Page 43 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
I shake my head. “He’s not that old, actually. Forty is the new thirty, you know.”
She frowns. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, I guess not. I’m alone because I like being alone.”
“I think Papa would say that’s donkey splat.”
I rest my drink against my forehead. “Even ten-year-olds are calling me on my bullshit,” I mutter to myself.
She grins. “You shouldn’t say curse words in front of me. I’m like a parrot, but smarter.”
“Then you’re smart enough to know not to repeat it.”
“I’ve heard Papa say that one, too, so it’s not like I’ve learned it from you.”
“Well, thank god for that.” I glance down at her. “Would you mind if I went and talked to some of the other adults now, Nina?”
She shrugs, smiling at me. “Nope. I’m gonna go ask Uncle Ryder if I can play Candy Crush on his phone.”
I glance at Ryder. There’s a huge spreading oak in the backyard, and at some point James made a huge swing out of thick ropes, half a tractor tire, and a wooden plank—the swing is easily big enough for two adults sitting side by side, and Ryder is on it with Laurel beside him, the pair chatting easily. They’re laughing, leaning close, thighs touching—I picked Laurel up and we drove here together, and spent the first few minutes making introductions all around, but it was obvious within minutes that she and Ryder were interested in each other, so I made sure to leave her an opening to go talk to him without me.
I pull my phone out of my purse, which is sitting on the ground a few feet behind me, out of range of the pool, and extend it to Nina. “Here, play on mine. It looks like your Uncle Ryder is having a conversation.”
Nina clearly misses nothing. “Ohhhh.” She grins. “Well, that is the kissing swing.”
I frown at her. “The what?”
“Papa calls it the kissing swing.” Her face falls. “He used to, at least. He never goes on it anymore. Him and Mama used to sit on it and swing and kiss while I played out here.”
I feel like there’s a hell of a story in between Nina’s throwaway comments, especially since I didn’t realize James even had children.
Nina hops up. “I just remembered my best score is Fruit Ninja on Uncle Franco’s phone, so I’m going to ask if I can borrow it.”
And off she scurries, prancing and dancing, spinning and tripping and twirling and stumbling in the way of little girls. She goes right up to Franco and tugs on his shirt, putting her hands together in a pretty-please gesture. Franco grins down at her, and that smile of his is heartbreaking and heart-warming and panty-melting all at once, because he very clearly absolutely adores that little girl with every fiber of his being. I watch him play tough guy before relinquishing his phone. Then he gently, playfully shoves her away; her response is to full- on bodycheck him, all without pausing in her frantic two-fingered assault on his phone.
Franco’s gaze travels the backyard, hopping from Jesse and Imogen, who are still dutifully listening to Ella’s diatribe, to Imogen’s friend Nova—whom I’ve only briefly met for a minute when I first arrived—who is busily mixing drinks in the kitchen, and then to Ryder and Laurel. As he sees Ryder and Laurel on the swing, he nudges James and points them out. James’s face goes through a quick series of expressions: joy at his friend clearly crushing on the new girl—yay for me and my matchmaker skillzzzz!—and then to pain and wistfulness. He must be remembering the times he’s spent on that swing. His reply to Franco is something muttered under his breath, which I can’t make out.
Franco’s gaze slides, inexorably, to the pool. To me. My heart patters in my chest, as his eyes meet mine. We’ve managed to avoid each other so far, but it’s only been twenty minutes. And those twenty minutes have been tension-filled. Nina provided me with a lot of distraction, but I’ve been hyperaware of Franco and every move he makes.
I look away, return my phone to its pocket in my purse, and head inside to talk to Nova. A newer friend of Imogen’s, Nova Benson is one of the tallest women I’ve ever met, probably standing right at six feet, and she’s built like an Amazon. Strong, fit, clearly no stranger to the gym; she’s just flat-out statuesque—the Greeks and Romans couldn’t have carved a more perfect representation of a powerful warrior woman.
Nova has bright, flaming red hair, bright vivid blue eyes, and a mischievous hint to her smile, something I noticed the moment I met her and notice again now as I join her in James’s kitchen. She must’ve just come from work, as she’s wearing maroon scrub pants and the same kind of sneakers Imogen wears to the hospital. Instead of the matching scrub top, Nova wears a white, ribbed tank top, and an electric blue bra underneath, both of which show off her breasts. Somehow, though, Nova makes the look seem casual and sexy and effortlessly cool all at once, especially with a pair of mirrored aviators holding her hair back, and a stunning number of bracelets on both wrists: braided-thread friendship bracelets, silver bangles, an Alex and Ani bracelet with a dozen charms, a worn black leather cuff on each arm, a plastic hospital bracelet on her left wrist—that one is old, and very clearly has a story behind it—there are too many bracelets to count, extending halfway up her forearms. My first thought, which comes out of my mouth the moment I’m in the kitchen with her, is:
