Page 279 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection

“You don’t sound sure.”

The only thing I’m not sure of is what I’m going to do if she decides to take out the competition. “I’m sure. Sorry.”

Why am I apologizing? She’s asking if she can horn in on my damn Dom. I should be angry, but I’m too worn out by the kickboxing and everything that’s happened over the last few days to work up much emotion.

“He’s not exactly a spring chicken,” she says. She’s right. Mac’s closer to her age, which I’d peg at early forties if I had to guess. She doesn’t look it. She’s in absolutely tip-top shape, the best female fighter at the gym, and has great bone structure so she has one of those ageless faces, but I vaguely remember a couple of people from the gym going to her fortieth birthday party shortly after I joined, and she has a few gray strands in her short, black hair. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

Man, she doesn’t pull her punches emotionally, either.

“I’ve always liked older guys,” I tell her with a grin as I lather up. “They know how to find a clit on the first try.”

She laughs and moves off and I step under the spray to rinse off, but her words linger like a bruise long after we return to my apartment.

Mac notices, because he’s a fucking mind-reading Dom and I can’t get away with anything now. He doesn’t mention it as we scarf down his firecracker chicken, which lives up to its name. We don’t talk about anything heavy while we eat, just our plans for the weekend, which don’t involve going to see his daughter until Sunday, so I’m fine for my meeting with the club chairman. Mac tells me not to plan anything for Saturday night, so I figure there’s a date on the horizon, which warms my belly more than the food.

But he doesn’t let it go, either. He waits until we’re curled together on my bed, with him reading his thick hardback—which turns out to be Michelle Obama’s autobiography, much to my surprise, because I’d kind of pegged him for a Republican—in his ridiculously hot glasses and me sketching cityscapes, which are coming together better than I deserve for how distracted I got during our walk.

He turns a page, kisses my temple, and murmurs, “Are you quiet because you’re caught up in that design, or because of what I told you this afternoon, or because I’m horning in on your relationship with Lewis?”

It takes me a moment to figure out who Lewis is. Oh, Kru. I don’t ever think of him by his name, but it figures that he’d introduce himself to Mac that way.

“It’s nothing,” I say, sketching with more determination.

“Real talk, Bren.”

Oh, fuck. Now I’m in for it.

“We don’t need real talk, Sir. It’s not what you told me this afternoon. I’m grateful you told me why your marriage ended because if your ex had blindsided me with it, it would have fucking hurt. Now I’m prepared. So, I appreciate that. And it really is nothing. If you must know, it’s something someone said to me after class. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be more perky. See?” I give him a huge, fake grin over my shoulder. “Perky.”

He snorts and takes off his glasses to look closely at me. “Who was it and what did they say?”

I sigh. He’s not going to let it go. Of course, he’s not. He’s a Dom. Why did I want one of my own again?

“The really tall lady at the gym? We call her Scary Manda because she has this utterly terrifying reach. She asked me if we were together and when I said we were, she said you were kind of old for me.”

“I see. What’d you say?” He shifts so I have to look at him or make it really obvious that I’m avoiding his gaze.

“That I like older guys because they’re better in bed.”

Mac chuckles and thumbs my chin gently, keeping my eyes on him. “I’m staying out of the experience versus enthusiasm debate, but I want to say one thing, girl. No one gets a vote in what’s between us other than you and me. If I’m too old and boring for you, tell me. Otherwise, I’m not interested in what anyone else has to say about us.”

His words spread over me like T-Relief on a bruise. “You’re definitely not too old or too boring for me, Sir. I’m really ... comfortable with you.”

And that’s the truth, despite whatever doubts are chewing on me.

He shifts me back around and puts his glasses back on. Heat shoots straight up through my belly. He looks like a stern professor in those glasses. Why is that so hot?

“Makes me sound like an old pair of shoes,” he says, nuzzling my temple.

“I’ve had a pair of Docs since I was seventeen that are my favorite thing in the world, Sir. I’d kill for those boots.”

He chuckles. “Do I rank above or below your old shit-kickers, girl?”

I balance my stylus between my fingers as I hold them up to pinch the air. “Little bit below. I mean, it’s close. They’ve nevergiven me multiple orgasms. But they are my favorite thing in the world.”

Mac’s chest rumbles with laughter against my back. “Guess I’ll have to work a little harder on those orgasms. I don’t know if my ego can handle ranking below ten-year-old leather.”

I twist my neck until I can nip his firm, bristly jaw. “You don’t seem to have a lot of ego, Sir. Particularly for a guy. And a Dom.”