Page 22 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Cal

I stayed out of the room as long as I could.

After leaving Lola, I rang my cousin Zara, but she was also getting ready for tonight’s fundraiser.

Fortunately, her husband Asher was available to join me at the pub.

Just as we were finishing off our pints, Cortney Miller and Beckett Langfield appeared, so I stayed for another round.

It was only polite seeing as how Beckett had arranged the heli for us.

My second round was nothing more than soda water. The last thing I want is for Lola to accuse me of being drunk.

I snuck in two calls to Murphy. The first to see how school was and the second to tell him where I hid the Ping-Pong balls and to suggest he lob them at Sully’s head randomly throughout the night. Don’t want my brother to get too comfortable with me gone.

Now it’s time to face the music. On the ride up, I dig deep, summoning the courage to face Angry Lola.

With any luck, she’ll have had a change of heart. The bed was pretty and the Jacuzzi looked relaxing.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. There’s a good chance she’s been stewing since I left her here, and the moment I step into the room, she’ll go off like Mount Etna .

If that’s the case, I suppose I’ll be sleeping on the floor with one eye open, hoping she doesn’t stab me with her Jimmy Choos.

I knock rather than walk in. No use riling the beast unnecessarily.

“Is that you, Callie?”

Callie? Who the fuck is Callie?

“No. It’s me, Cal. Can I come in?”

“Yup!”

That single syllable is nothing more than a chirp. It’s chipper. Filled with happiness. Why does she sound happy? Is it because she’s spent the last hour and change plotting my death? That must be it. She’s probably going to kill me.

Like an idiot, I open the door anyway. I’m drawn to her. Pulled into her orbit.

Inside the room, I’m hit with her cinnamon vanilla scent. Fuck. She always smells like a damn dessert. A moan escapes me before I can stop it.

The room is a mess, rose petals strewn all over the floor. The bedding is wrinkled, the hot tub is empty, and the bottle of champagne is upside down in the metal ice bucket.

In other words, it’s likely my little fireball is drunk.

This should be interesting.

“Callie! Is that you?”

The lightness in her voice as she calls my name—even if it’s not my name—brings a smile to my lips as I stride to the center of the space.

Lola appears in the doorway of the bathroom, and I’m struck completely stupid.

Lola fucking Caruso. Holy hell. My heart sputters to a stop, and the entire English language vanishes from my vocabulary.

She’s beautiful.

Drop dead fucking gorgeous.

That auburn hair of hers flows past her shoulders in loose waves. Though her face is done up, there’s still a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Like she applied a lighter layer of foundation.

Maybe on purpose?

Could it be because I told her I like them?

My gut twists itself into a knot.

No. It’s highly unlikely that she thought about me at all while she got ready.

Regardless, the look she’s gone with tonight brings with it a tease of innocence that has my heart thundering in my chest.

And the dress? Don’t even get me started on the damn dress. The deep green against her alabaster skin is nothing short of magnificent.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Her voice is quiet, her head tilted. An empty champagne glass dangles from the fingertips of one hand, her shoes from the other.

Straightening, I will myself to be even half the man she deserves. I won’t fuck this up. I won’t let my mind short-circuit, and I won’t say something stupid, like I do every time I’m in the same room as her. No walkie-talkie jokes from this guy tonight.

“Devastating.” The word is gritty, my throat dry.

Her brows lower, confusion swimming in those green irises. “What?”

“You in that dress. You’re simply devastating.

Every woman we cross tonight will be devastated because she isn’t you, and every man will wish he had you on his arm.

But me?” I scrub at my face, wishing I could erase every moment of my life before this so she’d be the first thing I ever see. “I’ll never recover.”

Lola’s cherry lips curve into a glorious smile. “Callahan Murphy, are you a secret romantic?”

With two steps toward her, I pluck the Jimmy Choos from her fingers. Then I guide her to the bed and urge her to sit on the edge.

“Not a day in my life, Lola,” I say. It’s the god’s honest truth. “Not a day in my goddamn life. But you, you make me want to be Shakespeare. ”

I drop to my knees in front of her, lifting her foot, and slide one shoe into place before I secure the crystal strap around her thin ankle.

She shakes her head, her expression still bright. “Smooth, you Murphy men.” She bops my nose. “You’re dangerous with wine.”

With a chuckle, I hold her ankle for another second, pushing my luck and relishing the smoothness of her skin. “Let’s maybe have some water, then we can try the wine.” I ease her foot to the floor and lift the other.

Lola shakes her head, the movement sending her scent wafting around me.

It takes strength to stay where I am on the floor. I want to settle beside her on the bed and inhale her all night. I dream of wrapping her in my arms and holding her close. Of waking in the morning covered in the smell of her and going to bed to do it all again.

I’m fucking gone. And that’s a bloody problem, because tomorrow the spell will be broken. Lola will morph back into a ball of fire, while I’ll still be this damn puppy following her around, willing to risk the burn for a chance to touch her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks.

Her words startle me back to the moment. I’m still holding her ankle, knees on the ground, completely enraptured by her.

“Shh,” I murmur as I stand and hold out a hand. “You’ll ruin it.”

With her hand in mine, she shakes her head. But she’s smiling.