If only he’d stop thinking with his dick for once and take me seriously.
Not because I wanted anything from him but because I didn’t get the luxury of cutting him out. Because he was the father of my child.
That fact didn’t make him any less of an asshat. Just a smooth-talking, frustratingly attractive one who now apparently wore a uniform that did him far too many favors.
“What are you doing here, Princess?”
Princess. Seriously?
This was the problem with Dylan. No matter how many times I’d told him we were done, that the romance and pet names were over, he refused to let it die.
Still, he was asking the same question I’d been asking myself for days.
Why had I bothered coming back here?
“My dad’s in the hospital.”
“Yeah.” His voice dipped, sympathy sliding in alongside the bravado. “I heard. I’m sorry, Princess. I know that can’t be easy.”
The way he managed to blend empathy and entitlement into a single sentence was almost impressive.
I shrugged, offering him nothing.
Somehow, he took it as permission. His gaze sharpened, hunger flashing across his face like it physically hurt him to hold back, and he took a step closer.
But that single step was as far as he got.
His forward momentum halted. Confusion flickered over his features, followed quickly by irritation, his eyes cutting past me.
“Who’s this?” he snapped, the question edged with authority he hadn’t earned.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Eric stood a few steps back, posture relaxed, expression flat. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look impressed either. His attention was fixed on Dylan with a calm that felt loaded, like he’d already assessed the situation and found it lacking.
“Oh.” I turned back with forced brightness. “Sorry. Dylan, this is my boyfriend. Eric.”
My tongue lingered on the word boyfriend.
Dylan’s attention jerked back toward me. “What?”
Oh. Shit.
The lie had come out of nowhere. No thought or plan, just pure instinct. Because right now, it was the best shield I had against Dylan McCoy’s version of interest.
Fear slid through me as I waited for a reaction. For the lie to break and my pathetic attempt at defense to crumble. For Eric to judge me, deny me, or simply realize I wasn’t who he thought. That kissing me really had been a giant mistake.
I didn’t hear him move. I felt him.
A solid presence at my side, Eric’s arm came around me like it had always belonged there. His big hand settled at my hip, pulling me in close and locking the lie into place without a word.
Boyfriend.
The claim was absolute.
My breath stuttered. For one reckless second, I wished it was real. I wanted to turn into him, plant my lips over his again, and let the world slip away. Damn the consequences.
But Eric was a good man. Better than good. And men like him didn’t sign up for lies, chaos, or women whose lives came with this much baggage.
