Page 63 of Who's Your Daddy
Cal
Istayed out of the room as long as I could.
After leaving Lola, I rang my cousin Zara, but she was also getting ready for tonight’s fundraiser. Fortunately, her husband Asher was available to join me at the pub. Just as we were finishing off our pints, Cortney Miller and Beckett Langfield appeared, so I stayed for another round. It was only polite seeing as how Beckett had arranged the heli for us.
My second round was nothing more than soda water. The last thing I want is for Lola to accuse me of being drunk.
I snuck in two calls to Murphy. The first to see how school was and the second to tell him where I hid the Ping-Pong balls and to suggest he lob them at Sully’s head randomly throughout the night. Don’t want my brother to get too comfortable with me gone.
Now it’s time to face the music. On the ride up, I dig deep, summoning the courage to face Angry Lola.
With any luck, she’ll have had a change of heart. The bed was pretty and the Jacuzzi looked relaxing.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. There’s a good chance she’s been stewing since I left her here, and the moment I step into the room, she’ll go off like Mount Etna.
If that’s the case, I suppose I’ll be sleeping on the floor with one eye open, hoping she doesn’t stab me with her Jimmy Choos.
I knock rather than walk in. No use riling the beast unnecessarily.
“Is that you, Callie?”
Callie? Who the fuck is Callie?
“No. It’s me,Cal.Can I come in?”
“Yup!”
That single syllable is nothing more than a chirp. It’s chipper. Filled with happiness. Why does she sound happy? Is it because she’s spent the last hour and change plotting my death? That must be it. She’s probably going to kill me.
Like an idiot, I open the door anyway. I’m drawn to her. Pulled into her orbit.
Inside the room, I’m hit with her cinnamon vanilla scent. Fuck. She always smells like a damn dessert. A moan escapes me before I can stop it.
The room is a mess, rose petals strewn all over the floor. The bedding is wrinkled, the hot tub is empty, and the bottle of champagne is upside down in the metal ice bucket.
In other words, it’s likely my little fireball is drunk.
This should be interesting.
“Callie! Is that you?”
The lightness in her voice as she calls my name—even if it’snotmy name—brings a smile to my lips as I stride to the center of the space.
Lola appears in the doorway of the bathroom, and I’m struck completely stupid.
Lola fucking Caruso. Holy hell. My heart sputters to a stop, and the entire English language vanishes from my vocabulary.
She’s beautiful.
Drop dead fucking gorgeous.
That auburn hair of hers flows past her shoulders in loose waves. Though her face is done up, there’s still a light smattering of frecklesacross the bridge of her nose. Like she applied a lighter layer of foundation.
Maybe on purpose?
Could it be because I told her I like them?
My gut twists itself into a knot.
