Church Girl

Chapter Six

Six

“My kingdom. My kingdom for a baby mama that got some damn act right.”

Von

“A w fuck.”

“Incoming.”

That’s all the warning I get from Chelle and Malcolm as I glance up from my plate of oxtails and see my ex-wife crossing the small dine-in section of my favorite soul food restaurant. Usually, coming here for lunch is one of the highlights of my workweek. Mama Zee’s food comes in second only to my ma’s cooking. And quiet as kept, they’re neck and neck. I’d just never admit that to Jerusha Monae Howard. Not if I want to keep my head on my shoulders. So I keep my mouth shut and enjoy Mama Zee’s at least three times a week.

Or I was enjoying my food.

But Sheree has that effect. Sucking the joy out of every damn thing.

“Hey, Von.” She sidles up to our table, ignoring Chelle and Malcolm.

“Sheree. What’re you doing here?”

“Damn.” She tries to reach for offended, but that smirk riding her mouth ruins it. “I can’t just come and speak?”

“Don’t see a point in it.” I shrug. “What’re you doing here?” I repeat. “And don’t try that in-the-neighborhood shit. You don’t live over this way, and you don’t even like the food here. So say what you gotta say and move around.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” she snaps.

“Here we go,” Chelle mutters around a forkful of mac ’n’ cheese.

“Nobody’s talking to you.” Her head whips around, and she glares at Chelle, who arches her brow and slips more food in her mouth. “You need to mind your business.”

“Well, boo, I would but you not giving me or anybody much of a choice.” Chelle turns in her chair, to the left and then to the right, in an exaggerated sweep of the restaurant. “If you gon’ hold me hostage to the bullshit, I’ma speak on it.”

“See, that’s the problem right there.” Sheree jerks her attention back to me because she don’t want no smoke with Chelle, for real. My ex-wife likes to run her mouth, but when it comes to backing it up, baby girl has no hands. Chelle, though? She’ll drag anyone’s ass, no discrimination. “Your friends are always in our business.”

And there it is.

From the beginning of our relationship, Sheree never accepted that me and Chelle are just friends and colleagues. Sheree even tried to make me choose between her and Chelle. And this was before I married her. That should’ve been my first red flag.

That’s where thinking with my dick landed me.

Divorced and permanently attached to her through our daughter.

Looking at her, I can objectively see why I fell for her. My ex-wife is beautiful. Pretty face with hazel eyes and lips that could suck the skin off my dick. Dark hair in a sleek, shoulder-length bob, nice-size titties, a fat ass and thick thighs. She got that body women will pay Dr. Miami to give them on a surgical table. Only hers is natural. Yeah, Sheree is gorgeous, as the tight, green Fenty sweatpants and cropped sweatshirt attest to. Too bad that beauty goes away whenever she opens her mouth.

Like now.

“ We don’t have business anymore, Sheree,” I remind her, shoveling more rice and gravy onto my fork even though my appetite is shot. “We’re divorced, remember? Which means whatever this—” I slide the food in my mouth and then wave the fork back and forth between us “—is about, I don’t have to entertain it. For the sake of our daughter, I’ma be generous. Say what you want then let me eat so I can get back to my shop.”

That smirk returns to her mouth. “Don’t you mean our shop?” Her voice raises a little, just enough to draw attention our way.

This was her intention all along. To find me and that bullshit lawsuit. To embarrass me. ’Cause she could’ve brought her greedy ass on to the shop if she didn’t want an audience. You’d think she knew me by now. Nearly ten years together and she still thinks she can play with me.

Leaning back in my chair, I set my fork down on my plate and meet her hazel gaze. “You sure you want to do this here?” I calmly offer her one last chance to get the fuck on. I may sound unbothered, but inside, anger seethes in my gut.

