Triplets Make Five

“Eww,” I grimaced.

“It’s true! Homeboy is hot as hell, but he’s got a bad reputation,” she said, and then, assessing the concerned look on my face, she added “But you knew that. You’re being smart about this, because you’re Daisy Wright, and Daisy Wright doesn’t trust anyone.”

I blinked reluctantly and Raven’s eyes went wide.

“Daisy,” she said. “Don’t tell me this is about more than just sex.”

“Of course not,” I sniffed quickly, shaking my head.

“Good,” she said firmly. “Because sex is all Caleb Preston is good for.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Aren’t you usually nagging me to trust more? To give guys a chance? To stop being so cynical?”

“Well, yeah,” Raven shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean you should trust just anyone, and it definitely doesn’t mean you should trust someone like Caleb.”

I swallowed heavily, trying not to take her words to heart. I knew she was right. I knew that Caleb probably had a crazy tabloid persona that I wouldn’t understand, just like his sister Calista did. But I also believed that I was seeing a different side of him. That there was no way the man who just texted to invite me to dinner with him and Emmy could be the kind of womanizing monster that the newspaper headlines made him out to be. He may be more experienced than me, and maybe he had a wild past. But that did not have anything to do with who he was now.

“Just look out for yourself,” Raven shrugged. “That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Then the worry on her face twisted back into a smile.

“And I definitely want to hear a full report on what went down in the bedroom!”

I blushed and rolled my eyes, but inside the curiosity was eating me alive. I had avoided the tabloids and gossip sites, knowing that I wouldn’t find anything good if I did look. But now I suddenly couldn’t resist. I needed to know.

“Shit,” I said, patting my pockets. “I forgot my keys in my room. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Raven nodded.

It was a lie, but it bought me some time to slink down to my room and pull up the web browser on my phone. With shaking hands I typed in Caleb’s name. The screen flashed white as the browser sluggishly struggled to load up, the cell service was hit or miss in my room, and I tapped my fingers on the desk, waiting.

I tried to prepare myself for the worst. What if he has a girlfriend? What if he’s seeing someone else? What if he’s been secretly married this entire time?

As I waited, anxiously tapping my feet on the tile floor, I tried to convince myself that I could handle anything I might uncover. After all, wasn’t this just about sex? Wasn’t I in control? Didn’t I already accept, implicitly, that whatever happened between Caleb and me was just physical?

So if I was so certain that I don’t care, then why was my heart pounding so frantically in my chest? Why was my stomach twisting with dread as I imagined all the possibilities that might be revealed when the search engine finished loading?

16

CALEB

“Operation ‘Transfer Sleeping Child’ was a success,” I said, raising my arms victoriously as I strode into the kitchen.

I did feel victorious. I just managed to transplant my sleeping niece from the living room couch, where she had drifted off watching a movie about princesses and talking candlesticks, all the way down the hall and to her bed without waking her up. That was no small feat, especially considering the obstacle course of discarded toys scattered over her bedroom floor.

“Well done, Mr. Mom,” Daisy said, glancing up at me as she dropped a stack of dirty plates into the overflowing kitchen sink, topping off the tower of stainless steel pots and pans that were already stacked precariously in a bath of apple dish soap-scented bubbles.

“You’re really good with her, you know. You’re a natural.”

She smiled but she looked conflicted. Like she was still trying to figure me out. Like she was struggling to reconcile how the bad boy could turn into a hero. How the billionaire hotel heir could turn into a doting father figure for his niece. And as much as it pained me, I knew she has a right to wonder.

Daisy turned on the tap and reaches for the dishrag but I stopped her, wrapping my hands around her waist from behind and pressing my body against hers.

“Don’t you dare,” I whispered into her hair, taking in a deep breath of Daisy. She smelled like pastel petals and springtime and the kitchen smelled like homemade spaghetti sauce mixed with the burning lavender soy candle that Daisy lit next to the sink, and altogether it smelled like home.

If someone had told me a month ago that my pristine apartment would be littered with dolls and dirty dishes and Disney movies, I would have balked. Or that the highlight of my week would have been cooking homemade pasta with my niece and her preschool teacher. But now I couldn’t imagine it any other way, now that I had seen so much life fill the walls of my apartment, I couldn’t imagine going back to the cold, silent sterility.

“These dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”