Page 4 of Playing With Forever (Hollow Point #4)

CHAPTER TWO

“Hey, Dad,” Lindy greeted from the kitchen sink.

Her arms were covered in red, yellow, and blue paint.

“She lives,” I teased and dropped a kiss on her temple. “Working on something new or in the middle of something?”

“Finished one.”

Ah. That was why she was inside what she called the big house.

Years ago, when Lindy had decided that her love for art was going to turn into a profession, I built her a studio in the backyard.

When she proved to be serious and would lose herself to her painting or drawing, I added a bathroom to stop my kid from running across the yard, busting into the house, and dancing to the bathroom before peeing herself.

When she graduated high school, undecided if art school was the right move, and the time had come for her to have some privacy, I once again added to her studio, which now had a small bedroom and a very small living room area.

It was essentially a tiny house with a fridge and microwave.

If she ate out there, she had to wash her dishes in the bathroom sink.

I forewent adding a kitchen knowing if she had a place to cook real food, I’d never see my daughter.

“So you’re in here to clean up and eat a meal that wasn’t prepackaged and reheated.”

“Bingo, Daddio. So what’s for dinner?”

I felt a sharp pain in the left side of my chest at hearing an old, ridiculous nickname she rarely called me.

My plan had been to order a pizza, but if my daughter was willing to give me time, I wasn’t wasting it on shitty delivery.

“Get cleaned up and we’ll hit BT’s.”

“You know everyone just calls it The Joint,” Lindy laughed.

That sound never got old. And I’d miss it when she was gone to live the life she carved out for herself.

“Do you want a burger, or are you going to stand here and give your old man a hard time?”

“Can’t I have both?”

My girl could have anything she wanted, but I’d rather go out and get a really fucking great burger.

“You can do whatever you want. But I’m going to change. Be ready in thirty, or the bus is leaving without you.”

I left Lindy to finish washing her hands and went to my bedroom.

The first thing that caught my attention was my unmade bed; the second was the faint scent of Josie’s perfume; the third was the black lace bra that was tangled in my dark blue sheets.

It was something I hadn’t seen this morning, or I would’ve hidden it in the off chance Lindy wandered into my room.

I did that right then, which further pissed me off, and the smell of Josie on my sheets and lingering in my room was already more than enough to irritate me.

The bra served as a gratuitous reminder that Josie had hightailed her fine ass out of my bed and my house in the middle of the night, and I hadn’t forgotten that shit for one second. Neither had I forgotten the way she felt or tasted.

The woman was a class act. In public, she was reserved and polished.

In private, with very little coaxing, she let loose and went wild. I hadn’t been left with claw marks since I was in my twenties. Now I was sporting Josie marks, not only on my back but my chest, and she’d left a hickey.

At the very least, I wanted to nail down a date with her before I took her back to her car. Though I’d been aiming for that after I’d woken her up with an orgasm.

Both I’d been looking forward to.

Neither did I get.

Now I was pissed.

I shoved her bra in my drawer, along with all thoughts of the woman, and headed for the shower.

“Do you know her?” Lindy quietly asked from across the booth.

“Know who?”

“The woman in the white blouse.”

I scanned the small restaurant and found who Lindy had asked about.

Yeah, oh yeah, I knew her.

“Yep,” I told Lindy but didn’t take my eyes off Josie’s panicked expression.

“Who is she?”

“She runs the Hope Center.”

“Seriously?” Lindy asked, no longer whispering, with a fair amount of excitement interjected. “She should sit with us.”

That would be a fuck no. I hadn’t introduced my daughter to single woman I’d taken to bed or dated since her mother had left. Not that I was dating Josie, but I’d had the woman, and that made her off-limits to Lindy.

“No.”

“What? Why? There’s a line to be seated, and we haven’t ordered yet.”

Without waiting for me to come up with a plausible lie, my daughter raised her hand and waved to Josie.

I was busy fighting back a groan of irritation, but still, I didn’t miss Josie’s startled response. Her wave in return was much less enthusiastic than my daughter’s.

“Lindy,” I scowled when she started motioning Josie to our table.

“Stop being weird, Dad.”

Weird?

What was going to be weird was when I grounded my twenty-year-old daughter and took her phone and car keys away.