Uncertainty flickers in her eyes, but in the next second, her smirk widens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Why not? You don’t answer the phone when I call, and my attorney says you’ve been ignoring his messages and emails. I know the thought of losing half that damn shop probably has you feeling some kind of way, but you can’t ignore a court document, Von. And since we’re going to be co-owners soon...” She shrugs like the shit has been ruled on and it’s a done deal.

“This bitch...” Chelle laughs, falling back in her chair, and Malcolm shakes his head, disgust for Sheree etched on his face.

There’s no love lost between her and any of my employees. She had a chance to get to know them, to get their respect, but that’s hard to do when every time she rolls up in my place of business it’s with some drama. I’ve lost clients behind her ass. And me losing clients means my tattoo artists did, too. So yeah, they don’t fuck with her.

“Who you calling a bitch?” Sheree shouts at Chelle, and when she laughs harder, I want to warn my ex-wife. Past experience taught me, the harder Chelle smiles, the closer she is to swinging. But in typical Sheree fashion, she’s writing a check her ass can’t cash. “You just gon’ sit there and let her call me out my name?” she directs back to me.

“Aye, who you yelling at? You need to talk to me like you got some sense,” I say, voice still even, but my leg starts to jump under the table. “And you’re not my woman anymore. Take that shit up with her.”

“I’m your daughter’s mother,” she snaps.

As if I can forget. I shrug again. “And that means I gotta co-parent with you. Everything else is a wrap.”

Fire damn near shoots out of her eyes and she leans forward. Then at the last second, as if she catches herself, she straightens. “I’ma need this energy right here when I come and take half your shop—”

“You ain’t taking shit, Sheree.” I cock my head, studying her. “I don’t know what you thought you were going to accomplish by this, but it’s not gonna end how you want it to. Now, you walked up in here, calling yourself checking me. Baby girl, if you want me to hurt your feelings in front of all these people by airing your files, I will. Because if I start talking about our divorce, I ain’t stopping with this recent bullshit. I’m going to end with why we divorced in the first place. Is that what you want? You let me know.”

Real fear flashes in her eyes, and I know her decision before she opens her mouth. “You’re such an asshole, Von,” she hisses.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Yeah, she doesn’t want me telling her business. She doesn’t want me to tell the whole truth. “If you’re done spoiling my lunch, you can go. And you better hope I don’t send the video from one of these muthafuckas recording us to my attorney. Maybe I’ll get paid for harassment along with his fees.”

She glances around. Several people have their phones up and aimed toward us. Probably got this whole shit on a live right now.

“Fuck you,” she snarls then stomps off.

“I don’t get it, Von.” Malcolm squints after Sheree, waiting until she shoves through the door. “I don’t even fuck with the cops like that, but even I might get a restraining order on her.” He shakes his head, lifting cabbage to his mouth. “She loose.”

“Get a restraining order because my ex-wife is bitter and trifling?” I snort, shoving my plate away. “Yeah, I don’t think it works like that. Hell, even Hallmark ain’t got a card for that.”

Chelle rubs a hand over the shaved side of her head then props her inked forearms on the table. “I told you she had issues when you first started dating her. A woman knows when another one doesn’t have some damn sense. And Sheree never did. But no.” She draws out “no” until it’s about five syllables long. “She got a fat ass and good pussy.”

“Chelle,” I warn on a low growl.

“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands. “But for real, I got a question. What did you mean by telling the reason you got divorced? There’s something else besides catching her cheating and stealing your money?”

It’s cliché and laughable how I discovered Sheree was fucking around on me. The one time she didn’t take her phone into the bathroom with her, and “Kia” called her. I answered it, and it was Malik, one of my boys. Finding that out on top of my accountant informing me money had gone missing from my business account? I was done. Past done.

Like those two offenses weren’t enough.

But no. There’s more.

And that fucking more damn near broke me.

A very familiar fury throbs in my head, beating in sync with my pulse. Even if I could get past the cheating or the stealing, I’ll never forgive her for the more .

“Von?” Chelle presses when I go silent.

