I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. He’s thinking Adele won’t be around long enough to understand his swearing.
Wow. Zane is a bigger jerk than I imagined. How can anyone abandon their child?
I could ask my dad. Assuming I knew where he was.
Chapter 9
“Came up with a plan to fix Sloane’s situation. What could possibly go wrong?”
Zane
“Hey, baby girl,” I murmur as I lift Adele from her crib. She gurgles at me and I nearly forget about the sleepless night I just endured.
I finally got to sleep around four a.m. after Sloane burped the baby. She came out of her bedroom, looking adoringly rumpled with her hair in a rat’s nest. And took less than a minute to calm Adele.
Too bad Sloane isn’t here every night.
Hold on. Why can’t she be here every night? Guessing by how she was sleeping in her car, she has nowhere else to be.
Hmm… maybe Sloane is the solution I’m searching for.
By the time she stumbles into the kitchen thirty minutes later, my plan is formed.
“Morning,” she mumbles as she opens the sliding door to let her dog out. Boozer rushes outside. “Don’t chase any rabbits!”
She shuts the door and whirls around to face me. Holy shit. My heart gallops, and my tongue gets tied. She must have changed after Adele spit up on her because she’s now wearing a tank top showing off her perky breasts and a pair of tiny shorts. Damn. I want those long, smooth legs wrapped around my waist while I pound into her.
My cock twitches in agreement. It’s a good thing I’m holding Adele in my arms, or I’d have her pinned to the wall by now.
“Coffee.” Her eyes are half-closed and her jaw is adorably grumpy.
Adorably grumpy? I shake my head. This is Sloane. The woman who doesn’t like me.
I motion to the pot. “Help yourself.”
I sip on my own coffee as she moves around my kitchen. I expected to be annoyed with a woman in my domain, but Sloane being here doesn’t bother me a bit. This is a good sign that my plan will work.
Sloane sits down at the kitchen table across from me.
“We need to talk.”
She holds up a finger before sipping on her coffee. She finishes half the cup before sighing and setting it down.
“There. I’m ready to speak now.”
“Not a morning person?”
“I’m a bartender. Morning isn’t in my vocabulary.”
Hopefully, I can get her to change her mind.
“I have an idea how to solve your homeless situation.”
She scowls. “I’m not homeless. I’m merely temporarily without a home.”
I scratch my beard to stop myself from explaining how being ‘without a home’ is the definition of homeless. I want her on my side.
“I stand corrected. I have an idea on how to solve your temporary without a home situation.”
