Page 129 of Sweet Distraction

“Well, well, well. The big bad rock star gets one tiny flower, and suddenly you’re all sentimental,” I tease, trying to save him from being embarrassed.

He groans and rolls his eyes, but I can tell he appreciates the levity. “It’s not tiny. It’s meaningful.”

“Oh, of course. Very macho. Nothing says tough guy like delicate poppy petals.”

“Careful, Adams. You keep running your mouth, I might have to tattoo your name next.”

“Better be a prime location.”

“How about right across my ass?”

I burst out laughing, and Poppy claps her hands, delighted even though she has no idea what we’re laughing at.

And then Rocket steps closer. His smile fades only to be replaced by a quieter expression.

He steps into my space and cups my jaw gently as he meets my gaze.

“Thank you. I needed this today. To step outside of my head. To forget about Monday’s hearing. Thank you for knowing what I needed when I didn’t.”

“That’s my job.”

“No. Poppy is. I’m you’re . . .” His smile returns as he shakes his head like an epiphany just hit him.

My breath hitches. My heart hopes.

“I love you, Willow. I’ve tried to square it away a million different ways, tried to tell myself it was too fast or too complicated or too fucking risky. But I do. And I don’t know what the hell to do with it.”

Everything inside me softens and tightens simultaneously.

I stare at him for a long second, vibrating with the weight of his confession. And then I smile. Soft. Steady. Certain. How can I not when I’ve been waiting to hear those words from this man?

I cup the side of his face and welcome the stubble beneath my thumb. “You don’t need to know what to do with it. I’m here and I’m head over heels in love with you too. Have been for some time.” I brush my lips against his. “And as to what happens next? We just keep doing what we’re doing. Laughing. Talking. Taking care of Poppy. Cheering on each other’s successes. Making memories together. Whatever it takes, right?”

I don’t need a road map when it comes to Rocket.

I already know where I want to end up.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Rocket

Sandra’s sigh is heavy. The kind that sounds like it’s dragging the whole damn world behind it. “This is the worst timing for this to come out.”

My thumb hovers over the screen of my phone, but the image burns brightly. Me and Willow in the tattoo parlor with my hand on her ass and her lips against mine.

A private moment, twisted, framed, and fucking sold.

It’s not just the photo, but rather the headline beneath it that has dread filtering through my stomach. It’s clickbait trash designed to shred reputations and smear everything it touches. And what it says about Willow, about her character and her motives behind being with me, makes me see red.

“This is bullshit. Total and utter bullshit. Willow’s never dated other dads she’s nannied for. Her boyfriend in college was well-off, but she wasn’t with him hoping for the money. She didn’t get laid off from her teaching job due to inappropriate behavior with a supervisor. This makes it sound like she’s some Lolita gold digger who goes from job to job to fuck the husband.” I shove up and out of my chair to contain some of my rage. “How do we do damage control? How do we fix this for her—”

“I don’t think we can. And honestly, I wouldn’t put it past the Whitmores to be behind this. Perfect timing. Public leak the day before the hearing? It’s strategic. Calculated. Damning.”

I pace my office like a caged animal, one hand tugging through my hair as I fight the urge to break something.

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me. I know you said anyone knowing would mess with her credibility. But . . . Sandra, we were in a private place of business.”