“Yeah?” I scratch my beard-covered jaw. “It doesn’t—hold up.”

My cell vibrates against the table. I frown. Why is Gia’s school calling me? My gaze flicks to the time at the top of the screen, and I note that it’s only 12:34 p.m. My heart gives a hard thump. Silly. They could be calling for any reason, but that’s my baby. Picking up the phone, I press Answer and lift it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Howard?” the voice on the other end asks.

I tamp down my impatience and say, “Yeah, this is him. How can I help you?”

“Hello, Mr. Howard, this is Principal Laurence Hutchinson at Gia’s school.”

“Is everything okay with G?”

Chelle’s and Malcolm’s gazes fly to me at the mention of Gia.

“Your daughter is fine, but...” My jaw locks, barely trapping the “Speak the fuck up” behind my teeth. “Sir, we have a problem with her caretaker and need you to come up to the school.”

Her care... “Aaliyah?”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Aaliyah Howard. You have her listed in Gia’s file as a person permitted to drop off and pick up Gia from school as well as a contact in case of emergency. Which is why, when we had a situation here, we called her when we couldn’t get in touch with you.”

“What kind of situation?” I bark, anxiety spiking inside me. “What time did you call me earlier?”

“It was about 11:15,” he says. And after a brief hesitation, he adds, “I’d rather discuss the other part of this in person as it pertains to another child in Gia’s class, sir. Can I expect you at the school soon?”

I drag a hand down my face. At eleven, I was in the middle of a tattoo, but because of Gia, I never turn my phone off or silence it. I don’t know how I missed the call. Yeah, I added Aaliyah to her file as an emergency contact—and in the three weeks Aaliyah has been with G, they’ve been super tight—but Gia’s my daughter. And my stomach curdles. She’s my first priority, and it doesn’t sit well with me that I failed to be there for her today.

“I’m on my way.” Not bothering to wait for his response, I end the call and shove back my chair, standing.

“What’s going on, Von?” Chelle fires at me, rising from her chair, too. “What’s wrong with G?”

“I don’t know. The principal said she’s fine, but something’s going on if they want me up at the school.”

“Call me as soon as you find out.” She follows me out the restaurant door and onto the sidewalk. “I mean it, Von. Don’t make me have to blow up your phone.”

“I got you. Have Malcolm call my afternoon clients and reschedule them for me.”

“Yeah, I will. Give her a kiss from her auntie.”

I wave to her as I climb into my truck, focused on getting to the school in record time. Soon I’m striding through the quiet elementary school entrance, my mind flooded with all kinds of scenarios about what could be happening with Gia.

As soon as I reach the front office, I pull the door open and move directly to the administrative assistant’s desk. The older woman looks up, and recognition flashes in her blue eyes. Gia has never been a problem child, but I’m no deadbeat parent, either. They know me up here because I haven’t missed a parent-teacher conference, a bake sale, a book sale or anything in between. And though Sheree gets on my fucking nerves, she’s the same. Or at least she was before the divorce. She’s been slipping a little since then. Still, she might be a bum-ass wife, but for the most part, I can’t shit on her as a mother.

Clenching my teeth, I shove thoughts of my ex-wife aside. I’ve had enough of her today. Still mad she spoiled my goddamn oxtails.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Howard,” Mrs. Terrance says with a small smile. “Principal Hutchinson is expecting you. Go right on in.”

“Thanks.”

I walk toward the door on the other side of the room. Giving it the barest of knocks, I twist the knob and enter.

My gaze immediately zeroes in on Gia, sitting at the child-size table and chair set in the corner of the large office. I study her, settling on her frown before scanning her little body. Once satisfied she’s indeed fine—looking pissed off but fine—I shift my attention to the woman next to her.

