Page 32 of Buckin' Around

He was being thoughtful?

He shifts on his feet, running his hand through his hair, and it is only now that I notice the light grey sweatpants hanging from his hips, the loose T-shirt that looks like he?—

“Did I wake you up?” I blurt out.

“Indirectly. Henry buzzed up to let me know you were here.” His expression is unreadable.

Right.

“If you don’t mind...” I shuffle past him to the room I’m taking. I have to turn sideways to get through the doorway, and when I’m inside, I see the bassinet set up on a fold-out table. One of those blow-mold jobs you get from the hardware shop for a project that won’t take long, with every intention of tossing the table away at the end. Diapers, packs of wipes, and clothes are strewn all over the end of the bed.

Good lord.

I have my work cut out for me.

I peek over the side of the bassinet to find Ivy sound asleep. Stepping back as far as I can without running into anything, I drop my belongings onto the queen-size bed that sits against the wall dividing the bedrooms.

“That was going to be Ivy’s room,” a gravelly voice says from the doorway.

I turn back to see him leaning on it, arms hanging. He yawns, raising a hand to cover his mouth, exposing his hard stomach and the defined V that disappears into those sweatpa?—

“I’ll get out of your way, I’m sure you know more about this than me.” He rolls off the door and disappears into the hallway.

It’s only when I run out of oxygen that I realize my mouth is agape. I can’t tell if it’s from the shock of his lack of care in taking his daughter seriously, or the fact that even with multiple feet between us, he affects me.

The heat that flushes my face alludes to the answer.

I fecking hate it.

Apart from the queen bed, the room has a built-in wardrobe, a four-drawer dresser, and two bedside tables. After unpacking, I set my focus to rearranging the room to make it easiest to care for Ivy and get my work done.

I move Ivy’s bassinet to the dresser top. I organize her clothes and supplies into the drawers as quietly as I can.

Lifting the blow-mold table, I carry it to the oversized window on the western side and set it up with my laptop, notebooks, etc.

A tiny squeak comes from the bassinet.

Hold on baby girl, almost done.

Give Riles one more minute, can you?

The bassinet starts to jostle. The distinct popping sound of a pacifier being spat follows before...

A wail fills the room.

Spencer walks past my bedroom door, showered and dressed. Not stopping for his daughter’s cries. I hear keys rattle in a bowl before the front door opens and closes.

The wake of him hits me, a sandalwood and spicy cologne.

Goddamn ass.

Not a “see you later.” No goodbye for his kid. With barely a sideways glance, he hightails it out of the apartment like the entire building is on fire.

My first instincts about Spencer Lockwood were right. He’s an asshole. A pretty, pretty, sexy fecking asshole.

“Focus, Riley. We are here for the job. Not to get our knickers in a knot over some guy whose ego is more important than his family.”

Urgh.