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“Guardians were traditionally responsible for spiritual guidance. Now it’s more of a symbolic nod to the old ways. You just have to show up on the day and hold the baby.” Felix interrupts, his hand lifting to rub the back of his neck as he looks between us. “And promise to kick the ass of anyone who hurts her for the rest of eternity.”
“In that case, count me in. I’d be honored, man.” Mylo stands and reaches across the table to shake Felix’s hand, the baby still snuggled into his shoulder.
I get to my feet and pull Laia into a hug.
“You two will be able to get on, won’t you?” She whispers into my ear before we part.
“For you guys, anything.” I side-eye Mylo.
He’s wearing a doubtful look I’m pretty sure mirrors my own.
FOURTEEN
Mylo
She’s moving on. It was bound to happen sooner or later. A paper bag filled with my Chinese takeout in one hand, I hunt for my keys in my back pocket. It’s better if she does. She’s special. Too special to end up with a man who can’t give her everything. You only have to look at her with Seren to see that she deservesthatkind of happiness in her life, that shewantsthat kind of happiness in her life. It’s drawn me to her since the day we met, and it should have kept me from her since the night I kissed her. Thinking we can be friends. Thinking I can be in her life. Help her see what I see isn’t doing either of us any favors. She’s strong and brave and loyal, and fuck if that’s not even more of a draw than the physical. I’ve seen it every night she let me sleep with her. At the retreat with Lola. I see it every time she’s anywhere near me. The pull to be with her is real, but all it seems to do lately is cause her pain.
The smell of cologne, a boatload of fucking cologne, clogs my throat before I get my key in the door. Who the fuck needs that much cologne? The reflection in the glass pulls a growl from me and my head from my ass.
It’s Eyebrows. He’s walking toward me. Toward this apartment block. The fuck?
“I’m on my way, babe,” he says into his cell before cutting the call.
I stalk through the door. He follows me in. Follows me right to the fucking elevator. Unease. Dread. Fucking disbelief. No.
Bottle of wine. Skin-tight pants that show his fucking ankles. Tight black button-down. And that fucking cologne.
He clears his throat but doesn’t look at me when he reaches past me to press for the third floor.
The third fucking floor. I grind my teeth. My third floor.Kenzi’sthird floor.
Awkward seconds pass. And the doors slide open with a ping that makes me want to break something. She wasn’t playing around when she said she wanted it now. But fuckingEyebrows?
Kenzi’s already waiting by her door, arms folded, a scowl deeper than even mine creasing her face.
He strides out of the elevator in front of me like he owns the fucking place.
“I told you no on the phone.” She flicks her scowl my way, then back to the slimeball now standing in front of her. “I have plans. I’m—”
“Zizi, come on. We can talk about this inside.” He not so subtly jerks his head in my direction.
I slide my key into the lock and watch whatever the hell it is that’s going on as I twist it.
“I brought your favorite wine, babe.” He goes to walk past her into her apartment, and I’m dropping the bag on the floor and moving before I can stop myself.
“She’s busy.”
Daz straightens, his eyes widening when he turns, neck craning back to look me in the face. I can practically see the cogs turning. To push it. Or not to push it. Part of me is willing for him to push it.
“With you?” His mouth tightens and he steps back. “That right, Zizi?”
A loaded beat passes, long enough to have me doubting whether I played this right. This isn’t me. I plan. I wait. I evaluate. My career was built on it. I pride myself on it. But with her, all I seem to do is bulldoze into shit without thinking it through. The hospital. The art retreat. The gym. Right fucking now.
Kenzi’s head tilts, her gaze moving over me, before sliding back to Daz, then, as if she does it every day, she moves to my side and curls her arm around my waist. She leans into me. “Yup.” She digs her nails into the skin of my hip under my T-shirt. “It is.”
Sharpnails. I fight not to flinch, but not at the pain. The top of her head brushes my chin, the warmth of her body shoots a jolt of awareness from where she’s tucked under my arm directly to the core of me, and I slide my hand around to rest on the firm muscle of her side before I can stop myself.
Her body tenses for a millisecond before she relaxes into me.