Instead of taking one of the adult-size armchairs in front of the desk, Aaliyah is damn near spilling over the other chair, her body turned to the side since her knees ain’t fitting under that table. I’d laugh at how ridiculous she looks if it weren’t for the fact that we are up at my daughter’s school. Aaliyah wears a composed, cool expression, as if she’s chilling at my place on the couch, definitely not like she’s in the fucking principal’s office . But then she lifts her eyes to mine and...

Yeah, maybe not so composed.

There’s worry in those pretty brown eyes, but anger, too.

Aaliyah is hot, and since I haven’t done anything to her little ass, it must be directed toward Principal Hutchinson.

Swinging my gaze his way, I narrow my eyes on him. Both my daughter and Aaliyah ain’t fucking with him so that already makes the other man suspect in my book. Gia, because of the obvious. And Aaliyah... Well, shorty don’t mess with anybody. She’s still too nice, too na?ve, in my opinion, although I don’t have one complaint on how she takes care of my daughter. But, making her mad is like enraging a fucking Disney princess. It ain’t natural.

I’ve only seen her mad one time, and that’s when I had to strong-arm her into accepting a car from me. A car she clearly needed so she wasn’t riding around Chicago with strangers, at the mercy of some rideshare app.

She got over that mad, though. Not that she had a choice.

“Mr. Howard.” The principal rises from behind his desk and stretches his hand out to me. I stare down at it for several seconds before briefly shaking it. He’s been principal here since Gia started kindergarten. She’s now in second grade, and I’ve never had to be called to his office. “Please have a seat.”

He waves toward the visitor chairs, and I catch the quick, impatient glance he shoots in Aaliyah’s direction.

Sinking to one, I don’t waste any time. “What’s this about? And why they over there looking like you sat both of them in timeout?” I dip my head toward Gia and Aaliyah.

His mouth flattens, but he smooths his hand over his tie and the front of his shirt, lowering back to his chair. Clearing his throat, he says, “Yes, well, I asked Ms. Montgomery if she wouldn’t be more comfortable over here—” he nods at the vacant chair next to me “—but she opted to sit with Gia.”

Despite the circumstances, amusement bubbles in my chest. Yeah, I’ve encountered that stubborn streak. In the three weeks she’s worked for me, it’s raised its head. And flipped me off. She’s soft-spoken and sweet ’n’ all, but I can practically see her cussing me out in her head at times. Sometimes, I wish she’d just let the shit fly. A nice, gentle Aaliyah is damn hard to ignore. But the Aaliyah that would tell me to go fuck myself with the same sentiment in her eyes?

Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing she keeps her cool. Otherwise, I’d be too tempted to give her something else to do with that mouth instead of go off on me. Shit, who am I kidding? I’m tempted to do that regardless.

Fucking focus .

“Aaliyah, come here, please?”

I don’t glance over my shoulder, but after a beat of several seconds, the sound of her chair legs scraping over the floor fills the office, and a moment later, she appears at my side. The annoyed, grim set of her mouth telegraphs her displeasure with me calling her over here. If she knew how fast and hard I brick up at her obedience, she’d run back over to that table. Maybe crawl up under it.

Principal Hutchinson’s gaze skates down Aaliyah’s curves as she settles in the visitor chair, lingering on her firm, high breasts and those wide, sexy-as-fuck hips. He must think I don’t catch that shit. Even though I can hardly blame him, given how thick and gorgeous her body is—yeah, fuck that. I can blame him.

“Aye, up here,” I growl, not caring one gotdamn bit if I embarrass him.

I’m not here for him to eye-fuck Aaliyah. Matter of fact, he should just keep his eyes off her altogether before I move some furniture up in here. And no, I’m not analyzing why that shit bothers me to my soul. It just does.

He clears his throat again. “I’m sorry to have to call you up here during the workday, Mr. Howard, but there was an incident here at the school earlier that we need to address.” I stare at him, and he dips his chin. Next to me, Aaliyah shifts in her chair. “Gia had an altercation with another student in her class this morning. Things turned physical, and we have a zero tolerance policy for violence—”

“Tell him why she resorted to putting her hands on the other...girl,” Aaliyah interjects, leaning forward in the chair. That little pause... If I didn’t know better, I’d think Pollyanna was about to call a child a bitch. “It wasn’t unprovoked.”

