Page 53 of Cop Daddy Next Door

I laughed and gave her belly a soft pat. “You’re beautiful.”

“Same goes.”

“I don’t know how to date someone. I haven’t since high school.” And I didn’t detail how spectacularly wrong that had gone, although I probably shouldn’t have given up my virginity so fast. Water under the very shaky bridge. “Not that we’re dating. Just…I don’t know how. And I don’t think I knew that until I spent a day with him and discovered I really like him.”

“He’s a good guy.”

“You think he’s just like Brady, only taller. And hotter.”

“Hotness can be debated, and if he’s taller, it’s like one inch. Maybe two.”

“Let’s not compare inches. You’ve got pregnancy goggles.”

She giggled and swatted at me. “I’m not some expert here, but just try not to think about it too hard. Just have fun. If it’s for a reason or a season, all good. Unless it ends up being way more than that.”

“I think this is the first time in our lives you’ve had to give me that advice. Usually, I’m the one preaching the enjoy the moment crap.”

“And look how it worked out for me.” She gripped my hand. “Maybe it’ll work out for you too.”

“Right, so we can be some seven brides for seven brothers movie of the week deal.”

“There’s only the two of us, unless Mom and Dad have been keeping something from us.”

“Nah. You know they broke the mold after I came rolling out.” I tipped my head against hers. “I was so worried about you.”

“And I was a wreck without you. You can’t go more than a few miles away until this kid is born. You have to promise me.”

I linked our pinkies. “Wild horses or fully erect penises couldn’t drag me away.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon giggling and watching movies and telling stories about our past, the more embellished the better. Brady came in bearing hot French fries from the air fryer at one point, which we gobbled down as if neither of us had eaten in years.

He did not mention his brother. I did not either. I also hid my phone under the mattress so I couldn’t check it obsessively.

So lame, Monaghan.

Eventually, Brady announced he’d been called in, if Tab was certain she was okay. She said she was, so he suited up for work.

Tab waddled to her feet to chase after him with about fifty wifely admonitions to be careful and to watch his speed and probably more things I didn’t catch. That was the life of a cop’s wife—or girlfriend.

Or fuckee. Whichever.

Clearly, I was not cut out for that role, even in a small town like this. Last night had proven that without a doubt. Yet another reason it was good we were just messing around.

Or had messed around. Past tense.

Brady was on his way out the door when a flurry of knocks followed by a spate of barking, both deep and high-pitched, signaled we had a guest.

The missing Maverick had returned with many paper sacks of food and an assortment of adorable dogs.

I hurried to help him with his bags, and when he mumbled he had more downstairs, I offered to go get them.

He looked at me, aghast. “You can’t carry all those bags.”

“Watch me.”

I left him trying not to drop everything while simultaneously holding onto three leashes and arguing with my very pregnant sister that she couldn’t carry evenonebag.

Why did he have to be so cute while simultaneously being an ass?

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