked pleasure when I gripped her throat and pushed her back against the fender.

When I kissed her, it was slow, because I wanted to taste her. I took my time tracing the line of her lips, and then dipping my tongue inside, circling hers. Her fingers running up my chest sparked fires, even with my shirt as a barrier between my skin and her touch.

Broken women sucked me in, always had. But Kenna was different. At every turn, she put herself back together.

I pulled my lips from hers, breathless, because if I kissed her any longer—had her hands on me any longer—I was going to ask her to come home with us.

Instead, I fished out the key to the shop, dropped it in her hand. “Opens the back door in the alley and the apartment.”

Still sort of dazed, she glanced from the key to me. I told her the security code as I released my hold from the column of her throat and put a step’s worth of distance between us.

“Wait, what are the last two numbers?”

The first four were the year Elijah was born. That she knew that made me want things I had no right to. “Forty-Seven was my jersey number.”

She chewed her bottom lip and pushed off the truck. “Still got one of those lying around?”

I did, several to be honest. Kept them for my kid. Maybe he’d want them one day. “Yeah.”

“Can I wear one?” She sauntered toward her little pickup and stopped at the door, turned back to me with a mischievous grin.

“It would swallow you whole.”

“I hope so.”

I watched her drive away like some sort of love-struck teenager, before driving home myself. By the time I got there, I had a message from Cam…we’d be meeting with Ghost tomorrow. Table at noon. Mom was coming over to bring some stuff. She could keep Eli until I got back.

Cradling Eli on my shoulder, I grabbed his bag and some other shit from the truck. I was already juggling as much as humanly possible.

I needed to be at the shop more. Life, the MC, fatherhood. I didn’t have time for a relationship, but here I was wishing I did, finding ways to make time to see her. Hell, I’d moved her into my building.

Fuck me.

Eli woke up as I carried him inside, which was good. He was a candy-coated mess from the fair. But a quick shower and clean pajamas later he was snuggled in his bed sleeping soundly.

What I would give to sleep like that. Love warmed my chest in a way it never had until the first moment I’d held him. I’d done some fucked up shit, and I’d keep doing it, to make sure he had the most amazing life.

I’d always respected David for loving Kenna like that even though she wasn’t his.

Until last night.

That was something I could fix. I sent a text before going to sleep myself. A benefit of sitting at the table meant Kenna’s stepdad couldn’t ignore my request to meet me at the clubhouse before chapel.

He and I had some shit to talk about.

She wasn’t my responsibility, she was my—what, exactly? I didn’t make a habit of letting my friends suck my dick. But she wasn’t my ole lady, couldn’t be.

Why not?

Because I hadn’t talked to her about it, I didn’t need it. There was too much other shit holding me back and tying me down. Which meant I shouldn’t be sticking my nose into her business.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. When I pulled it out there was a notification from the cameras at the shop.

She was home, which was why I opened the app and watched her walk in and up the stairs before closing the door behind her. She hadn’t moved with the usual speed and bounce that Kenna always had.

It made me want to go to her. Had I not been home alone with the kid, I might have.

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