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37. Hannah

THIRTY-SEVEN

Maddox steps past me into the house.

I can't believe this idiot thought Chelsea was his kid.

Or that I'd keep a child hidden from their father.

Idiot.

Maddox pauses at the bench to toe off the tennis shoes he's wearing, leaving him in white socks, worn jeans, and a gray T-shirt that shows off more of his tattoos than I've ever seen.

I untie the apron I have on and pretend we aren't wearing matching outfits. With my jeans in the form of shorts and my T-shirt a white V-neck.

Normally, I don't feel comfortable wearing shorts around anyone other than my family. But I remind myself that Maddox saw a lot more than my thighs last night.

I shut the door harder than necessary.

Don't think about last night.

But as I watch his back muscles bunch under his cotton shirt, I can't help but think about it. He's just…

I pull the apron over my head.

It doesn't matter if he's sex incarnate.

Never again.

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