Chapter 7

"S he is out," I say, flopping back next to Maci, who's sitting on the small couch in the living area of our suite. "Christmas Country tuckered her right out."

She side-eyes me. "I'm not even going to correct you and say Santa's Village anymore. But next time, I won't invite you. I'll just steal your kid for the day and leave you and your shitty dad jokes at home." The corner of her plump lips turns up. "Do you think she had a good day?"

"Um, you aren't allowed to ever come back here without my ass and my adorable kid. And my dad jokes? They'll also be joining. And, yeah, I think she had a damn good time today," I say before patting the top of her head lightly. "You did good, Boston. This was probably one of the best days of her life, no joke. My career obviously allows us to do fun things. But today?" I pause, unable to stop the cheesy-ass grin from spreading across my face. "Today, she smiled bigger than I think I've ever seen her." The happiness fades a bit, and I sigh. "I guess, next week, I should start looking for your replacement. Six weeks will be up before we know it. Amelia really loves having you around. It's going to suck."

She chews her lip before she grins and shrugs her shoulders. "What if … you don't have to look for my replacement?" She pauses, swallowing. "What if I stayed? I mean, I can continue writing when I'm not watching Amy. I really think I can do both—you know, caring for her and doing my job as an author."

"You serious?" I stare at her because it seems too good to be true.

This girl has slipped seamlessly into our lives, and to be honest, Amelia isn't the only one who enjoys having her around. I like it too.

"I am. I've put some thought into it, and it doesn't feel right to leave her. Not when I love being around her as much as I do." She smiles, curling her legs underneath her on the couch. "You know, at dinner, when I asked her what her favorite thing about today was, I think she listed the whole park. Even the shitty cookies."

"And what about you? What was your favorite part, Miss Maci?" I drawl.

I probably sound a little flirtier than I should, but what can I say? She's an attractive woman, and I'm a dude.

A horny dude right now.

"I liked riding the carousel with her. I remember riding it with my parents when I was a kid." She averts her eyes to the television. "It brought back memories. Good ones."

There's a hint of sadness in her voice, that I understand. There are memories from my childhood that I cherish, yet they are hard to think about because my mom's not alive anymore, and I miss that woman more than anything.

"I get that," I say as I nervously run my hand up the back of my neck.

When someone needs a good laugh, I'm your guy. Or when someone is talking smack and you need a big dude to smarten them up, I'm there. But when it comes to deep, emotional shit … I fucking suck.

"I lost my mom years ago. Gardens were always her favorite thing. Now, I can't stand the sight of one."

For a moment, the silence in the room grows deeper.

"Does it ever go away?" she finally asks, and it's the most vulnerable I've seen her. "The pain. Does it get better?"

Before I answer, my eyes freely roam her face and take her in. There isn't an ounce of makeup on her face, yet she's stunning. Her skin looks so smooth, and her hair is still wet from her shower an hour ago. Even in her sweatpants and oversize shirt, she's beautiful.

But the truth is, I don't have the right answer for her because I still haven't completely accepted what happened to my mom. And that's probably because I still hold a lot of pain inside of me about it.

"I don't think it ever goes away. Some days—hell, even months—are better than others. But I think we learn to adapt, you know?" I lean my head on the back of the couch. "With my mom, it wasn't a car accident; it was cancer." A picture of my mom in her bed, frail and so broken, flashes through my brain before I can fight it off. "But I'm sure with your dad, it was different. You didn't get to say goodbye. Losing him in a car accident? That had to be tough."

This isn't me. I'm never the guy to get deep into my feelings and shit, especially with a girl I don't even know that well. But for whatever reason, I feel like she gets it. Like she gets me.

"How did you know my dad died in a car accident?" rushes from her lips.

Before I get the chance to respond, I watch her walls go up as her body tenses, and I know I've pushed the conversation too far.

Shit. "Poppy told me. Don't worry; she didn't go into great detail. She was just trying to get it through my tough skull that you deserved this job and that you'd been dealt some shit." I try to do damage control, not wanting her to shut me out. "That must have been hard, losing him in an accident."

She brushes her hand over her hair nervously before clearing her throat. "Uh, yeah, it was." Slowly, she stands. "I should get to bed. I have a few things I need to do on my laptop before I can go to sleep." She holds her hand up awkwardly. "See you in the morning."

I stand up beside her, looking down. "Yeah, I should hit the hay. I'm wiped." I watch as she walks toward the small bedroom that's hers. "Night," I mutter behind her as she closes the door.

Well, that got fucking awkward fast.

Note to self: Maci McKenzie doesn't like to talk about her dad's accident.

My fingers type quickly against the keys. It's after eleven at night, and Amelia and Logan are asleep in the room next to mine after what might have been one of the best days of my adult life at Santa's Village. At least, I think they both are. I know Amelia is, and it's been over an hour since I darted into my room like my ass was on fire when Logan brought up losing my dad in an accident.

It's a day I don't ever want to talk about.

I know I should go to bed, but I can't. I'm nearly thirty thousand words in now, and even though the tension has been growing between the characters after an incredibly slow burn, they are so close to finally taking the plunge.

And hopefully doing the deed.

Just as the male main character pushes her against the wall, my hands freeze. Just like the last book I released, the actual romance part of the story is not coming easily, and I guess that's probably because it's been so long since I've had sex or looked at someone romantically.

Until Logan Sterns the past few days.

