BEAU
There was a man in my house.
I’d heard the door; I would’ve answered it myself, but Hannah had beaten me to it. That irritated me. Not because I didn’t want her to feel at home. Precisely because it taunted me with the fact that this wasn’t her home. This place was temporary for her.Wewere temporary.
That was supposed to be a good thing. My balls would thank me when she left; they’d no longer be fucking bursting with need.
Yet the mere idea of her not being under my roof set my teeth on edge.
The low murmur of voices alerted me to the presence of a man, one whose voice I didn’t recognize. First, I went on alertpurely for safety reasons. But then, when it became clear that the man at the door didn’t have any ill will, my blood started to boil. This was a man. Who was here forHannah, by process of elimination.
Hannah was a stunning woman. She was young. It only made sense that she had a boyfriend, even though she’d told me she didn’t. Even though last night was the first night she’d gone out since she’d moved in. I understood that her generation didn’t need to go out to date. They just needed their phones.
My eavesdropping—though I couldn’t make out most of the conversation—told me this man was familiar to her. This man knew Hannah.
And just the baritone of his voice made me want to punch a wall.
It was bad enough hearing him on my doorstep, but then, when the voice became louder, and it was clear that he was in my fucking house, that’s where I drew the line.
The scene I was about to make would lower me in Hannah’s estimation—a good thing, I reminded myself.
Yet doing anything confrontational in front of Clara was a problem, which was the only thing that forced my temper down as I strode into my kitchen.
All three sets of eyes shifted to me. Including vibrant blue ones belonging to the man I hated on principle. He was tall, handsome, wearing expensive shit, and very well-groomed. Too well-groomed to be straight, though I knew that was an antiquated and possibly politically incorrect thought to have.
Though I was old and didn’t socialize, I knew a couple of things. Today’s generation was less about labels, and sexuality was more fluid. Straight men sometimes wore more personal care products than their girlfriends.
Therefore, it stood to reason that this man could be straight, bisexual, pansexual. I glared at how close he was standing toHannah. Too close, playing with her hair with an intimacy that made me see red.
My daughter was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs while chewing on a mouthful of chocolate, blissfully oblivious of my fury.
Hannah froze with her eyes on me, red blooming across her cheeks, eyes widening with panic as she looked between the man and me. I hated seeing her react with unease and hurt. She was preparing for me to be an asshole. It shredded my insides. I did not want to be the man who made Hannah uneasy.
I wanted to be the man who made Hannah smile. Who made her scream with ecstasy and forget her own fucking name because she was so overcome by pleasure.
My molars gnashed together as I tried to force that thought from my mind. Mydaughter was in front of me, for fuck’s sake.
“Beau,” Hannah murmured, her voice soft, small.
The man beside her narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before he looked at me.
His expression was not friendly. It was almost outright hostile.
The feeling is mutual, buddy.
“This is Cole.” Hannah motioned to the man. “He’s a childhood friend. He just stopped by, I didn’t know he was coming. Otherwise, I would’ve…” She didn’t complete the sentence, chewing on her lip.
I fucking hated seeing her suffer, seeing her brace for me to be a dick to her. And the only person I had to blame for that was me.
With great effort, mindful of my daughter’s gaze, I stepped forward and extended my hand. “Cole. Glad to meet one of Hannah’s friends.”
Cole eyed my hand for a moment before shaking it. He didn’t engage in some meaningless, toxic display of masculinity bytrying to break the bones in my hand. The handshake was firm. Polite.
And he had some really soft fucking hands.
“Cole works in the Natural History Museum in New York City,” Clara gushed. “He said he can get me in at nighttime, and I cantouchsome things.” She whispered the last part, as if the museum had bugged our house. “Can we go?”
Her question was a punch to the gut. Clara read about all sorts of places when she was sick, and I’d promised her all sorts of adventures when she was better. Promises I was yet to follow through on because I was too fucking scared to take her out into the world. Hannah had taken her on more adventures than I had. Yet all of those were within town limits.
