Page 6 of Off-Limits Daddy
“You cutting my hoodie?” I asked, scandalized.
“Would you rather I leave you here ‘til spring?”
“Depends. You planning to come visit?”
His jaw ticked. “Still a brat.”
“Still hot,” I shot back, voice going a little breathless when his hand brushed my side.
With a quick, precise motion, he sawed through the caught fabric. “There,” he muttered.
I started to wiggle backward, but before I could get far, strong hands wrapped around my ankles.
“Hold still.”
Reid gave one firm pull—effortless, confident, like dragging brats out of trouble was a weekly task—and I slid out from under the shed with a softoof.
Dirt streaked my arms. A cobweb clung to my cheek. Max, traitor that he was, had disappeared entirely.
I pushed to my knees, then looked up—right into those eyes.
The size of him. The heat of his skin. My heart might’ve done an actual somersault.
And because I’m me—and because I hadn’t learned restraint in years—I said, voice honey-sweet, “Guess I owe you one, Daddy.”
The word justslippedout.
I didn’t plan it. Didn’t even think it through. But once it was out there, hanging between us, it felt... right. Like calling him anything else would’ve been a lie.
And it got a reaction.
Afractionof a smile—more like a twitch at the corner of his mouth—and one quick exhale through his nose. He didn’t comment, or take the bait, but I wasdefinitelynot imagining the way his gaze lingered for an extra beat on my mouth before he looked away.
Griff snorted. “Guess some things are just built for drama.”
Cool. Love that for me. He could’ve been talking about Whiskers but let’s be real—I’d been back in town for five minutes and was already halfway to becoming local folklore again.
Then, from beneath the leaning toolshed, a sleek cat with glossy black fur and jade-green eyes bolted out, skittering across the dirt like it was late for an important meeting. “Whiskers!” the kid called breathlessly, relief flooding his voice as he scooped the cat into his arms, holding her tight.
“See?” I said, brushing dirt off my hands, trying to sound casual, although my voice caught a little. “Successful rescue.”
Daddy’s voice dropped low, rough. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you,” I shot back, lifting my chin with more bravado than I felt. “Still the town’s resident grumpy hero.”
For a flicker of a moment, something complicated passed through his eyes—so quick I could’ve missed it. Then he nodded to his crew. “We’re good here. Back to base.”
As they turned away, Marco called over his shoulder, “See you around, Trouble.”
“Can’t wait,” I shot back, flashing him a grin.
But my gaze stayed fixed on Daddy’s broad back as he strode toward the fire engine—powerful, effortless, every step pulling at something inside me.
He hesitated just before rounding the corner, like he wanted to look back but stopped himself.
God help me—I wanted more. More trouble. More him.
Maybe Iwastrouble.