“That’s a matter of she said, she said, Ms. Montgomery.”

“No, it is not. It’s a matter of the truth. There are no two sides to it.”

“Gia is saying one thing while the other student tells a different story—”

“And she’s lying, but you don’t want to acknowledge that. You’d rather cover your own a—” She bit off the sentence before she cursed, and I blink at her near uttering of profanity. She sucks in a deep breath and slowly releases it before continuing. “You’d rather cover your own behind,” she amends, “rather than admit you didn’t listen and protect Gia when she asked for help. You’d rather give the message to a child that even when she goes through all the right avenues, even when she follows the rules, she’ll be punished by the adults who failed her in the first place.”

Holy. Shit .

Who is this and what happened to my nanny?

She’s reading the fuck outta him, and all the principal can do is sit there, taking it.

Shaking my head, I tear my gaze from this...so un-Disney version of Aaliyah and focus back on Principal Hutchinson. “What is she talking about you failed to protect Gia? From what?” I growl.

What the hell does my daughter need protection from, and why is this the first I’m hearing of it? Whew. Anger flashes inside me like a lighter flaring to life. Somebody better have some answers. I don’t, and will never, play about Gia.

“Ms. Montgomery claims that Gia has been bullied,” he says, an edge to his voice.

“Claims?” Aaliyah barks out a sharp laugh, her fingers curling around the arms of the chair. “Why don’t you just come on out and call both of us liars? But here’s the thing, sir, I don’t need to lie. Not when I have proof.”

She removes a phone from the purse slung across her body, taps on the screen and passes it to me.

At first, I’m not sure what the fuck I’m looking at. But then I realize it’s a piece of blue paper and a rough drawing of a girl with squiggly lines for hair and a pig’s face. Above it is scrawled Piggy Gia.

Pure fury roars inside my head. I swear to God, I’m sweating, and my pulse drowns out everything. Deliberately, I pass the phone back to Aaliyah when I feel like throwing it across the room to smash against the wall.

The. Fuck.

I glance behind me at Gia, and she stares down at her clasped hands. Battling the urge to flip a desk—and the man sitting behind it—I softly call her name. And truthfully, it ain’t all that soft. But it’s the best I can do with this rage riding me.

“You okay, G?”

She nods her head.

“Look at me, baby girl,” I gently order. And when she lifts her head and meets my gaze, I ask again, “You okay?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispers. And my heart aches.

Pain radiates behind my ribs. I want to pick her up, hug her close and run out of this office, this school. Want to shield her from the shitty people in the world. Somehow, I forgot that kids can be just as horrible as adults. And I hate that I couldn’t protect my baby from that ugliness, from that hurt. Hate that it even touched her.

“Okay, do me a favor? Go outside and sit with Mrs. Terrance.”

“Okay.”

As soon as she leaves and the door closes behind her, I return my focus to the principal. He flinches before he straightens his shoulders and tries to appear like he’s the one in control. He can kill that. I got something for him.

“Did you see that?” I jab a finger toward Aaliyah’s phone.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “And like I told Ms. Montgomery, that’s not necessarily proof. Anyone could’ve drawn that, not the other stud—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I seethe. “As a principal, a fucking man, you’re really gon’ sit here and defend that shit?”

“Mr. Howard, I understand you’re upset, but I won’t condone that language.”

“Oh, so you have standards.” I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees and clasping my fingers between my spread thighs. It’s either that or wrap them around his neck. “A little girl being harassed doesn’t offend you, but my language does?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Get the fuck outta here with that, bruh.”

“Now, wait just a—”

Throwing up a hand toward him, I turn to Aaliyah. “What happened? Since I’m obviously not going to get the full truth out of him.”

