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That was sweet. That meant that he cared, didn’t it?
I don’t get to answer my own question before another barrage of messages from Quinn comes in.
QUINN: we talkin typical jock bullshit
QUINN: Or is he bein a real asshole?
QUINN: is it the kiddo?
It can’t be her—ViVi is the sweetest little thing on God’s green earth. I can say that even if she’s cry-happy fairly often. There’s also that little detail that she hasn’t quite gotten down a sleeping routine. But it’s only been a week. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
My attachment to her was, though.
I bite my lip as I pace around. It’s funny how something so adult can make you feel like you’re a teenage girl again, getting advice from your more experienced best friend on a guy you’re kinda sorta into. Throw in the complication of an unexpected child, and you’ve got the makings of a daytime drama sure to rake in all the ratings.
I try to explain without giving too many details. Advice is what I need, but that NDA looms over my head like a pesky little rain cloud. What I already sent her might be verging along the edges of pushing it too far.
OLIVIA: It’s nothing bad. I just get annoyed. I don’t know what to do about it.
OLIVIA: The girl is great though.
OLIVIA: I’m just trying to get used to his temperament.
Quinn’s reply comes in quickly. I know my girl Livvy ain’t getting cold feet over some bigheaded jock asshole!
QUINN: You’ve been through a lot, Liv. And I love you and know that you can dish just as much as you take.
QUINN: So dish back whatever this dick bag is putting out.
QUINN: And if I have to I will come there myself and knock Reese Dalton over the head with his own stick!!!
QUINN: **that was NOT a penis pun (but it could be…)
I grin. I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll have to have a fugitive plan in mind for after. You’ll have to go on the run, you know.
QUINN: Sweet. I’ve always wanted to be an outlaw!
OLIVIA: I’ll get you some chaps and a revolver to really pull the vibe together.
QUINN: Awwwwwww. You really do love me!
OLIVIA: Don’t push it. You wouldn’t look good in prison orange.
* * *
The first round of boxes delivering ViVi’s Goodies begins to arrive on Wednesday. My breakfast is interrupted by the loud chime of the doorbell echoing through the house.
I jump up, excited—and promptly catch my foot on the leg of the bar stool. By the grace of God and three years of Teddy’s Tae Kwon Do classes after middle school, I turn it into a half-assed somersault and manage to avoid cracking my skull open.
In my scramble to get back upright, I’m not the only one who comes to the door. Reese actually beats me to it. He’s in a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. A combination crafted by the devil to make strong women weak.
His expression, however, is anything but tempting. He’s got a scowl that tells me he’s not been caffeinated yet and a twitch to his brow like he’s ready to punch something.
“Who in the?—”
“It’s not for you!”
I push past him. He swears under his breath. Something about it being “too early for this shit.” Well, no one told him to come out and get the door! Doesn’t he pay people to do that anyway?
