Page 98 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
“They wouldn’t risk their friendship with him over this,” I counter.
Her frown deepens into something heavy, serious. “I’m just saying…if he does find out, it’s going to be a nuclear-level blowup.”
I don’t answer.
Mostly because she isn’t wrong.
I can picture it too easily. The fallout would be catastrophic.
For me.
For them.
Not that my dad deserves good people in his life.
The rest of the drive to Mr. Larkin’s is quieter than before. Mallory keeps sneaking side-eyes at me, waiting for me to crack and spill more details.
I keep my attention locked on the road though, forcing myself to remain relaxed and not imagine how this entire arrangement could implode if even one thing goes sideways.
We pull into the lot outside his office and head inside.
Larkin barely looks at me, just takes the money order then nods at the end, telling me he looks forward to continuing to do business.
I mumble a quick thanks and leave, Mallory trailing behind me.
Back in the car, the silence stretches until it feels like a third passenger. We drive back to my apartment where her car is, and when I pull up in front she pauses with her hand on the door handle.
“Just…be careful, okay?” she says. It’s not judgment this time, just concern. “I don’t want you getting hurt because these guys are interested in taking advantage of you.”
I nod. “I will.”
She gives me one last searching look before climbing out, closing the door with a quietthunk.
I watch her walk over to her little silver hatchback, keys jingling in her hand.
She pauses just long enough to give me one last wave before ducking into her car.
The engine coughs to life, and a moment later she’s pulling away from the curb, her taillights disappearing down the street toward her apartment.
I stay there, hands resting loosely on the wheel, staring at the empty stretch of road ahead.
Careful.
The word echoes in my head, sour and heavy.
I didn’t like what it implied, that I was in danger.
As far as I was concerned, Jack, Reece, and Liam had been nothing but incredible to me.
They’d been generous, attentive, protective in ways I never expected.
Sure, the arrangement is unconventional—okay, fine,reallyunconventional—but it was mine.
I’m not about to give it up just because my best friend disapproves.
My phone buzzes against the cupholder, jolting me out of the spiral.
I glance down at it, and a new text lights up the screen.
