“You’re a baby person,” I say when she covers the baby’s bald head with kisses.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not at all. Just an observation.”

“I’d love to have some of my own, but I think that’s not in the cards for me.”

“Why?”

“If being left three weeks before your wedding isn’t a sign you’re meant to be an old cat lady, I don’t know what is.” She looks so vulnerable in this moment that I want to take her in my arms and not let go. The urge hits me to go after that moron and give him a piece of my mind—or fist. No one can hurt her and get away with it.

“What about you? When will the world be blessed with little Max Bennetts?”

“Kids aren’t on my radar. No father material here.” That right here is a solid reason why I shouldn’t have anything else other than friendship on my mind when it comes to Emilia. She’s in a different place than I am.

When Christopher and I turned eighteen, Logan lectured us about treating women right. He rambled on for about an hour, and I zoned out ten minutes in, but one thing did stick into my thick skull: treat every woman the way you’d want men to treat your sisters. That sounded like good advice, and it worked for Logan, but not for me. I was up-front with the women I dated, telling them I wasn’t looking for anything for the long term, just fun and company, and I treated them right. They always seemed on board with me, but then ended up wanting more than I could give them, turning bitter and unhappy. I hurt them without wanting to, but the truth was I couldn’t see myself having a future with any of them.

Emilia wants kids and a relationship and deserves someone who can give her that. But damn, the thought of my Jonesie with someone else makes me want to punch something. And knowing she shoulders the responsibility of caring for her grandmother alone makes me want to swoop in and solve everything, but that would be a surefire way to piss her off. Jonesie doesn’t take handouts. I learned that when we were nine, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed. She’s grown into an independent, hardworking woman, and I respect her for that.

“Yeah, Mommy’s coming out in a few minutes,” she tells the baby, kissing its little bald head some more. I’d seen this nurturing side of her as kids, but now it’s different in a way I can’t describe. She’s delicate and strong at the same time, and I could watch her carry this baby around for hours. What the actual hell?

“I’m done for the day!” A woman in her late thirties walks out the front door and takes the baby from Emilia. “Thank you for watching him.” The woman nods curtly at me before leaving.

“Let’s go inside,” Emilia tells me. I gesture for her to walk in front of me, which ends up being a bad idea, because I have a perfect view of her ass in that sinful pencil skirt of hers. Two vaguely familiar faces press against a nearby window, watching Emilia and me. I think one of them is the receptionist.

“What the hell?” I motion to Emilia, who turns red when she sees them.

“Those are Abby, our receptionist, and Evelyn, our psychologist. They are also very good friends of mine, and they are—”

“Checking me out?”

“They’ve done this since the first time you came. Now they’re… assessing your potential.”

“For what?” I ask, dumbfounded. When she turns a deeper shade of red, I have my answer. “Emilia!” My voice is brisker than I intended, startling her. We stop a few feet in front of the entrance.

“What?”

“You’re right to want us to be

nothing more than friends. I have a bad record with women.”

“I can’t imagine you hurting women on purpose.”

“I wasn’t. Still ended up doing it. So yeah… can’t promise I won’t flirt with you. But if I do—”

“I’ll shoot you down.” She grins, clearly enjoying my mortification.

“You do that.”

“I’ll do more, keep you all the way in the friend zone.” Her grin widens. “I’ll tell you all about my dates and sexcapades.”

“Sexcapades.” Every muscle in my body contorts. “You have those?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time. The stories I can tell you—”

“Don’t. You’re supposed to keep me in the friend zone, not hell.” Groaning, I’m beginning to wonder if they aren’t the same thing.

“I was messing with you, Max.” She doubles over with laughter as tension bleeds away from every corner of my body. “I’ll do my best to keep you in a non-hellish friend zone. Glad we cleared the air. Worked better than the last time.”

Tags: Layla Hagen The Bennett Family Romance
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