Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
“Hey Pres!”Marley called out from the ground. Presley was on the roof, checking out the areas they’d fixed yesterday. It was due to rain overnight, and he didn’t want any leaks. He’d spent half the morning calming Mrs. Clancy down, and he didn’t want a repeat of it tomorrow. Good thing he could be a sweet talker if he wanted to be.
All words and no action.
He blinked at the sudden memory of that being screamed at him. He pushed it away and looked down at his brother, who was staring expectantly up at him.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a call for you. From Delilah’s dance school. You’re late picking her up.”
Fuck. What time was it? A glance at his watch told him it was half an hour past the time he could be considered a responsible parent.
“Shit.” He tried to extricate himself from the short lead he’d clipped to his harness for safety. “Christ, I can’t believe it. I set an alarm and everything.”
“And left your phone down here,” Marley pointed out.
Presley climbed down faster than he should have, unclipping the harness and looking around for his keys. If any of the crew had done that he would’ve been shouting at them.
“Here.” Marley pressed them into his hands. “It’s a few minutes, man. Don’t look so worried.”
“It’s half an hour. And you know what Delilah’s like about me being late.”
She hated it. She always had since the day her mom didn’t pick her up from daycare. Yes, she’d had counseling, and they’d had family therapy since then, but some wounds ran deep.
And he’d shoved a damn knife in it to open it up.
“Go. I’ll clean up here,” his brother urged. “Take her for an ice cream or something. She’ll be fine.”
Pres nodded at his brother, thankful as always to have Marley on his side. His brother worked with him part time on his days off from the fire house where he was a firefighter.
He was so used to having his brother around. They used to play together in a band, too, before he’d mostly given it up because being a single dad and playing gigs in bars really didn’t mix.
It took him a lot less time than it should have to drive to the dance school. And yeah, he might have broken the speed limit but only barely and with a good reason. It was only ten minutes later that he was parking The Beast – Delilah’s nickname for his huge truck – in the mostly deserted parking lot of the Forsythe School of Dance and climbing out of the cab in a hurry, his long legs speeding across the blacktop to the building.
When he strode into the reception area he could see that all the lights were off.
And Delilah was sitting on a chair, Lola crushed against her chest, her little legs swinging.
“Daddy.” Her entire face lit up as she jumped down from the chair and threw herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking her silky hair.
“Mr. Hartson?”
He hadn’t noticed the woman sitting with her. Was that Delilah’s teacher? He had a vague memory of his mom mentioning the old one had left, but he hadn’t paid that much attention. His mom did nearly all the pickups from class, so it hadn’t been at the top of his mind.
He glanced over at her again. She was wearing a black leotard that clung to her curves, and her legs were encased in white tights that emphasized the tone of her muscles. Not that he should be looking at those.
He swiftly brought his eyes up to her face, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
Her lips were pressed together. Her eyes narrow. But damn she was attractive if you were a douchebag who spent too long looking at somebody you shouldn’t.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. His words were aimed at Delilah, but the teacher nodded.
“Could I have a quick word with you?” the teacher asked. “Alone?”
He glanced at Delilah as if to point out that it was almost impossible to be alone.
“Honey, why don’t you grab a couple of those donuts from the staff room for you and your daddy to eat once you get home?” Delilah’s teacher suggested, smiling warmly at her.
“Can I?” Delilah breathed, looking excitedly at Pres.
“Sure.” He nodded.
Delilah skipped off, clearly happy now that he was here and her world was right again, leaving Pres alone with her teacher.
“Miss…” Damn, he didn’t even know her name.
“Cassie Simons.” She squared her shoulders but somehow she did it gracefully. It was like watching a bird move across the water. Every part of her seemed fluid. Light.
Such a contrast to his own body. Pres was built for strength, not grace. Her eyes dipped to his arms, no doubt taking in the tattoos he had inked from his shoulder to his forearm.
All covered in dust from a day working on a construction site.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said again. “My mom usually picks Delilah up.”
“Delilah was very upset when you didn’t arrive. She started crying, so I did my best to distract her,” Cassie said. She had this soft voice that wrapped itself around you.
But her words felt like a slap.
“Crying?” Pres swallowed hard.
“She thought you weren’t coming for her. You can’t just leave a six-year-old waiting like that. It’s not fair.” She lifted a brow at him and he felt like he was being scolded by the teacher.
Annoyance rushed through him. “I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well mistakes to adults can feel like trauma to kids.”
She’d just stepped over the line he’d drawn around himself and Delilah, to keep them safe and unhurt. He didn’t let anybody that he didn’t trust penetrate it. And he was pissed, really pissed that she dove head first into a place she didn’t belong.
“How many kids do you have?” he asked her, his voice tight.
She actually blushed. “None.”
“Uhuh.” He lifted a brow, refusing to break their gaze. She ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, her own eyes unwavering. He felt a tingle of electricity at the base of his spine. Like his muscles were waking up from a deep sleep. He’d be enjoying this, if this woman wasn’t making him so mad.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked him, tipping her head to the side. Her eyes were fiery and so damn pretty. His gaze dipped to her mouth.
Then resolutely away.
Her chest rose and fell with her breath. He wasn’t going to look at it. He wasn’t.
“It means that I’ll only be taking advice from someone who knows what they’re talking about.”
Cassie’s mouth dropped open, but she said nothing. And thankfully Delilah came back into the reception area, two iced donuts carefully balanced in her hands. She was walking slowly, like she was afraid they’d fall out of her palms and onto the floor.
“I got pink ones,” she said, looking pleased with herself. She lifted her hands – already covered in pink frosting – and licked her thumb.
Okay, it was time to go. He didn’t have time to argue with this woman. He had things to do. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he said gruffly, taking the donuts from Delilah’s sticky hands.
