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Jenner: Dom, send him over. Ignore Ford.
Dominick: Done.
Me: Does that mean you’re all coming? Say around ten?
Dominick: Kendall and I will be there.
Jenner: Jo and I will too.
Dominick: What’s going on with the girl from the bar? Is she joining in on this morning’s family feast?
Me: Eve wanted to invite her, but I shot that down before it could become a thing. They met—by accident. Fuck me.
Jenner: Oh fuck, how’d that introduction go?
Me: Shockingly … perfect.
Jenner: Then, what the hell are you waiting for? Invite the girl for breakfast.
Me: Don’t start.
Dominick: Brother, you know we haven’t really even gotten started.
Me: It’s too early for this shit. I’m not going there with you two.
Jenner: Pussy.
Me: See you bitches in a couple hours.
After Hannah had taken Sydney home yesterday morning, whenever there was a slow second in the day, when Everly wasn’t occupying my every move, my brain was filled with memories of Sydney.
Of the night we’d spent together.
I couldn’t get her out of my head.
And even though I had her number, I hadn’t reached out.
I needed more time to think this through.
I needed distance to do that.
And I probably needed to stay far, far away from her.
Because that woman was fucking dangerous.
I’d felt that the second I touched her.
But my hands were aching to run up and down her body. My lips yearning to kiss her. My cock fucking throbbing to be inside her.
What the hell is happening to me?
Texting would start a dialogue; it would open something that surely needed to stay closed. And despite telling her that I wanted to see her again, I wasn’t sure if that was really the best idea.
Not when things with Eve were in such a good rhythm.
But as my heart pounded away, my fingers found Sydney’s name in my Contacts, and I pulled up a message. My thumbs pressed the letters, typing a text, and I hit Send before I could stop myself.
Me: Everly asked if you were coming to breakfast this morning. I thought you’d find that cute.
Me: It’s Ford, by the way.
Sydney: Hi! Awww. She’s adorable. I really, really loved meeting her—and hanging out with you, of course.
Me: It was certainly a good night.
I waited for the bubbles to appear, telling me she was replying.
But they didn’t.
Maybe I needed to write more, to engage her.
Fuck me. Why was I even contemplating this?
But I was.
And just as I was about to send another message, I heard, “Daaaddy, I can’t find my pink tutu. Where did Linda put it?”
Her pink tutu.
That my housekeeper had washed and hung in her closet—I was positive of that, so I shouted back, “Check your dress rack!”
“I already looked. I need it for the pancake party. Can you find it?”
My thumbs hovered over the screen, and as I was about to type another message, Eve shouted, “Hurry, Daddy. We have to fix my hair. I want extra braids today. And lipstick.”
“You’re not wearing lipstick. You’re four.”
“I’m almost five!”
I glanced toward the doorway and yelled back, “That doesn’t change my opinion!”
“But it’s pink and sparkly, like my tutu.”
I looked back at my phone, not even remembering what I was going to write to her.
“Daddy!”
Damn it.
I set the phone on my nightstand and climbed out of bed, heading upstairs to help Eve.