Thankfully, Josie smiled and shook her head.

“What’s her name?”

“Lindy, listen to me?—”

I got no farther. My pain-in-the-ass kid decided to stand. My options were to demand my daughter stop behaving like a lunatic, which would lead to her pressing me for answers I didn’t want to give, or sit through a very uncomfortable dinner.

Josie made the decision for me by walking through the crush of people waiting for tables, likely so Lindy would stop waving at her.

When she fully came into view, I saw she had on another pair of jeans—no doubt they’d hug her exceptional ass like last night’s pair.

Instead of being tight around her ankle, they were wide-legged.

And she was in another pair of heels, these ones were black.

Top to toe, the woman was stunning. She took sexy to an extreme.

Josie Lark was alluring—at first glance, she captivated you, and once you were caught in her spell, there was no getting free.

With my mind full of how great those long legs felt wrapped around my back, how soft her hair was, how sweet she sounded moaning my name, I stood when Josie stopped at our booth.

My daughter politely offered her hand to Josie. “Hey, I’m Lindy.”

At least I raised a well-mannered daughter. It helped wash away some of the frustration of her stunt.

“Josie. Nice to meet you.” When she dropped Lindy’s hand, the blue eyes I’d seen flash with desire were now cool and detached. “Evan.”

Right.

This was how she was going to play this?

“Josie,” I greeted back with the same efficiency.

“The wait’s going to be forever,” Lindy noted. “Please join us. We haven’t ordered yet.”

“That’s very kind, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s not an intrusion. Right, Dad?”

Fuck my life.

“No, join us, Josie.” I added just enough demand in my tone she couldn’t miss the order.

I watched her delicate cheek jump and waited for that outward polished civility to take over. And just like I thought, she yielded.

“As long as you don’t mind.”

Oh, I minded. But my interfering daughter had given me no choice.

I stepped aside to allow Josie into my side of the booth.

Her frightened expression would’ve been amusing if my daughter hadn’t been there.

Lindy slid back into her side. Josie pinned herself to the wall for maximum separation. Again, I would’ve found this entertaining if I’d been in a position to call Josie out on her behavior or ask her why the fuck she’d run out on me.

Since neither of those options were available, I sat back and listened to my daughter rapid-fire questions at Josie. All that was missing was the bright light pointing in Josie’s face, and it would be an interrogation instead of sounding like an interview.

Thankfully, the server stopped at our table for drink orders. Unfortunately, when the guy left to get iced teas all around, Lindy launched back in.

“Lindy,” I gently called.

“Oh, sorry, I’m totally rambling. I get this way after I’ve been locked up with no human interaction.”

That was a half-truth. Lindy was a talker, since the day she could form words, she hadn’t run out of things to say.

“Locked up?” Josie asked with a fair amount of concern.

“I paint. Dad built me a studio in our backyard. When I’m in the middle of a project, I get lost in it and lock myself in there; sometimes I don’t come out for days.”

Josie turned towards me. The concern had vanished, and censure clearly now took top spot.

Lindy hadn’t been home last night, she was at a concert with her friends and had stayed in Charleston. No way in fuck would I have brought her to my house if I hadn’t known my daughter was safely out for the night.

The drinks were delivered, burger orders placed, and this time it was Josie who went for it.

“What style of painting do you make?”

My daughter’s face lit. She was a talker all the time, and when art was involved, she could have a one-way conversation for hours. I knew this because, over the years, we’d had countless.

“I have decided on a signature style. Right now, I’m gravitating toward realism and landscapes.

But last night, while I was at this concert in Charleston, all I could think about was painting the stage, the lights, the hands in the air.

Nothing distinguishable, just the feel of the music, the energy.

It was amazing standing in the crowd feeling the colors come to life all around me.

When I paint, I hear the beat of the painting.

” Lindy paused, a blush I hadn’t seen in many years tinged her cheeks. “I’m sure that sounds strange.”

“Which part do you think sounds strange, Lindy?”

Fuck. I didn’t know which was worse—me liking the sweet, gentle way Josie said my daughter’s name, her clear interest in what she had to say, or Lindy liking those things.

“All of it. I mean, I feel colors. That’s strange. But I also hear beats while I paint.”