I replaced the eggs I ate. Have I mentioned I have a large appetite? Also, I picked up some of that coffee you seem to like. And I noticed you were low on Talenti Caribbean Coconut. Don’t you know that’s a crime, officer? You’ll find some more in the freezer.
My stupid lips curve into an even stupider smile as I take out the pint and enjoy a few spoonfuls.
And I’m still smiling the next morning when I make my coffee.
Shaw was right.
I keep my hormones in check the next day, and not seeing Derek in the kitchen helps the cause immensely.
When I return home on Wednesday night, my hormonal state is as cool as a cucumber.
As I drive home.
As I park the car.
As I get out of the car.
And when I hear a voice. A sweet, bright four-year-old voice. “It’s the animal-sound lady!”
But then I walk around the garage and stop in my tracks. I run a hand through my hair, and my chest flutters.
Because holy shit. Derek is pushing a baby in a stroller down my walkway and holding the hand of the frog-loving little girl from the market.
Just like that, I zoom from cucumber-cool to red-hot chili pepper. These hormones are so very not in check.
15
Perri
“Giraffe! Do a giraffe!”
The order comes from Molly, who introduced herself officially to me, along with the sleeping baby in the stroller. Today, Molly is tutu-free—she’s decked out in cowgirl boots and a red cowgirl hat. I have no idea what sort of sound giraffes make, but the concentration distracts me from my libido.
I’m so damn grateful for giraffes right now, and for the obscurity of their vocalizations, forcing me to scroll through my mental list of animal sounds.
Perfect lust-killer.
I turn to Derek. “Any chance you know what a giraffe sounds like?”
He shrugs too, flashing a crooked grin. “I’m stumped. I bet Google knows.”
Before I can grab my phone and ask the all-knowing search engine, Molly shakes her curly head and thrusts a piece of pink chalk at me. “I brought my sidewalk chalk. Can you draw a giraffe with me instead?”
“She’s been drawing up and down the whole street,” Derek adds.
I narrow my eyes and straighten my lips as I face Molly. “Aha! I see I’ve nabbed the mad Sidewalk Drawer. We’ve been looking all over for you.” I stretch out my arms as if to grab her.
She squeals and clomps down the sidewalk in her boots, watching me the whole way and shouting, “Come get me.”
I chase her, grab her waist, and declare “Gotcha” in my most over-the-top voice.
“Oh no! You caught me!” She giggles, and I let her go. “Now, draw!”
“Draw, please,” Derek corrects as he pushes the stroller with the sleeping baby in it.
“Draw, please,” Molly adds, batting her eyelashes at me.
“Now that you’re in my custody, sure. I’ll do it.”
Molly laughs again. “Do it in blue. Please.”
“I will draw a blue giraffe. But would you let me change first?”
She sighs dramatically. “Okay. I’m not allowed to color in my school clothes either.”
I smile broadly at her we’re all in this together comment. “Exactly.”
Derek stares at my work attire. “You don’t need to change. You can draw in that, right?”
I toss him a flirty look, remembering his comments from the other night. This man clearly has a thing for a woman in uniform.
All the more reason to change. Best to avoid temptation.
“Be right back.” I head inside the house and turn the corner to my bedroom. I strip off my uniform and tug on exercise pants, a sports bra, and a tank top.
Then I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and take a deep breath.
I can handle sidewalk chalk–drawing with a hottie pushing a baby and tending to his precocious four-year-old niece. After all, I don’t even want to have kids.
Yet.
Maybe someday. But I definitely don’t have baby fever, so there’s no reason the sight of him with two absolute cuties should make my heart speed up or my skin sizzle.
I return to the front lawn, where the man looks me over again from stem to stern. “Nice yoga pants, but I still miss the uniform.”
Spotting Molly twenty feet away, I whisper, “That’s because you have some sort of uniform fetish.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “A big one.”
“Why’s that? You want to be cuffed? Told what to do?”
He scoffs and stalks closer, shaking his head. “Not at all, kitten.”
The way he says kitten—so raspy, so commanding—sends a shiver over my flesh. “Not at all?”
“What I want is the complete opposite.”
Holy hell, he can tell me what to do all night long. Tie me up, pin me down, cuff me.
Except I can’t go there. We can’t go there.
