Hard Hit (IceCats 3)

I’ve said it before, but Jaylin isn’t his snack. She’s my whole meal.

If I could grow some balls and make something happen here. I went and implied something I shouldn’t before the mess happened with the douchefuck. I wanted her to know that I want her to be mine, but I’m also terrified. Even with the fear of rejection, I threw myself between her and that jackass to protect her. She doesn’t need protecting—I know this, she knows this, hell, the whole restaurant knows this. But I want to protect her.

Problem is, I’m unsure if she is really feeling me. While I know I’m a bomb-ass dad, and she’s said it herself, I also feel like that’s not something she wants. She wants a good time, e.g., D’Artagnan. He’s a good time with a 6’4” body and a quick smile. I don’t like that he’s making me feel inadequate. I’m a damn good time. A hoot, honestly. I even come with a more awesome time that shits and eats a lot. Oh, she cries, too.

I must have summoned her inner crybaby because Celeste lets out a wail that makes even me cringe. It cuts off D’Artagnan’s story as all eyes fall on Celeste. “Oh, sweet baby,” I murmur as I lean in, just as Jaylin cups Celeste by the back of the head. It surprises me to see her motherly instincts come out. My eyes widen a bit, but my heart soars.

Jaylin must read my face wrong because she quickly takes her hand off Celeste. “Oh, my bad. Sorry!”

I shake my head quickly. “No, you’re fine. You’re good. It just surprised me.” She looks away as I try to soothe Celeste, and I instantly feel bad. “Honestly, Jay. I was just surprised you wanted to help.”

I can tell I hurt her feelings, but she doesn’t look at me. “I mean, it isn’t my place.”

“It’s not that. I just didn’t think you liked kids like that.”

Wow. Foot. Meet mouth.

Fucking hell.

“I just mean you jumped into action, and it surprised me.”

I’ve pissed her off. “Yeah, I’m not motherly, I guess.”

Before I can even argue that, D’Artagnan’s loud, booming voice says, “Sure you are. You’d be a hot mom.”

“So hot,” Owen says, and my annoyance meter grows. “You’d be like my mom. All my friends wanted to bang her. It was rather disgusting.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I interject, and she meets my gaze. Heat moves through me, and I know she feels it. Hell, I feel it everywhere. Deep in my soul, my gut, everywhere. Man, I want to kiss her.

Before I can even come up with something to say, Evan snorts. “Whatever. You loved it ’cause our house was the hot spot. Plus, everyone wanted to bang our oldest sister.”

That draws her attention away, and I know she wants to change the subject. Damn it. “You have an older sister?” Jaylin asks, but I don’t want to hear about the Adler family history. I want to fix what damage I may have just caused.

Evan nods. “We’re two of five.”

“Five!” Jaylin gasps. “Wow, I can’t imagine.”

Owen laughs. “Yeah, it was never dull in our house. We have two older sisters and a younger brother.”

Evan smiles widely. “Posey is pregnant with our first niece or nephew, and Shelli is having an over-the-top, insane circus of a wedding that we have to be at by the end of the month.”

Owen leans in toward Jaylin. “Wanna be my date?” he asks in a very deliberate Southern drawl. I get that he’s from Tennessee, but I’m pretty sure that accent is exaggerated. “I’ll show you a real good time.”

When she grins brightly, I have the urge to cry like Celeste just did.

“Now, Owen, I already told you, I’m way out of your age group.”

He shrugs. “Just means my mom would love you.”

Evan snorts. “Or she’d freak and think you have some older-lady fetish that she caused because she didn’t love you right. You know how she is.”

Their mom sounds like a hoot.

D’Artagnan laughs. “Plus, I think it’s obvious that Kirby is about to come out of his skin if any of us continue to imply we want to date her.”

With that, everyone looks at me. Even Celeste.

I know they see my beet-red face and my knuckles clenched. I don’t like this one bit.

Jaylin’s lips pull up as she averts her gaze. “Why do you say that?”

Owen moves his finger between us. “He’s really digging you. Like a lot.”

“You’re his sweet dark chocolate that no one can taste but him,” D’Artagnan says naughtily.

“Classy,” I throw at him, and he laughs.

Evan nods. “Not my place, but he hasn’t stopped talking about you. And he basically pissed on you at the bar, letting us know to stay away.”

She waves them off. “We’re just friends,” she says before meeting my gaze. “Aren’t we?”