No, that's not true. I'm not looking at him like anything. I don't want to bang him. Or kiss him. Or lick him. Nope. The thought hasn't even crossed my mind.

Lying bitch.

To be honest, as of late, I've felt it every time he's near me. My pulse quickens, my heart races, and my stupid nose sniffs because he smells like a goddamn dream. One that's filled with sex, sprinkles, and maybe even some hot fudge and caramel drizzled on top.

With that thought, an image of Logan pops into my delusional brain—him covered in sticky chocolate syrup, waiting for me to lick it off. I blink a few times, and suddenly, it's me covered in syrup, and he's leering at me—the way that he does—ready to lick me clean.

Aggravated, I aggressively close my laptop and then curse myself for drinking that seltzer water before bed. It's an addiction, I swear. I love the stuff so much, but now, I really, really need to pee.

Hopefully, my door isn't too creaky when I open it, and I can get in and out of the bathroom without waking anyone up.

Slowly, I open the bedroom door, thrilled when it doesn't squeak or make any loud sound. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I reach out and grab the handle, tugging the door open. But what I'm met with shocks me to my core because I didn't hear the shower running.

But then I remember … when I first started typing, I put on noise-canceling headphones because it was so loud, with my room being close to the road.

I need to close the door—quickly. But all I can do is stare at the clear glass as Logan's sculpted body stands under the spray of water coming from the showerhead, one hand on the wall and the other … gripping his cock.

His exceptionally large cock.

He tosses his head back as his strokes get faster, and I feel like I might faint as my heart speeds up to an unsustainable rate. It's been a long-ass time since I was turned on, and right now, my legs feel like they might physically give out on me. And when I silently push my headphones onto my neck and hear a low groan escape his lips … I swear I might melt into a puddle.

Dear God … that is hot.

Just as I take a step backward, almost out the door, his head jerks up, and he sees me.

"What the—" he starts to say, but I don't wait for him to finish his sentence as I rush out the door, closing it behind me as quietly as I can while also hauling ass to do it fast.

Hurrying to my room, I shut the door once I'm inside. My cheeks are on fire, and even though I'm embarrassed and scared that he's going to come in here and rip me a new asshole, I'm stupidly turned on.

Between my legs throbs with need as the image of him pleasuring himself assaults my brain, hitting my thoughts like a freight train.

I glance at my closed laptop, knowing that this scene should absolutely be added into the story I'm writing, but also aware that if it did, that would make me a bit of a weirdo.

Okay, a complete weirdo.

Abruptly, my door pushes open, and in struts Logan. He's not angry though.

Instead, he simply smirks. "Did you enjoy the show, Boston?"

"What?" I snap before hastily shaking my head. "No, I … I didn't see anything. I got out of there once I saw you in the shower." Pulling the headphones from my neck, I hold them up to him before tossing them onto the bed. "If I hadn't had these on, I would have heard the shower. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your"—I clear my throat, not allowing my eyes to work down to his lower body, where a towel is wrapped around him—"privacy."

He stands there, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine or something with his towel-dried hair and perfectly sculpted body. "I don't really care what you saw. I'm a busy dad who has needs. And sometimes, those needs need to get met with my imagination and my hand."

"Logan, I don't need to—" I suck in a shaky breath. Every word that comes from his lips only makes the aching sensation between my legs grow deeper. "I don't really need to know what you were doing. So, let's just pretend it didn't happen. Deal?" I chew my lip.

He eyes me over for a moment, and I know what he's doing—trying to figure me out. Or how I really feel about it. I attempt to look unimpressed, but it's helpless because I can't settle myself down.

"That turned you on, didn't it?" Cockiness oozes from his voice, and I want to punch him in the face out of sheer embarrassment. "You watched me jerk my cock for longer than you're letting on, didn't you, Miss Sweet and Innocent?"

"No, I didn't," I snap. "Why would I want to see the father of the child I'm nannying for spanking his monkey?"

At my words, he all but chokes on his laughter. "Spanking my monkey, huh? Would have to be a big monkey." His eyes glimmer with sheer delight. "If watching me fuck my hand didn't turn you on, why are your cheeks so red, Mace?"

"They are not!" I say, this time through gritted teeth. "Can you go? I need to get in a thousand more words before bed."

His eyes find my laptop, and his grin only spreads wider. "Tell me, sweetheart, did I give you inspiration to write tonight?"

"No," I growl, and his delight only seems to intensify.

Walking up to him, I shove him backward toward the door. "Go to bed, Logan." I scrunch my nose up, my eyes quickly moving downward for a split second. "Or should I say, go … finish?"

He leans a little closer, a devilish smirk on his lips. "Oh, babe, don't be crazy." He pauses. "I covered my hand in cum the second I caught you watching me."

From his filthy words, I swear every bit of air leaves my lungs, leaving me low-key gasping for my breath. And then I realize that my hand is jealous of his.

Gross. What is wrong with me?

Turning slowly, he looks back at me. "Night-night, Miss Maci. Sleep tight." He winks. "Don't let the horny bug bite. Oh wait … it already did."

He struts out leisurely, clearly not giving two shits that I saw him masturbating.

Rushing behind him, I close and lock the door and all but fall onto the floor. I know damn well, for the rest of the night, my brain isn't going to be able to think about anything else besides what I just saw. And that's a problem because I'm not going to bang the dad of the child I'm babysitting.

But a little self-care while I imagine I am? That … I'll allow.