Fortunately, Molly skips to her Lou right on over to us, thrusting a bucket of sidewalk chalk at me. “You do a giraffe, and I’ll do a hippo.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
And it sounds like what the doctor ordered to stop the quick spread of a lust relapse.
Molly squats on the stretch of sidewalk in front of my house.
“Giraffe time,” I declare as I bend down to the concrete, working on the shape of the long neck as Molly draws a big bulbous blob for a hippo head. “That’s not too bad.”
She smiles. “I want to be a vet.”
“For safari animals?”
“Yes.”
“That’s awesome,” I say as I outline the tall creature’s face. “So you’d be a big-game vet.”
“Or I’ll be a cowgirl.”
“That could be fun too.” I draw giraffe ears next, as Molly works on the hippo’s belly.
“Or a ballerina, or a rock star.”
“What if you’re all four?” Derek chimes in as he joins us on the sidewalk. In the stroller, the baby’s eyes flutter, and she stretches her little legs and arms, looking too adorable for words.
“Yes! I can be all four.”
“You can be anything you set your mind to,” I add as I finish the giraffe’s tail.
“Whoa!” The praise comes from Derek as he surveys my handiwork. “You sure can draw.”
“Thank you. It’s just something I do for fun.”
“That’s a helluva talent for fun.”
“Uncle Derek, you said a bad word,” Molly calls out.
“Want me to arrest him?” I offer as I stand, dusting one hand against the other.
Derek offers me his wrists, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, please lock me up.”
And I walked right into that one.
Devon’s eyes flicker open, and I brace myself for a scream, but Derek swivels around, scoops her up, and peppers kisses on her cheeks.
And, I’m a ghost pepper. I’m the hottest jalapeño in history. Wait, nope. I’m the surface of Mercury because of the way Devon coos and tugs on his beard.
That’s it. I’m a goner.
“She sure likes you,” I say as casually as I can while he nuzzles the cutie-pie.
“The feeling is quite mutual.”
“How old? Six months?”
“She’s six months and two days,” Molly interjects as she scoots down the sidewalk to work on the hippo’s tail. “Come join me.”
I make my way to Molly. “You do his face,” she tells me.
I swivel around and fill in the hippo’s eyes. “And how old are you?”
“I’m four years, eleven months, and sixteen days.”
“Wow. You sure are a very specific counter.”
Derek bounces Devon on his hip. “Molly also loves to talk. Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Uncle Derek!” Molly chides.
I smile. “That’s cool. I like to listen.”
Molly chatters on about her favorite animals, her favorite friends, her favorite clothes, and her favorite games as we illustrate an entire savannah in front of my home while Derek holds the baby and plays with her.
It’s weirdly . . . domestic.
It’s also thoroughly unexpected.
I didn’t anticipate coming home and finding my hot housemate playing with his nieces.
“Where’s your nephew? Doesn’t your sister have three kids?”
“He’s playing basketball,” Molly answers.
“At a friend’s house,” Derek adds, and Devon cuts him off with a wail.
“And someone is officially hungry.” He glances at the time on his watch. It’s past six thirty. “We should go. Make you guys some dinner.”
Molly claps. “Can we have dinosaur nuggets and french fries?”
Derek shakes his head. “No, you can have chicken and broccoli.”
Molly’s nose wrinkles, making it clear what she thinks of that idea. “Pretty please.”
He shakes his head. “If you don’t like that, you’re welcome to have a delicious salad of beets, carrots, and organic apples.”
“Gross.” Molly makes a gagging sound.
“C’mon, then, porcupine. Time to go.” He glances at the artwork, then turns to me, his eyes landing on mine. “Guess I’ll see you later, officer.”
A strange feeling envelops me—the wish that he’ll say, “Let’s have a drink,” or “Want to watch a show?” or “Should we grab a bite?”
But those are crazy thoughts, so I shake them off.
My stomach doesn’t though.
It rumbles loudly.
“Someone wants chicken and broccoli,” Derek teases.
“Seems I do,” I admit.
“I’ll make you something later if you’d like.” The offer is sweet and completely welcome.
I smile and say yes.
As I head inside, I feel a little buzzed, a little tipsy.
A little like my feet don’t touch the ground.
I’ve seen a whole new side to Derek, one I never imagined existed when I met his flirty, cocky, handsome ass on the bike. Just a few days ago, he was a typical bad boy, dirty to the bone. But I’ve learned he’s determined, straightforward, and giving too.