“Oh no!” Eslin and I blurt it out in unison, and if we weren’t so caught off guard, we’d probably laugh at how perfectly synchronized it is.
“It’s just that I’m sure Eslin has other plans,” I add quickly, trying to steer the ship away from the iceberg.
Marlow tilts her head. “Daddy. Ijustsaid she doesn’t have any family or friends here.”
She turns to Eslin, who now looks like she’s the one about to faint, or kill me. “Eslin. Come to dinner! It’ll be fun. It’s the beginning of October and Daddy and I like to put out all the Fall and Halloween decor.”
Eslin tries her hardest to protest. “Marlow,I—”
“Come on! Iknowyou’re not doing anything!” Marlow insists.
I know I taught my kid to be persistent, but this is a little aggressive. Even if I am silently hoping she says yes.
Eslin glances at me, wide-eyed, looking for a parachute. I just shrug like an idiot. No way out of this one.
“Sure,” she finally says. “Just a friendly dinner, right?” she asks, looking between me and Marlow.
“Just friends,” I say, then correct myself. “A friendly dinner.”
“Yay!” Marlow squeals. “Perfect!”
I smile, with my hands awkwardly in my pockets.
Perfect.
Friendlyand perfect.
Chapter twenty-three
God, The Universe & Black Baby Jesus
Eslin
Ishould’ve known he’d come storming in.
It’s the weekend. Prime territory for accidental run-ins and yet Marlow swore up and down her father never came to weekend matches, so I let my guard down.
I’m a stupid, stupid woman.
Because of course, God, the universe, and Black baby Jesus had other plans. Marlow collapses in the most dramatic way possible, and who shows up like a storm in pressed slacks and authority? Grant freaking Mills.
With his fine ass.
Looking like trouble dressed in country clubperfection.
I’m not usually the girl who falls for the ones who look like they stepped off a yacht in the Bay, butthis man? He wears a navy blue V-neck sweater layered over a crisp, checkered button-up like it’s the uniform of a Greek god sent to ruin my common sense, my edges and esophagus.
“You are not gonna believe what happened,” Marlow says, snapping me back to the present now that her father is safely out of earshot.
“Umm, you passed out and landed on hard concrete, Low. I justmightbelieve you,” I say.
Before she can respond, the office door swings open, and in blows a storm of kinky curls, curves, and pure energy.
“Girl! Someone said you were passed out on the curb outside! Are you okay?”
The woman practically glows with presence—big grey eyes, full lips, bold brows, and confidence that charges the air around her. She’s the kind of woman people call “exotic” when they don’t know what box to put her in. Long, kinky brown hair with honeyed highlights frames her face, and her skin’s got that perfect sun-kissed glow that screams good genes and better lighting.
Her almond-shaped eyes flash with concern, but it’s the curve-hugging jersey and the ridiculous ass underneath it that has me blinking twice.
