Page 37 of Danger

“That might be the most concerning thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He exhales through his nose, some of the edge leaving him. “Fisher’s stayin’ at Mama’s tonight.” He nods toward the house. “I keep watch wherever he is.”

My teasing fades. “You keep watch.”

“Keeps me calm,” he shrugs. “Knowin’ I’m close.”

I look at the house, then back at him. “That’s actually… kinda sweet.”

Great. Perfect. He’s hot, a little scary, and apparently dad of the year.

His eyes cut to me. “Don’t start.”

Before I can respond, he shifts and holds a hand out to me.

“C’mon.”

I glance at his bruised knuckles, then at his face. He doesn’t say anything else—he just waits.

I don’t take his hand. Not yet. Instead, I eye the truck, especially the monster tires, and smirk. “Don’t they say men with tires this big are compensating for something?”

I get an actual grin out of him. “You wanna find out?”

I slide past his hand, not taking it as I sit beside him. “I’d rather not.”

He grins.

There’s crickets. Some wind. The creak of the tailgate when he shifts.

For the sanity of my thoughts, I have to bring it up.

I exhale lightly. “So you got baby-mama drama, huh?”

He side-eyes me.

“Somethin’ like that.”

I turn toward him, swinging my feet a little.

“Well, for what it’s worth, Fisher’s a really great kid. He’s hilarious. Smart. Going places for sure. You did a damn good job.”

“Thanks,” he nods, like he already knows that. “I just want him to stay a kid for as long as possible.”

There's something about his voice right now—tired and completely unguarded. It catches me off guard, too. I've gotten used to the version of him that's all tough and grumpy cowboy. This one is quieter. Softer. The kind of version I suspect not many people get to see.

A ridiculous flutter stirs in my stomach.

I tell myself it's nothing.

And it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his sleepy voice is unfairly hot.

He drags a thumb over the bruise on his knuckles and adds, almost under his breath, “Part of me figured Rylee would be gone for good. Never come back.”

I tilt my head. “And was the other part of you hoping she would come back?”

That makes him look at me again, and he’s not pleased with the question.

“If it’s true that you…” I trail off, realizing how insane this is. I do not have these kinds of conversations with him, and here I am asking about his sex life in the moonlight.