Page 42 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Lola

T he sound of the front door shutting is followed by a familiar jingle.

“Fuzzy Wuzzy’s back.” Amy announces like we aren’t all painfully familiar with the tingle of the bell on his collar. “It was sooo smart of you to give his collar a sound so he doesn’t scare anyone.”

“Yeah.” I nod, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. Or crying. I’m not sure which. “Brian says people stop staring as soon as they hear the bells.”

“Right.” Amy nods, completely missing the snark in my tone.

“Damnit. This way.” Brian hisses down the hall. “No, not my office.”

Fuzzy drags Brian past the conference room door.

“Dammit.”

“Stop saying that.” Cal jumps out of his chair and chases the two down the hallway. “Fuzzy is getting confused about his name.”

I don’t even try to hold back my laughter. The cat has been here a week, and he does seem to be answering better to Dammit than to Fuzzy.

The shabby puke-green sofa in Brian’s office—the one he wanted to have hauled away—has become Fuzzy’s favorite lounger. As much as my boss hates it, the cat is attached to him.

“He wouldn’t follow me in here.” Cal reappears, shoulders slumped. “Still likes Uncle Brian best.”

“You have Murphy, and Sully has T.J.,” Amy says. “I think he knows that. And he can probably sense how lonely Brian is.”

I close my eyes and focus on breathing steadily. I just can’t with her.

“Cal,” I say. “Fuzzy plays with you all the time.”

“That is true. And”—hands on his hips, he turns in a full circle—“we don’t have a sofa in here.” He eases into his chair. “Maybe we should change that.” Under the table, he glides his foot up my calf. “Sofas are more comfortable than tables, wouldn’t you agree?”

He waggles his brow.

Eyes wide, I make a show of frowning and glancing at Amy. We are at work. I’ve drawn lines, but Cal is determined to obliterate them all.

“Ames, go see what Sully needs,” he suggests.

“Why? Are you two going to have sex again?” She pushes to her feet and sighs. “If so, just don’t do it in Brian’s office. He’s still complaining about that.”

Cal chuckles and my face heats.

As soon as we’re alone, I lunge forward in my chair. “I can’t believe you told him.”

Cal grins. “He asked, I couldn’t lie.”

“Yes,” I grit out, “you could.”

“Okay, Lola,” he says, his tone placating. “Next time I will lie for you.”

“No next time,” I grumble at my computer screen.

At a featherlight brush along my neck, I startle, covering my mouth to stifle a shriek. The sneaky bastard is suddenly right behind me, hovering close.

He drags his lips along my neck, and despite my best effort not to react, goose bumps pepper my skin.

“Oh, there will be many, many more next times.” His low whisper makes my stomach dip.

“We are working, Mr. Murphy,” I remind him, my tone far too breathy for my liking.

“Ooo, I love it when you get all formal.” He nips at my collar.

“Really. I have a lot to do today. Too much .” Though I fervently fight the desire coiling in my core, a whimper slips from my lips.

“Give me fifteen minutes, then we’ll both put our noses to the grindstone for the rest of the day,” he promises.

A thrill flows through me, but before I can give in, the front door opens and slams shut again.

“Hellooo!”

My body goes rigid at the sound of the far too familiar voice.

I yank back from Cal. “What is my mother doing here?”

He frowns at me, his expression one of genuine confusion.

“Anyone here?” My father calls.

Panic pulls my heart right into my throat. “Both of them?”

Maybe I’m overreacting. My parents aren’t awful people. Not at all. It’s just that they don’t share the respect I have for responsibility and planning ahead.

They just go where the wind takes them, oblivious to the havoc they cause when they disrupt schedules and organized lives.

“You okay?” Cal assesses me, his brow knitted in concern.

“Fine.” Resigned, I stand, smooth my skirt, and head to the front entrance.

“Lola!” My mom, who’s talking to Amy, rushes to me. She throws her arms around me, her long blonde hair covering my face as she rocks from side to side with the exuberance she possesses at all times and for every occasion.

“Hi, Mom,” I mutter when she finally releases me.

“Buttercup.” My dad’s hug is next. Rather than rock, he lifts me off the ground and arches back, causing his leather jacket to crinkle oddly between us. “How is my girl?”

“Ready to be put down,” I tell him .

He laughs in response, easing me to my feet.

They are a pair. My mother is dressed in ripped jeans, with some type of lacy shirt thing under her denim jacket.

My father is decked out in head-to-toe leather.

And they wear matching bulky black boots.

It’s a relatively new look. When I was a kid, they were more hippie than biker.

Though they went through a goth stage during my teen years.

In my experience, it’s the kid who typically goes through that kind of phase.

Not in my house. In my house, I was the stability.

Two years ago, they discovered a passion for motorcycles. And when they find a passion, they go all in. At least until a new passion comes along.

“What are you doing here?” The moment the question is out, I wince. It sounded more like an accusation than I meant for it to.

“We’re meeting some friends nearby. Then we’re headed up the coast to see the leaves.” My father shrugs, as if he couldn’t care less about the leaves; he’s just happy to ride.

