Page 37 of American Hellhound
“Here,” she said when she was done, and tore the note off to hand to Ghost.
“What?” he asked, staring at the paper like it might bite.
“My phone number,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “I do a lot of babysitting in the evenings and on weekends. If you’re ever in a pinch and need someone to watch Aidan.”
Brows knitted together, he took the paper carefully between two fingers and brought it up to his face. “Maggie Lowe,” he read aloud. “Babysitting.”
He looked up at her, expression unreadable. Then back down at the paper. “You’re offering to babysit my kid?”
“I am.”
He stared at her. Blinked. And burst out laughing.
Maggie sighed. “It was a legitimate offer, not a joke.”
“Oh, sweetheart. Believe me, it was a joke.”
“You’re a jerk,” she muttered, half-heartedly.
“Yep,” he agreed. “Always have been. It’s just my nature.”
“Seriously, though,” she said, giving him her most sincere look. She’d been told it would pass Sunday school inspection, and in this case, it was genuine. “I’d be happy to watch him if you ever needed it.”
“Yeah. Well.” His laughter faded, replaced by melancholy. “Thanks. But.”
She watched him stare down at his own hands, brows pinching together again.
“Probably not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
He flicked a humorless grin, motioning between the two of them. “In case you haven’t noticed, we kinda got that wholeLady and the Trampthing going on here.”
“I’m up for spaghetti if you are,” she joked, elbowing him.
His grin turned true, gaze warm when it lifted to her face. “Yeah, that’sdefinitelya bad idea for you.”
Speaking of bad ideas…
She checked her watch. It was time to figure out a way to get home. There was going to be yelling; if she delayed too long, there would betwicethe yelling.
Maggie slid off the table and got to her feet, stomach fluttering when Ghost’s eyes followed her. “I’m not worried about bad ideas,” she said. “Most of my ideas are pretty good.” She sent him a cocky grin and he returned it.
“You running off?”
“You’re trying to scare me off,” she corrected. “It isn’t working, by the way, but I have to get home.”
“You got a ride this time?”
“Uh…not exactly.”
Ghost made a face. “How’s a girl who lives on your street not have her own wheels?”
She shrugged, and rather than tell him she’d only had her license a few weeks, she said, “I just don’t.”
“Hmm.” He studied her, gaze unfocused, tongue poking out one cheek as he thought. “Shit,” he muttered, then, “hang on and let me get his meds. Then we’ll take you home.”
That fluttering in her belly intensified. “I’d like that.”
