Page 29 of Protector Daddy

“We can just have more sex and avoid the questions if I don’t come to lunch.”

“Yeah.” She wet her lips. “So what are you doing for dinner after your shift?”

I rose to grab her hand to tug her to her feet. “You.”

SIX

Having a secret affair was exciting.

Knowing what I’d done with Christian was a secret little thrill I could hold close to my heart—like the X-rated lace panties and thong set I’d draped on my bed to wear later just for Christian.

I’d picked up the set since last Christmas in hopes I’d have a reason to use it. Now I was kind of glad I’d saved it just for him.

You’re in trouble, girl. He’s admitted he has baggage. Why do you want to make your life any more complicated? You already lost a good job opportunity because of this dude.

But my life wasn’t very complicated to start with. I mean, I had a few secrets like the next girl—that I had no intention of going back to college to get my degree, at least the degree I’d aimed for since I’d started, and yes, that I’d slept with a cop I “met”—sort of—at a job interview but that was it.

I didn’t have any other skeletons. My life was bland and boring. I was usually asleep by ten so I could get up early to work in the bakery and my idea of a fun night was babysitting my niece.

I was overdue to have a fun secret. Everyone else in this damn town did.

“There you are!”

I tried not to cringe at my mother’s voice as she called across The Spinning Wheel. The place was just starting to fill up with the afternoon crowd yet my mother had no problem making herself heard over the low hum of voices and laughter.

I felt a moment’s guilt when I flashed back to being bent over Christian’s couch. Not that sex was anything but normal and natural but my mom would not take kindly to his role in my life—or that I’d chosen to jeopardize a good position for…an even better one.

So I had a dirty sense of humor—sue me.

“You’re late,” my mother announced loud enough for half the restaurant to hear as I approached the booth she’d gotten for us. “But at least you showed unlike your brothers.”

“Not every day someone gets married,” I muttered, quickly realizing I’d not only put my foot in my mouth but also my wedge sandals and my leg up to the knee.

Holy shit, had my idiot brother not included our parents in his wedding either? He was skating on ice so thin that mine looked thick enough to be an iceberg worthy of taking down the Titanic.

“Who got married?” she demanded, rising halfway out of her seat so her chic silver bob swung around her cheeks. “That better be a euphemism.”

“For what?”

“I asked you a question, Honey Belle.”

I flushed down to my toes. “Can you keep your voice down? Does the whole restaurant need to know I was named for an orange?”

“You were not. Belle is a Disney princess.”

“Oh, that’s better. Why didn’t you name me Kojak or something? That would’ve fit you more.” My mother had a long-standing weakness for crime dramas from the seventies and eighties. Thanks to the many streaming services, she could watch them when she locked my father out of the bedroom, which happened at least once a week.

The rest of the week they boinked like damn bunnies. Even still.

“Blame your damn father. He’s the one who said your hair was the color of spun honey.”

“Babies don’t have hair.”

“You surely did. Sit down. We’re attracting attention.” Yet she was still half out of her seat.

We both sat and let out simultaneous sighs.

“Your brother did not get married last night.”

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