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After a mutual moment of silence while he left, I motioned for Adrian to come inside and walked into the kitchen.
He pushed the door closed, wringing his hands together before he turned. His hesitant gaze met mine, and I bit the inside of my cheek at his expression.
“I have a problem.” He paused. “My sitter got called into work, my parents are out of town, and my sister’s sitter refuses to have Zac.”
I blinked several times before going to the easiest point for me to respond to. “Why won’t your sister’s sitter have Zac?”
“Well.” He shuffled side to side, looking more like an awkward teen than a muscular, tattooed cop for a moment. “Last time she watched him, he kinda stripped down naked aside from a hand towel around his waist—”
“Oh god,” I whispered.
“—Then jumped on the coffee table with a foam sword yelling, “I am Sparta!” She was sitting on the floor, and, yeah…He wasn’t wearing underpants.”
“Oh god,” I repeated, this time with a groan. “That makes perfect sense. I wouldn’t watch him after.”
“He was six.” Adrian rubbed his jaw, his lips twitching. “That’s two long years.”
“I can imagine. So, what are you asking? If my sitter can return the favor yours gave?”
“Yeah…” More pausing. “Normally, my parents would have him and I wouldn’t dream of asking, but they’re somewhere in Montana right now.”
I wanted to be in Montana right now. Or, you know. On Mars.
I didn’t want our kids together anymore. Not because I was a horrible person or that I begrudged them the friendship forged on the connection they clearly had, but because it was one more connection between me and the godly man in front of me.
I was already having issues forgetting that kiss. The way his lips had swept mine, how his tongue had teased across my own, the way his fingers had wound into my hair and he’d held me close until I was drowning in him.
Yeah.
This was a bad, bad idea.
“I can text her,” I said after a moment of his intense scrutiny. “It’ll probably cost you, though, and I’m not as nice a person as you were.”
The grin that stretched across his face was heart-stopping. “Baby, I’ll pay her fee for Lola, too.”
Snatching up my phone, I shot him a dark look as I passed him and said six words.
“Don’t call me fucking baby, asshole.”
Chapter Fourteen
Perrie
Four hours of being inside clubs and bars and casinos and I felt grimier and dirtier than usual for some reason. I wanted three hot showers in a row, and that was just to wash the sensation of Adrian’s hands off me.
Not because he was dirty, but because he’d touched me so many times that I needed to wash away the lingering sensation of him.
Sitting in my drive, I pulled the wig off my head and systemically pulled out every single bobby pin holding my hair against my scalp. I’d spent thirty minutes curling my hair only to be told it was time for a disguise and forced to hide it under a dark brown wig.
My eyebrows matched, and as my light blond curls tumbled away from my head, I looked more and more stupid.
Granted, I was looking in a one-by-three-inch mirror on the eye shade in my car, but still. The eyebrows currently framing my eyes were way too dark for me with my natural hair color. I didn’t even own an eyebrow pencil or powder this dark—I’d had to borrow a young rookie’s kit just so my brows matched the wig.
For future reference, I’d demanded to be informed ahead of time if I needed to be in disguise with a wig. Only a man wouldn’t appreciate the arm-ache that thirty-plus minutes of curling iron usage would bring. Next time, I wouldn’t bother washing my hair, never mind doing anything else with it.
“Ugh.” The word was no more than muttered to myself as I got out of the car, leaving the cause of my itchy scalp sitting on the passenger seat.
All right, it was on the floor. It didn’t deserve the seat.
I scratched my nails hard against my scalp. Dear god, it was like I was in fucking elementary school with a breakout of headlice all over again. Not only did I now need prior warning before I’d wear a wig—I’d be informing them the itchiness would have to be tested first, or Adrian could dress up.
The only good that had come out of tonight was locating the first male prostitute. We—and by ‘we,’ I mean Adrian and his team—hadn’t been able to arrest him, but the bartender had given us a positive ID and a rundown of his personality.
He was the only one I didn’t mind snaring.
That thought lingered on my mind as I headed inside. I batted it away just long enough to pay Alison and see her drive off down the street. It came back full force as I made my way upstairs to check on the kids.
