Page 11 of A Protector For Phoebe (Love will OUT 2)

He freezes. “They’re not? Where’s your family?”

I wave his question away. I don’t talk about my family. My former family that is. “I don’t have a family.” Before he can ask me another question, I cut him off at the pass with a question of my own. “Are you from around here?”

“You’re an orphan?” Ugh. Can he not see I don’t want to talk about it?

“Not exactly,” I hedge. “What about you? Where’s your family?”

“Grew up in care.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never met anyone who grew up in foster care. Before I hit him with one of the thousand questions rolling around in my head, his phone beeps. He mumbles sorry before grabbing it from his back pocket.

He frowns. “Gotta go. A skip is in on the move.”

“A skip?” What’s a skip?

He reaches over the table and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before leaning over and kissing my forehead. “Sorry, Princess. Raincheck?”

My head bobs in agreement before I can remind my body we want nothing to do with men, and he saunters off. My eyes can’t help but watch his very fine behind as he leaves.

Suddenly, I don’t mind the nickname Princess anymore.

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