37. Hannah
THIRTY-SEVEN
Maddox steps past me into the house.
I can’t believe this idiot thought Chelsea was his kid.
Or that I’d keep a child hidden from their father.
Idiot.
Maddox pauses at the bench to toe off the tennis shoes he’s wearing, leaving him in white socks, worn jeans, and a gray T-shirt that shows off more of his tattoos than I’ve ever seen.
I untie the apron I have on and pretend we aren’t wearing matching outfits. With my jeans in the form of shorts and my T-shirt a white V-neck.
Normally, I don’t feel comfortable wearing shorts around anyone other than my family. But I remind myself that Maddox saw a lot more than my thighs last night.
I shut the door harder than necessary.
Don’t think about last night.
But as I watch his back muscles bunch under his cotton shirt, I can’t help but think about it. He’s just…
I pull the apron over my head.
It doesn’t matter if he’s sex incarnate.
Never again.