Page 14 of Property of Tacoma
“I’m Foxy,” she says, planting her hands on her hips and popping a perfectly arched blonde brow at me.
“You sure as fuck are, but you still gotta go.” My gaze sweeps down her body once more before she hits the road. What a fucking shame, too.
Her lips twitch, and I don’t miss the blush that colors her cheeks. “No, I mean, I’m Foxy. The cleaner? Viper sent me. Well, technically, Chief sent me. He was trying to send my Pops, but he had a date and was throwing a fit. Shit. I’m rambling.” She shakes her head and smiles. “I do that when I get nervous.”
A slow grin curves up my lip. She’s fucking adorable. Then what she just said hits me, and the smile drops right off my face. She’s the cleaner? I eye her up and down again. She doesn’t look like any cleaner I’ve ever seen before.
“You’re a woman.” I know the second the words tumble out of my stupid mouth, it was the absolutely wrong thing to say.
Her arms cross over her chest, pushing up her perky tits, and her eyes are blazing. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting a girl, is all.”
Her blazing greens narrow to slits. “Agirl?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Seriously, dude? Can you dig a deeper hole? I already know the answer. Fuck yes. Digging ditches used to be my specialty when I was married.
Exhaling, what I hope is all the stupid shit I can possibly say to this woman, I open my eyes. “What I meant to say was…” I snap my mouth shut. Nope. That ain’t it either, dumbass. Sticking my boot in my mouth and pissing off Badass Barbie, who’s hopefully still going to fix the mayor-size problem at Kitties, isn’t what I need to do.
“Can we start over?”
She eyes my hand like it’s a trap before finally slipping her tiny hand in mine. “Yeah. I’d like that. I’m Cali, but everyone calls me Foxy.”
Cali.
I tighten my hand around her soft palm, and my breath catches when a spark shoots up my arm. My eyes jump to hers as her brows shoot up in surprise. She felt it too.
When she tries to pull her hand free, I tighten my grip.
For reasons I don’t want to examine right now, everything inside me is screaming to keep her close.
“Tacoma,” I finally say, only it comes out more like a question.
Her eyes dance with humor, and she asks playfully, “Are you sure?”
Before I can tell her that I am, the sound of tires rolling across the gravel draws our attention. A silver Audi pulls through the gate and heads toward us.
Fuck! How could I forget the kids were coming back from their egg donors today?
Saylor and Jagger have been with Jennifer all weekend, a rare occurrence since she usually cancels at the last minute. Nothing new there. The bitch has been a ghost floating in and out of their lives since I got out five years ago.
I have custody of both kids—a miracle considering my record—while Jennifer gallivants around the country with her new husband, Kevin. The same motherfucker I caught her banging in our bed ten years ago.
A car door closing brings me out of my thoughts, and I can’t help but smile when my baby girl comes running toward me, her dark ponytail bouncing.
“Daddy!” she squeals, launching herself at me.
I catch her and grunt when she collides with my chest. “You’re too big to jump on me like that.”
She rolls her blue eyes that are a mirror image of my own. “You’re strong, daddy.”
I grunt in reply before asking, “You have a good time with your momma?”
Her shoulders go up. “It was okay.”
I glance over as Jagger starts to get out of his mother’s car, much less hyped to see his old man than his sister. He’s too cool now that he’s got his learners permit.
Out pops a booted foot, followed by another, before he stands to a towering six feet. The boy is a chip off the old block inthe looks department. A carbon copy of myself. Something his grandmother has already been warning is going to be a problem.
