Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“Fucking bullies,” I mutter. If she just points me the right way, and I’ll punch them for her, but she doesn’t want that. She wants to face them on her own.

But I really don’t want her alone with Ross again, because that motherfucker is just—

“Hey.” I focus on her. “What are you doing with those?”

“I’m going to trim your beard,” she declares, coming at me with a pair of scissors I didn’t know I owned.

“Where did you get that?”

“Your bathroom.”

Huh. I put my hand on my beard protectively. “But I should get ready for work.”

“You’re not going in today.”

I blink at her. “Says who?”

“Says me.” She winks. She fucking winks! “I already called the garage.”

“You did, huh?”

Can’t remember the last time someone took care of me, and don’t know how to deal with it, but my mouth keeps wanting to smile, so I give in and shake my head, grinning at her.

I swear, this girl…

“Lean back, and close your eyes,” she says, all bossy and shit, and no matter how battered my body feels, it can’t stop my dick from stirring.

“What the fuck will you do, trim my beard in the shape of a heart, or what?”

She blushes. “Just shorter.” I don’t close my eyes as she leans in, staring at the determined look on her face. She’s wielding those scissors kinda dangerously. “Have you always had a beard?”

“Since I was five,” I tell her solemnly.

She snorts and snips away, her brows arching before her expression returns to its former focus. “Really.”

“No.” I finally close my eyes, just for this. “Since Emma died.”

She pauses for a few seconds, not touching me. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispers.

I say nothing, squeezing my eyes tighter, as if that will block the pain.

After a moment, she starts trimming again, her fingertips light on my cheekbone, on my jaw, on my neck, the snick snick of the scissors soothing.

“Have you checked on the kids?” I ask when she stops and tugs on my beard, as if checking to see how her work looks.

“They had breakfast and are watching TV.” And before I speak, she goes on, “On your phone, you had some messages from a Zane, and a Kaden. Also, yesterday… we called Grandma.”

I open my eyes, shocked. “My mother?”

She straightens, bites on her lower lip. “Yes. The kids wanted it.”

“Dammit.” Anger fills me. Then guilt and sadness. Then relief. “Good. I should’ve done it long ago.”

“Well, your mom’s fine. If you were worried.” She seems to doubt that.

“I know. I asked Kaden and Zane to keep tabs on her.”

“Who are they?”