“No problem.” Cassie’s voice was tight.
“It won’t happen again.” He’d make sure of that, even if he had to strap an alarm clock on every limb. Being told off by the teacher really wasn’t much fun. Especially when he knew she was mostly right, but he was too proud to admit it. He spent most days beating himself up. He didn’t really need her help with it right now.
Not even if she had curves he couldn’t get out of his mind.
“Can we eat them when we get home?” Delilah asked.
“After dinner. Say goodbye to Miss Cassie.”
Delilah did one better. She threw her arms around Cassie’s waist, taking her by surprise. “Thank you,” she said, still squeezing tight. “You’re my favorite teacher.”
And when she pulled back, Cassie’s cheeks were burning red. “Have a good evening,” she said to Delilah as she turned around to grab Lola.
And no, he didn’t look at her ass. Or see the sticky residue of Delilah’s hand marks on her lower back.
Because somewhere deep down, beneath the tattoos and the dust and the muscles, he was a gentleman. And gentlemen didn’t leer at their kid’s new dance teacher. No matter how long it had been since their hands had touched another woman. Because his daughter came first, always.
He’d promised himself that from the moment he became a widower.
“I can’t believe you forgot to pick her up.” His mom sighed over the phone. She and his dad were in Washington DC and she’d called to check in before the two of them went out for the night.
“I didn’t forget her, I was just a little late, that’s all.”
“Half an hour late, Presley. I’m surprised they didn’t charge you.”
He was finishing loading the dishwasher after dinner. Delilah was sitting in the den, fresh from her shower, wearing her favorite pink and white unicorn pajamas while she watched some cartoon he couldn’t remember the name of.
She’d fully recovered from him being late, but he hadn’t quite gotten there yet. The guilt nagged at him while they ate dinner, and he hadn’t wanted to eat the donut Delilah had snagged for him from the dance school. She’d asked if she could have it, but he’d shaken his head and put it in the refrigerator for another day.
Her diet wasn’t always the best, but dammit, he was trying.
That was the story of his life. He tried to keep everybody happy. Tried to keep a roof over his kid’s head. Tried to help her heal from losing her mom and tried to be both parents to her at the same time.
Tried and failed.
Yeah, he was in that kind of mood. He needed to snap out of it.
“I’ll buy her teacher some chocolates or something to say sorry,” he murmured, thinking out loud.
“Presley.” There she went, telling him off again.
“What? What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Not be late.” His mom sounded frustrated. And he got it, he did. When Jade died three years ago he’d been a mess. She and his dad had stepped in and taken care of him and Delilah.
But things were better now. They have a house, he has a job, and Delilah’s thriving at school. She loved unicorns and giraffes and dance class.
She was a normal little kid, and he was so thankful for that. She laughed, and she cried and she snuggled up to him when they watched movies together.
“I’ll sort it out,” he promised. “I’ll send flowers.”
“That’s better,” his mom said warmly. “You’re a good boy at heart.”
He laughed at the term boy. He hadn’t been that for a long time. By the age of thirteen he and Marley had been taller than their mom. By sixteen they were a full foot higher. Wherever they went, the two of them dominated the room.
The Heartbreak Boys, people in the town would whisper as they walked through the square. As handsome as their daddy, but twice as dangerous.
“You having a good time?” he asked his mom, loading a soap pod into the dishwasher and flicking it on. Once Delilah was in bed, he’d put in a load of laundry and attack some invoices. He had little time to sit around and do nothing, but that was mostly the way he liked it.
He liked being busy. Building things, making things. It beat thinking about how lonely you were in the middle of the night.
His mom was telling him about the party they were about to head to. He listened as he cleaned up the counters, humoring her.
“I guess I’d better go,” she finally said. “We’ll be home tomorrow to pick Delilah up from school.”
“You sure?” he asked. He hated taking advantage of his parents. But they’d had this conversation enough times – they loved having Delilah around. They wouldn’t hear of him getting a nanny or putting Delilah in after-school care.
His kid was lucky to have so many people who loved her.
“I’m sure. Now sleep tight. And don’t forget to send the flowers.”
“I won’t.” He disconnected the call and slid his phone in his pocket.
“Daddy?” Delilah called out. “Come watch with me.”
He dried his hands on a towel and walked into the living room where his daughter was curled up on the sofa, Lola the giraffe wrapped tight in her arms. The stuffie was getting threadbare now, the fur on the ears had been rubbed away by her fingers over the years, and his mom had sewn the poor giraffe’s eyes back on.
“Okay.” He sat on the sofa next to her and she immediately climbed into his lap. She smelled of flowers and fresh showers and he breathed her in.
“Miss Cassie says I’m good at dancing,” Delilah told him, her eyes still glued to the television screen.
“Yeah, you are.”
Delilah preened like a cat. “And she says I have pretty hair.”
“That’s because I put it in such a great pony tail,” he teased.
Delilah sighed. “No, she had to re-do it for me. She can do French braids too, but she didn’t have time before class.”
Of course she could. He got the feeling his kid thought this new teacher was some kind of superhero.
“She’s pretty,” Delilah continued. “Isn’t she?”
Pres blew out a mouthful of air. Yeah, she was, if you liked that kind of thing. Which apparently he did.
Or his libido, if it still existed, did.
His head, not so much. He was still bristling at her words, no matter how close to the truth they were.
She thought he was a bad dad. Yeah, well, he thought that daily, too. She could join the long line of people wanting to join that club.
“Am I pretty?” Delilah asked.
“Yeah, you are. And you’re smart and you’re funny and I love you very much.” He kissed her brow.
“I love you too.” She snuggled up against him. “But I’m not that smart. I only got four out of ten on my spelling test.”