Page 2 of Badd Daddy

“Good luck with that,” I grumbled.

She laughed—and yet again, the pure musicality of the sound of her laugh sent some kind of electrifying jolt through me. “You really do have the grouch act down pat, don’t you?”

I glared at her. “Who’s acting?”

She smirked, and patted my shoulder; the electric jolt shivered south. “I think there’s a soft old teddy bear in there somewhere.”

I harrumphed. “Yeah, well, you got two words right at least—oldandbear.”

She only laughed all the more. “I could add a third word to that: silly. And then I could call you Pooh.”

I took me a full thirty seconds to process the fact that she’d just compared me to Winnie the Pooh. “Number one, I wear fuckin’ pants. Whoever decided cartoon animals should wear shirts and no pants, or pants and no shirt needs to get their damn head checked. Second, that stupid bear was a fat-ass moron. Gettin’ stuck in the hole of his own damn house like some tubby bitch. Rookie move.”

If I’d thought vulgarity would push her away, I was wrong.

She just laughed until she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “Oh my. Oh my! You’re funny, Lucas. I’ve never thought of Winnie the Pooh that way.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “Funny that you know that much about Winnie the Pooh, though.”

I waved a hand. “Got three grown boys. Triplets. I had like three movies when they were growin’ up, and Winnie the Pooh was one of ’em . They wore the damn tape out.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Triplets, huh?” She sighed. “They must’ve kept you busy.”

I guffawed, slapping my all-too-generous gut. “Olivia, you gotnoclue. Hellions don’t even begin to describe ’em. Hellraisers. And truth be told, they still are.”

“Are they here? In Ketchikan?”

I nodded, suppressing a growl. “Yep. They’re the reason I’m here, actually. But that’s a whole different story.”

She seized on that, her eyes narrowing, one thin perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching. “And?”

I couldn’t help a laugh. “Yeah. Let me just pile that awful mess on you within five damn minutes of meeting you. I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

She wiggled her hips saucily. “Oooh, you called me ‘sweetheart.’ I feel special.” Even the sarcasm dripping from her voice couldn’t douse the sparks that lit in me at that little hip wiggle.

“You are absolutely the only woman I’ve ever called sweetheart,” I said, holding up my index and middle finger. “Scout’s honor.”

She cackled. “That’s not even the Scout symbol.”

“Exactly.”

She stuck out her lower lip. “So you mean I’m not special?”

Oh god—she was just playing along, but that lower lip. Damn. “Dammit woman, now you’ve gone too far.”

She blinked at me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I laughed. “That lower lip sticking out. Ain’t fair.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was just playing along, Lucas.”

I shook my head and scoffed. “So was I, Olivia.”

“My friends call me Liv,” she said.

“Are we friends already?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Well sure.” She smirked. “If you take me to your apartment.”

I coughed, choking on my own shock. “Uh—what?”