“Last week, Gia came home upset. I finally got it out of her that she was being bullied by a girl in her class, and she showed me that...drawing. The other girl had given it to her during recess and started calling her names. Apparently, this isn’t the first time. It’s been going on since the beginning of the year.” She shoots a dirty look at the principal and under different circumstances, it would be comical. “Anyway—” she returns her attention to me “—I told her to tell her teacher. And if things didn’t change, tell her teacher again. She did that the next two days, and her teacher did nothing.” Aaliyah’s voice thickens, and her eyes glisten though they remain hot with hurt and anger for my little girl.

Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever found her more beautiful.

“When she let me know, I told her to tell a different teacher, and she did that as well. She let another second-grade teacher know what was going on, and still, nothing. Then I got a call from him today.” She hikes her chin in the principal’s direction. “Gia got in a fight. And apparently because that little heffa got a lot of mouth she can’t back up with her hands, Gia is the one in trouble and about to be suspended.”

“Gia could’ve come to me at any time if she was experiencing difficulties in class.”

Before I can turn and tell him in detail how to go fuck himself, Aaliyah beats me to it. Her head whips in his direction, her long waves falling over her shoulder. “Oh really? She should’ve gone to you? Because the teachers she trusted did nothing to intervene? As the head of this school, their neglect falls on you. Do I condone violence? No, not ordinarily. But she followed the rules, reached out to the authority figure, three times, and she was failed. At. Every. Turn. So when the bully came at her again, she defended herself. Or maybe you think she should’ve sucked it up and persevered for the rest of the year? Maybe you believe being tormented would’ve built character? God gave John a thorn in the flesh to endure, but I’m proud of Gia for plucking hers out.”

I frown, confused. Thorn in the flesh? Must be all that Sunday school she taught.

“I sympathize with Gia. I really do. I’m not so heartless that I don’t understand the why behind what occurred. But be that as it may, we have a zero tolerance policy, and I can’t let her be the exception.”

I cock my head, running a hand down my beard. “And what about the zero tolerance policy about bullying? I haven’t heard you say shit about that yet.”

Back to clearing his throat. “We know Gia hit another student, while we can’t prove the bullying by—”

I hold up my hand again. “Let me stop you right there. Are you trying to tell me that my daughter will be punished, but the other student won’t face any consequences?”

Principal Hutchinson sighs like he’s tired of this conversation. And he needs to head to Bible study tonight and give thanks we’re in his office. Because if we were out on the street...

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I nod. “Bet.”

His shoulders sink, and relief flashes across his face. Cupping his fingers together, he leans forward on his desk. “I’m glad you can understand why—”

“I don’t understand shit,” I correct him, and Hutchinson’s jaw clenches. He’s probably been interrupted more in these fifteen minutes than he has in his career. “I just wanted to make sure this is where you stand. So when I go down to the board of education and file a complaint, I have my facts straight. Also, when I hit up my social media with the over one million followers, that I have it right. Now, usually, I’m no keyboard warrior. But for you? I’ll make an exception. By the time I’m done, everyone will know that bullies are tolerated at this school. I’ll make sure to include that lil’ drawing. You don’t consider it proof, but I’m ’bout a hundred percent certain other people will view it differently.”

“And that doesn’t even begin to cover what I’ll do.” Aaliyah scoots forward to the edge of her seat. “My father is a pastor. A renowned pastor with a large following and many connections. By the time he rallies his fellow clergymen and their congregations, we will have a prayer rally in downtown Chicago about the trauma of bullying and the systemic failures in the administration that refuses to address the problems.” She tsks, her mouth turning down at the corners. “I can just see the rally cry now. They took God out the schools and now look at what happens. Jesus, please protect our children.” She tilts her head back, palms up, crying out to the ceiling before smiling at the dumbfounded principal. “It should really bring the city together in solidarity.”

I bring a fist to my mouth, covering the smile threatening to spread across my damn face.

This girl.

