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“It’s either laugh or kill your friends.” I struggle with my bra. I’m sweaty too, my breasts swollen and sensitive. Grabbing my shirt, I pull it over my head and stand. “I’ll get the door. You fix …,” I wave a hand in the direction of his persistently hard dick, “all that.”
“I think I might break it if I try to tuck it away right now,” he grumbles before standing and hiking his jeans up. A wry smile tilts his lips. “Sorry about this, Button. I’ll make it up to you.” He gives me a butter-soft kiss, and then hustles toward the bathroom.
Chapter Sixteen
Stella
* * *
Alone in John’s living room, I run my fingers through my hair and straighten my shirt. I’m certain I’m a mess; my lips are tender and probably look bruised. But these are rockers. They’re used to sex, and I can’t feel any shame. If anything, I’m annoyed at their ham-handed instance on interrupting us.
I’m still practicing my look of cool composure when I open the front door. It abruptly fades as I come face to face with what is arguably the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He stands on the threshold, impeccably dressed in a fine gray suit, his ink-black hair gleaming in the hall light, aqua eyes sharp with focus. I swear I go a little weak-kneed at the sight. But that’s not what makes me utter a gasp of true delight.
Another set of brilliant blue eyes has me enthralled. I fall a little in love just then. Because the infant cozily tucked in the chest carrier the man wears is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. The little guy clearly knows it and gives me a gummy smile while waving his chubby fist.
“Oh, my god. Be still my heart.”
The man in the suit doesn’t change his expression, but something that looks a lot like beaming pride fills his eyes and makes him suddenly seem human. He puts a protective hand upon the baby’s stomach. And there goes my ovaries. I can feel them bursting into flames as a happy sigh escapes me.
“He has that effect on people,” says another man at his side. I hadn’t even noticed him, which is shock enough because the guy is hot, not in the cool perfection of the guy with the baby, but in a rangy, easygoing way. This is a guy women flock to, knowing that he’ll treat them right even as he breaks their heart. He’s a lot like John in that way.
Recognition hits me. He’s Whip Dexter, the bassist for Kill John. He gives me a friendly but assessing smile. “One look at those baby blues and women turn into a puddle.”
John appears at my shoulder, wearing a shirt and looking aggrieved. “Jesus, you’re not falling for Scottie’s face too, are you?”
“Scottie?” I ask blankly.
“He means me,” Hot Baby Daddy says, his accent as crisp as his suit.
This is the man who hired me? Of course he is. I recognize his voice. Scottie meets my eyes and one of his black brows ticks up a touch. He knows perfectly well I was gushing over the baby but clearly doesn’t have any intention of correcting John. I wonder about that, as John keeps complaining.
“Seriously, it’s just embarrassing. He’s happily married, you know.”
Annoyance skitters down my spine. I just had my tongue in John’s mouth, and he thinks I’m crushing on Scottie? Then again, the man is gorgeous—I can see how he’d make any guy leery.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud, I was talking about the baby.” I make a goofy face at the cooing little. “Wasn’t I? You cute little dude.”
“Little dude,” repeats Whip with a smile. “I like it.”
John expels a breath, having the grace to appear chagrined. “Right. Felix. Didn’t see him there. Hey, little man.”
“You were distracted by my stunning good looks, weren’t you?” Scottie quips. “I get that a lot.”
John flips him the finger.
“Is that his name?” I ask Scottie.
“Yes, this is my son, Felix Tiberius Scott.”
Felix lifts a fist as if to say, “Respect my awesomeness, woman!”
Scottie gave his son a Star Trek name? I fall a little more in love with the both of them. Though, really, Scottie is too cold and too pretty for anything other than casual admiration. His baby, though? I want to bite those chubby cheeks.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” Another lift of those imperious brows. “Miss?”
I get the weird feeling he knows but is asking out of politeness.
John and I speak over each other.
“I’m—”
“She’s—”
Whip cuts us off. “Maddy, right?” He gives me an innocent smile. “Jax told me he’s been making dinners for his neighbor Maddy.”
Maddy? Who the fuck is Maddy? I stiffen, my face feeling like concrete. He’s been making “dinner” for one of the other neighbors? I’m just one of many?
