Page 37 of Who's Your Daddy
When we get off the lift, Lola is waiting for us in the hall.
She’s a proper knockout. The deep coppery hair she typically keeps in a braid is loose, falling around her face in soft waves, her skinwhich is normally a flawless creamy color, is flushed, and when she spots Murphy, her green eyes glitter.
“How was your first day?”
He responds. I think. The boy’s polite enough to make pleasant conversation. But I don’t have a clue what he says. I’m too gobsmacked by the woman standing in the doorway. Her oversized sweats are rolled at the waist and sit low on her trim hips, and her tiny tank top clings to her small breasts. The soft swells make it difficult to catch my breath.
It's so odd, this pull I feel. Seeing Lola like this—relaxed and not so uptight—is bloody mesmerizing.
The two of them chatter as she holds open her door for me, but I pause rather than follow Murphy inside because I’ve just discovered something else about Lola.
“You have freckles,” I murmur, my voice gruff.
“Huh?” Those gorgeous emerald eyes of hers narrow on me, and when she realizes how close we are, she shuffles away, though she can’t go far, trapped between me and the doorway.
“Freckles.” I gesture at them with my chin because I’ve got five pizza boxes in my arms.
She bows her head, her cheeks going pink. “Oh, yeah, I wasn’t expecting company.”
Fuck, I need to put these boxes down. But the counter is at least twenty steps away, and I want to stay caught in her orbit. “You’re beautiful, Lola. You’re always beautiful, but hell, those freckles.” I shake my head and huff, annoyed that I can’t stop mentioning my newest obsession.
Lola stares at me blankly.
“Sorry, I’ll just put this down. I brought pizza. Figured everyone loves pizza.” I’m rambling. I can’t help it. This close to her, I’ve turned into an absolute twat.
And she’s barely said a word.
Why did I have to bring up her freckles?
Lola clears her throat and gives me a pointed look.
Oh. I’m still standing in the doorway. Wanker. With a sigh, I force myself into the flat.
She closes the door quietly. “I’m—ugh—gluten free.”
Eyes wide, I whip around. “Obviously.” How could she think I’d forget? “All the pizzas are free of gluten. No gluten in this shisouse!”
Shisouse? What the hell are you prattling on about, you arsehole?
“Shisouse?” Murphy mouths to me.
Cringing, I shake my head.I know, kid, I know.
I’ve lost the plot. With a sigh, I shuffle to the counter and drop the stack of boxes. “Figured it’d be healthier for all of us to give up gluten, right Murphy?”
He stares at me for a beat, expression as deadpan as ever, then nods. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we thought.”
“Oh,” Lola stares at the boxes then she looks back at me, green eyes wide. “That’s…oddly sweet. Thank you, Cal.”
An immense wave of pride swells through me, my confidence growing. “Of course. Figured we can share. If you want a bite of mine, you can have it. We’ll be like those dogs inLady and the Tramp.”
Her frown is back.
Might just start calling her frowny face. Imagining how badly that would go, I bite back a laugh.
“That was pasta.”
I hum, playing it cool. “I’ll get that next time. We could share a meatball.”
