Page 89 of Hard to Score

And for some reason, it’s not Drew I stare at as they move, but it’s the little girl. The blue of her eyes. The brown curls that bounce in her hair. The way her little fingers curl around his pointer finger.

My heart is in my throat as so many scenarios race through my mind. Is this why Drew has kept me at arm’s length?

Because of her.

Drew has a daughter.

I don’t even know how to put words to how I feel—confused, hurt, overwhelmed, surprised—and yet all of them ride a tidal wave through me as Drew steps up to our table.

“Ladies,” he says and surprises me when he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “Hi.”

My heart sighs through the confusion. How can he act like nothing is wrong, like this isn’t a big deal, when it truly is?

He kept this from me.

He lied to me.

“Jules,” he says turning to my gobsmacked friend as she looks at me then back to him with a knowing smile on her lips. “Good to see you again. I hope married life is treating you well.”

“You two—do you—are you . . .” She points from him to me and back.

“Something like that,” he says with an easy charm and a warm smile. One that I also have plastered on my face but is nowhere near being sincere.

“Who’s this?” Jules asks the question that has been owning my mind despite Drew acting as if there is nothing odd here.

“This,” he says with a dramatic flair and a roll down of his hand, “is my niece, Miss Charley.”

Oh, fuck.

Not his daughter.

No.

His niece.

Maggie’s daughter.

It takes a second for my brain to process this newfound information but when Charley giggles, there’s no need to.

The sound is pure joy and the smile that it puts on Drew’s face is even better.

“Hello, Miss Charley,” Jules says as she reaches out to shake her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but I must run.”

“No. Jules—”

“Sit. Stay. Take my seat, Drew. Make sure Brexton here drinks another glass,” she says with a wink and a smile and before I can utter another word, she’s gone.

We both look after her and then back toward each other with astonished looks on our faces—before we laugh to fill the suddenly awkward silence.

When I turn, I find Charley studying me. She’s a gorgeous little girl with curious eyes and a crooked smile just like her uncle. “What’s your name?” she asks.

“I’m Brexton.” I squat down so I’m at her level and hold my hand out. “Nice to meet you, Charley.”

She looks at my hand but instead of shaking it, comes forward and gives me a huge hug that surprises the hell out of me.

“You’re pretty,” she murmurs as she plays with a strand of my hair.

“Thank you. You are too.”