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Silence. I look over to see why she suddenly finds the dashboard fascinating.

“Laney.”

“I had a cheese danish.”

“A danish?”

Should have known. That girl can’t pass up a baked good or coffee shop, but that is a far cry from lunch.

“It had butter, too.”

“Butter? So, just because it had cheese and butter, you think that’s a lunch?” I sigh. “That doesn’t even count as a meal.

She cocks a brow. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.” She laughs and plugs the apartment address into her phone. “Seriously. I had a danish and coffee.”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” A vision of Coach pops up in my mind. Yeah. No thank you.

“Anyway…” she waves off my comment. “It’s not like it’ll hurt me to skip a few meals.” She turns her head to look out the window.

Is she fucking serious? “What the hell does that mean?” I grip the wheel tighter than necessary, my knuckles going white. Her saying shit like that is not going to fly. Not with me. Not ever.

“Nothing, just what it sounds like.” She continues to watch the buildings pass her by.

It sounds a whole hell of a lot like she thinks she needs to lose weight. But she’s wrong. She’s absolutely fucking perfect, curves in all the right places. Not that I noticed.

“No more skipping meals, you got it? Especially breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Spoken like someone with a body of a…” She stops herself, and I’m torn between watching the traffic and looking at her.

“With a body like what?” I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Please, do continue.”

“Whatever. Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I was going to say.”

I cock my head to the side and purse my lips. “Nope. I don’t think I do.” I wave her on. “Please continue.”

“No.” She rolls her eyes. “Now you are just being stupid.”

“Baby Becks…” I place a hand on her shoulder. “With me, there are no stupid questions or comments. Now carry on.”

“Seriously.” She sets her coffee back down and twists to look at me. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” I flash her the biggest shit-eating grin. I’m talking ear to ear. My smile is so bright it could light up Ignite Arena.

She huffs. Then mumbles out the words I knew she was going to say: “With a body like a Ken doll.”

It’s not the first time I've heard her say this. That’s why she gave me that silly nickname, but the way a tinge of pink creeps up her cheeks makes me want to keep it there. “I don’t think I caught that.” I tease.

“Oh, my god.” She reaches over, and before she can smack my arm, I catch her hand.

We both freeze.

I let go.

She clears her throat.

“Fine.” She rolls down her window and hollers out. “Hayes Bishop has a body like a Ken Doll! Do you hear me, Chicago? I repeat. Hayes Bishop, who plays for the…”

“Enough.” I roll up her window and lock the child locks. “Thanks for the declaration. I’m flattered. I really am, but I’m not trying to get us followed.”