“Leaf peeping,” my mother corrects. “We’re going leaf peeping in Vermont.”

I dip my chin. That kind of thing is right up their alley. But… “So you’re here because…” I let the sentence trail off.

“When we realized we’d ride past your new office, we thought we’d come by for the day.”

My stomach sinks. “The day?”

“Of course,” my mother chirps. “We want to see our daughter.”

“But I’m working.” And they didn’t call. Or text. Or send a carrier pigeon so I could plan ahead.

“Oh pish.” My mother waves a hand. “Surely you can take the rest of the day off.”

This has always been the problem. Careers and commitments mean little to them. And they’ve never understood my drive or dedication to my responsibilities.

“Dezi, June.” Cal steps out of the conference room, his gait easy, relaxed, like it always is. He shakes my father’s hand and kisses my mother's cheek. “What a lovely surprise. ”

“Every word sounds better in that accent of yours, Cal,” my mother gushes.

“Yes, everyone loves the accent,” I agree, voice flat. “But as great as it is to see you,” I lie, “I really need to work.”

“Surely the guys can spare you for a day.” My dad turns to Cal. “Can’t you?”

Desperately, I eye him, silently telegraphing how badly I don’t want to be spared.

“Actually,” he says without looking my way.

Shit.

“It just so happens that I’ve got a set of tickets you might find appealing.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “There is a ghost tour up the Hudson today.”

My mother’s face lights up. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to meet a ghost.”

“It’s on our bucket list,” my father agrees.

“Brilliant. I’ve got three tickets here.”

“Three?” I squeak.

“Oh, hear that buttercup, you can come!” My dad smacks Cals back. “Good man.”

He chokes out an uncomfortable laugh. “I-uh-actually, Lola can’t go today, but there are three tickets for a reason.”

My heart skips. Is this man seriously planning to go in my place? It’s a ridiculously kind gesture, but if the three of them spend the day together, they’d probably end up in Timbuktu because it sounds like an adventure.

“We have this ghost,” he says. “And I think you’ll love him.”

I groan.

“Ghost?” Mom side-eyes me, her lips quirking. “You didn’t tell me you had a ghost, Lola. How exciting.”

“His name’s Sebastian and he’s a biker. I thought he might be interested in tagging along on your riding tour.”

“Well, isn’t this a fun turn of events, June,”my dad booms.

Mom nods, beaming at Cal, and I breathe out a sigh .

“Are you sure you kids don’t want to come?”

“Sadly, these were the last three tickets available.” Cal shrugs. “But Fuzzy and I will walk you out.”He whistles, as if the cat will actually respond.

When he doesn’t, I pick up the box of cat treats we keep stashed out here and give it a shake. Five seconds later, the huge creature appears.

“Oh my!” my mother squeaks. “What a beautiful cat. Lola always wanted a cat, you know?”

Hands in his pockets, Cal nods. “That’s why I got her the best cat ever.”

“This is your cat?” My dad cocks a brow in my direction.

I shrug. Honestly, I don’t know anymore.

I hound Sully daily ensuring that he feeds Fuzzy, and I remind Brian to walk him every couple of hours.

And I make sure he doesn’t get out. Though I delegated the cleaning of the litter box to the guys, the task has fallen to me, so I guess, yeah, it’s my cat.

My mom drops to her knees, and the cat slinks over, rubbing his head against her cheek.

“What a good boy,” my mom coos.

“He does tricks too.” Cal stands a little taller. “Let me grab his leash and our ball and we can show you how we play volleyball in the car park.”

My mom chatters animatedly, and as they head out, my dad turns back. “We’ll swing back later and grab you for dinner, Lola.”

Once they’re gone, I shuffle back to my desk and drop into my chair with a sigh.That may have been the easiest encounter with my parents in my entire adult life. With a cleansing breath, I turn back to the computer and continue on the certification I need to get to our client before lunch.

“Dammit,” Brian curses several minutes later.

“Stop calling him that,” Cal says over his shoulder as he appears at the door. Stepping into the room, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “You mad at me? ”

I shake my head. “I feel like I should call you my hero. I’ve never gotten rid of my parents that quickly. Normally when they show up, they bulldoze my day.”

He props himself up against the table beside me. “You said you wanted to work today, and what Lola wants…”

I grab his tie and pull him in. When our lips meet, I sigh into his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Anything.” The single word is a promise.

“I don’t suppose you can get me out of dinner too?”

“Not likely.” He pecks my lips and pulls back. “But if you don’t mind Murphy coming along, we could join you?”

It’s tempting, but Murphy will probably be bored out of his mind.

“The guys won’t be home tonight?”

“Sully has a meeting with T.J.’s therapist in the city, and Brian has dinner with the Berkshires.”

I sigh. I hate the idea of dragging Murphy out, but I can’t deny that I’d love their company. “If Murphy’s okay with it, then I’d love it if you came.”

He gives me a devastating smile before uttering his favorite sentence. “Whatever Lola wants.” As the words work their way through me, wrapping firmly around my heart, I find my eyes pricking with tears and my nose stinging.