“Okay?” I risked a glance at her, taking in the worried line of her mouth before focusing back on the road. Having Skye had turned me into the most defensive driver imaginable. After all, if something happened to me, what would happen to her?
“I mean, obviously you’re her dad, but I’m not…” She shook her head. “I’m not her parent.”
I scoffed, and turned right, pulling into the parking lot that was full of million-dollar sports cars. Most Reapers liked shiny toys on four wheels, and I really wasn’t an exception in that department. I’d left the new Skye-safe SUV at home and driven my Bentley tonight.
“I’m being serious.” Fiona’s tone changed, growing harder.
I pulled the car into the slot next to Briggs and put it in park. “Fiona, you’re the closest thing to a second parent that Skye has.”
“I’m just her nanny.”
And this wasn’t a date. I was sensing a pattern here, and the odds weren’t stacking up in my favor.
“Just a nanny is the last thing I would ever call you,” I said softly, turning so I could take her chin between my thumb and forefinger. She had these tiny crystals lining her eyes that only made them seem even more ethereal.
She gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and motioned toward the door. “We should get in there.”
“Kiss me.” I leaned in. There was zero chance I was letting this negative energy build.
She met me halfway and offered up her mouth. I took it gently, soft, sweet, and as neatly as I could manage given the gloss that colored her lips pale pink. “That’s better.”
She grinned. “You can’t kiss me out of every somber mood, you know.”
“Try me.” I brushed my lips over hers again, then hurried out of the car, helping her with her door and dislodging her wings when they got stuck.
There was going to be glitter lodged in my leather seats and I couldn’t even bring myself to care.
“Not a date,” Fiona whispered in my ear as security ushered us inside.
“Whatever you say,” I answered, my hand resting at the small of her back. I had feelings for this woman—warm, intense, life-altering feelings, and as much as that realization had taken me out at the knees for the last week, I wasn’t backing down or running away. This was a fucking date.
The club was lit up for Halloween, complete with a spinning disco ball and black lights. The DJ had half the team on the floor with their dates, and there was a good-sized waitstaff handing out alcohol by the trayful.
“Are those jello shots?” Fiona whispered.
“Fucking rookies,” I muttered. They’d pay for it in the morning.
“There you are!” Sterling raised a beer from a corner booth, dressed up like Superman. London sat next to him in a brunette wig, clearly the Lois Lane to his Clark.
Maxim sat beside London, generally glaring at the dance floor like it had personally wronged him. Naturally, he’d forgone a costume.
“Sit!” London ordered, tapping the table.
We slid into the booth and gave our orders to a very quick waiter. I’d gone with sweet tea, the house wine of the south, and Fiona had ordered a soda. Guess we were both too nervous about leaving Skye at home to drink.
“You look amazing!” London said across the table to Fiona.
“Thanks! You too!”
The music definitely wasn’t conducive to conversation.
Making sure we were out of sight, I slid my hand onto Fiona’s thigh and rubbed my thumb in small circles.
She glanced my way quickly, but showed no other sign that I was touching her.
“A devil and an angel!” London exclaimed, smacking Sterling with the back of her hand. “Why didn’t we think of something like that! She has wings! I have a pencil skirt!”
“I think you’re hot as hell,” he stated before kissing the shit out of her.
Maxim rolled his eyes.
I slid my hand higher on Fiona’s thigh.
London had a bemused look on her face, shaking her head slightly after the kiss. “I mean, it’s just a great couple’s costume,” she said to Fiona.
“Oh, this isn’t a date.” Fiona shook her head. “We’re not a couple.”
Every head swung my direction, and I took a long sip of my tea. “Whatever she says.” I took that hand higher, grazing the juncture of her thighs.
Her lips parted and she swallowed. Hard.
Gotcha.
“Oh, look! There’s Mia!” London waved Maxim’s sister over.
She was dressed as Cher from Clueless, and Maxim glared at her hemline as she approached. “Hey, guys! I’d stay and chat, but my date is over at the bar.” She bit her lip and gave the girls a conspiratorial grin. “He’s on the Hurricanes and so fucking hot!”
“God save me from baseball players,” Maxim snarked. “Don’t do anything that’s going to make me beat his ass, okay?”
She rolled her eyes at her older brother.