Page 93 of Wild Eyes
“Boring Brandon isn’t hard to beat,” I responded, and that time, she punched me.
“You never change,” she said before walking away, laughing.
But I have changed—or am changing. I can’t put my finger on it, but something feels different.
With that in mind and knowing I have to get the kids to camp before getting started on the horses, I roll out of bed and toss on sweats and a tee.
Thank god for my morning staff.
I jog down the creaky, old stairs but freeze when I hit the kitchen.
Emmy stands on the countertop singing into a spatula as though it’s a microphone, while Ollie stands on a step stool, flipping bacon. He’s wearing my This Guy Rubs His Own Meat apron, which makes me cringe.
All of this takes place as Skylar stirs a bowlful of batter, still in her Calvin Klein sleep shorts. The ones with the thick elastic waistband that are justshort enough to distract me and make me jump when Emmy shouts, “Daddy,” over the music.
But the true distraction comes when Skylar turns around, making me see double.
Because tucked into that thick elastic waistband is my shirt.
My Skylar Stone shirt.
And just above the image of her is the real her.
Smirking at me.
My stomach somersaults. After days of making Skylar blush, she has flipped the switch on me because I am positive I’ve turned the brightest shade of red.
“Good morning, Weston,” Skylar says smoothly, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Do you like my shirt?”
I swallow, mind racing. I feel like a kid who just got caught with his hand down his pants. “It looks better on you than it does on me.”
Now I’m not the only one blushing.
I make my way into the kitchen and pull out a stool at the counter. “What’s going on in here?” I ask, redirecting the conversation.
“I’m doing a concert for Skylar while she and Ollie make bacon and pancakes.” My daughter, with messy bedhead and flushed cheeks, smiles down at me, still clad in her unicorn pajamas. “We had a sleepover.” She huffs, eyes twinkling. “How many people can say they’ve had a sleepover with Skylar Stone?”
Skylar groans and I hold back a laugh. “Probably not many, Emmy baby.”
Emmy hops down into the seat beside me and plants a breathless kiss on my cheek. “Good morning, Daddy.”
She talks my ear off about bear safety as I watch Skylar and Oliver make breakfast together. They speak in short, mutedsentences, and there’s a sort of harmony in the moment. It would be a hell of a lot more peaceful if I weren’t still internally cringing over the T-shirt.
Soon, Ollie sets cutlery up on the table, and Emmy and I make our way over to our spots.
She’s gabbing about cougars when Skylar slides my plate in front of me. “This one’s for you, Coach,” she whispers against my ear while patting my shoulder.
And when I glance down, one massive pancake takes up my entire plate.
One massive pancake withNUMBER 1 FANwritten across the top in chocolate chips.
I bark out a laugh and Skylar grins from ear to ear, hip cocked out, amusement flashing in her golden eyes. “Enjoy,” she murmurs before giving my earlobe a slight tug.
And when she turns to walk away, I have to focus on not reaching for her. Her hip. Her waist. Her ass.
I can still feel her on top of me. Smell her. Taste her.
I look back at the taunting pancake and dig in while listening to the kids talk about their week. Ollie’s coding camp sounds a lot less unhinged than Emmy’s nature camp. But they both speak with equal excitement about what they’re learning.
