Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“I just enjoy fucking with him,” Maxim admitted with a grin. His brow furrowed as he looked over my shoulder. “Looks like you had a package delivered.”
I turned, spotting the dark parcel just in front of my front door. “It’s too damned early for deliveries.” A few strides later, and I was at the front steps that led up to my southern-style wrap-around porch. “What the actual fuck?”
“What is it?” Maxim called from across the street.
My stomach lurched sideways.
It was a fucking car seat, the kind new babies rode around in, like the one Axel had been toting his son, Colin, around in since he’d been born a couple of weeks ago. Was this some kind of prank?
“Brogan?” Maxim asked, his voice sounding closer as I took the stairs slowly.
Yep, that was a baby carrier. The black shade with pink piping was up, disguising its contents, and there were two carry-on sized suitcases flanking it.
“What the hell?” Maxim asked, appearing at my side. “Were you supposed to babysit Colin or something?”
I gave him a WTF look. “Do you honestly think I’m signing up for babysitting duty?” I fucking hated kids. Well, not all kids, just most of them. They were messy, noisy, and made constant demands for things I wasn’t capable of...things like unconditional affection and love.
“Good point,” Maxim answered, both of us taking that last step so we stood on the porch, just a few feet away from the baby carrier.
“And it’s not like Langley would just leave Colin to hang on my porch while we were running,” I noted, kind of wishing that wasn’t the case. At least that would have been an explanation for whatever the fuck was happening right now.
“Maybe it’s a prank,” Maxim suggested as we both leaned forward, our feet planted like we were both incapable of taking another step.
“It’s probably empty.” God, please let that fucking thing be empty.
“Yeah. Totally.” Maxim nodded, his dark brows furrowing.
I reached forward once, then snatched my hand back. “What if it’s not empty?”
“It’s empty,” Maxim answered. “It has to be.”
“Right.” I nodded.
The car seat rocked back slightly, and the distinct wail of a pissed-off infant filled the air.
“Oh fuck,” I muttered, jolting forward. I gripped the black carrying handle, and turned the carrier around to face us.
A baby—a girl, if all the pink was any indication—looked up at me with teary, indignant eyes and shook her fists as she let out another yell.
“That’s a baby,” Maxim said slowly.
My chest constricted as I stared at the infant. Her hair was dark and her eyes were a brilliant, bright blue, but there was something about the shape of those eyes that had my pulse pounding an erratic beat. The tiny upturn at the tip of her nose and the heart-shaped face were familiar enough to knock me on my ass.
The kid looked just like baby pictures of my mom.
And the way she was screaming at the world? Like someone had dealt her the shittiest hand possible? That was all me.
What the actual fuck.
“Okay, and what other proof do you have?” Asher asked an hour later as we crowded into into his glass-walled office at the top of Reaper Arena.
“Besides the baby with my mom’s eyes and the letter stuffed into her car seat that says, ‘Hey, remember that one-night stand you had in Miami last August? Well, this is your daughter, Skye, and now she’s all yours?’” I motioned to the note Asher held in his hand as he leaned back in the chair behind his desk. “That’s it.” I sat back on the edge of the desk and stared at the red-faced infant that was supposedly mine.
“She’s the cutest!” London said as she bounced the baby on her hip, making laps around the conference table that took up the rest of the office. Apparently, that was the only way to calm the tiny human down. Maybe she hated that pink, one-piece pajama-looking thing she was wearing. It looked like she could hardly stretch out in it.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Sterling said to London with a smile, enjoying his seat at the table as Maxim looked on with a furrowed brow.
“There’s no paternity test,” Asher muttered, flipping the letter over and examining the back. “Do you remember anyone named Tiffany?”
I shook my head. “That whole fucking weekend is a blur.” It had been a single guy’s trip—the last before the season started—and I’d tied one on pretty fucking well.
“Well, that’s encouraging,” Asher said, cocking a brow at me.
“She obviously knew where you live,” Maxim noted, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the table as London passed by, carrying the baby.
“That’s not hard to find online,” Asher countered. “And look—” He put his hands up. “I’m not saying that’s not your kid, but I’m not about to sit by and let you get taken advantage of if she’s not.”