“Hello,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice casual.
His jaw flexes once before he responds. “Hey.”
The word is low and rough around the edges, as if he hasn’t quite decided what to do with this moment either. It takes a second to realize we’re not alone. Heat crawls up my neck as I glance at the three men standing beside him, watching the exchange with varying degrees of curiosity and poorly disguised amusement.
I offer a polite smile. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
They echo the greeting easily enough as their gazes bounce between me and their teammate.
It’s almost a relief when Elody presses my hand between both of hers. “Daddy, can Kia sit by us at the table? Please?”
Laiken looks down at his daughter, his features easing. “Yeah, bug. If Kia is up for that, it’s fine with me.”
I swallow, aware of how sweaty my grip has become. “Sure,” I manage. “I’d like that.”
His gaze slides down the length of me before snapping back up, as if he caught himself doing something he shouldn’t. Surprise flickers across his expression before it turns guarded.
There’s a moment of awkward silence before he clears his throat. “Elody’s been talking about you nonstop since you babysat.”
Warmth floods through me. “We had a really good time.” I look down at his daughter. “How’s Penny’s hair holding up?”
Elody pouts. “Not good. Can you braid it again?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Laiken’s exhale sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Um, excuse me? You didn’t even ask me to fix her hair.”
Elody wrinkles her nose. “You’re not very good at it, Daddy.”
“Ouch.”
Still beaming, Elody squeezes my hand.
I wish it were possible to ignore just how aware I am of the man standing less than three feet away. From the heat radiating off his body to the faint scent of soap and the subtle woodsy note that clings to the air around him.
I really shouldn’t notice any of it.
And I definitely shouldn’t care.
He’s older.
A single dad.
My brother’s teammate.
Every one of those facts flashes through my mind like a bright neon warning sign that screams off-limits. My belly, unfortunately, doesn’t get the memo, and flutters in response.
4
Laiken
By the time Hugh’s penthouse settles into that cozy rhythm of holiday gatherings with coats discarded, drinks poured, voices rising over the soft jazz, my daughter has already dragged Kia in about ten different directions.
First to the windows, where Elody presses her hands to the glass, bouncing on her toes as she points down at the street. Then to the dessert table, where she studies the spread, her fingers hovering over the pies, cakes, and cookies, as if weighing an impossible decision. And finally, to the appetizers when something on a silver tray catches her eye.
Even when I think about stepping in, giving Kia a breather and time to socialize with the other adults, I hold back because she doesn’t look in need of saving. That observation shouldn’t get under my skin, but it does anyway.
“Man, I don’t know how you do it,” Knox says, drink in hand. “That kid has way too much energy. I’m exhausted just watching her.”