Just an hour ago, I’d been wondering what an angered Aaliyah would look like. Now I didn’t have to speculate anymore. A fucking goddess. That’s what she looks like. And she did more with a Bible reference than I could with a bag of fuck-yous , bitches and muthafuckas .

I was right about one thing, though. She was hot as fuck.

“Are you threatening me?” the principal snaps.

“Nah, bruh.” I lean back in the chair. “I don’t need to threaten when a promise works better.”

He stares at both of us, that jaw still working. He’s doing right. Principal or not, if he comes out his mouth foul at Aaliyah, I’ll drag him across that desk.

“What are you suggesting, Mr. Howard? Gia must face consequences.”

“And I’m not suggesting she doesn’t. Do I feel she was justified? Yeah. But I do teach my daughter that violence is the last option. Since she told two of your teachers and received no help, maybe she did feel she had no other choice.” I pause and let that sink in. And he best believe, I would be scheduling a meeting with him and her teacher real soon . “So she’ll take those suspension days, but so will the other student. She needs to learn a lesson about bullying. Now either you do it, or I find her parents, and I have a one-on-one talk with her father.”

Hutchinson’s eyebrows arrow down, and he flicks a glance at Aaliyah. “Like I told Ms. Montgomery, that kind of talk on school premises can’t be allowed.”

For the moment, I’m choosing to ignore him trying to check me. Because another thing he said catches my attention. “What do you mean, like you told Ms. Montgomery?”

“Well, that’s not important,” Aaliyah rushes in, waving her hands as if she can brush away my question. “But I got it, Principal Hutchinson.”

I stare at her for several long seconds, but she doesn’t glance over at me, keeping her gaze trained on the principal. All right, I’ma let her make it—both of them. For now. But she’s gonna give me some answers.

“If that’s it—” I shove to my feet “—I’m taking my daughter out of here. How many days are you giving her?”

“She can return in three days. I already had her teachers gather her schoolwork, and it should be waiting for you at the front desk.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “And the other student?”

His lips flatten as if he’s about to refuse to give me that information. But as I stand there, not moving and peering down at him, his gaze drops away from mine, and he smooths his hand down the front of his shirt again.

“She’s already left school for the day with her family. I will call to deliver my decision to them as well.”

“Yeah, okay.” After giving him one last hard stare, I look at Aaliyah. “Ready?”

“Yes. Have a good day, Mr. Hutchinson,” she says politely, almost sweetly.

And if I hadn’t just witnessed her snatch the man a new asshole, I might’ve believed she meant that shit. But I had witnessed it, and I wouldn’t be forgetting it.

Neither would my dick, unfortunately.

I toss him a head jerk and purposefully wait for Aaliyah to walk out of the office first so I can follow her. If that muthafucka thinks he’s going to stare at her ass as she walks out, he better think again.

Settling a hand on the small of her back, I guide her out and into the front office. Mrs. Terrance glances up, her fingers halting mid-type as we emerge. Her face softens as she glances at Gia, who sits across from her on one of the chairs, her little feet swinging an inch or so above the ground.

“She’s been sweet as always,” the older woman says. “No problem at all.”

“Thanks,” I say, approaching Gia.

My daughter tips her head back, and her fear and hurt are obvious in the subtle tremble of her chin. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispers.

I shake my head, and tears glisten in her eyes. Hunkering down in front of her, I cup her shoulder. “Hey, baby girl. Stop that, okay. You know I don’t like you fighting, but am I mad at you? No. Daddy’s not mad at all. The adults are more to blame here than you are. So get rid of those tears, okay? I love you, G.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” She swipes the backs of her hands over her cheeks and rubs her fists into her eyes, momentarily making her seem much younger than her seven years.

“Aight, c’mon.” Standing, I hold out my hand, and she takes it, jumping down off the chair.

“See you when you’re back, Gia,” Mrs. Terrance calls out, and though it’s small, G smiles and waves at the administrative assistant.

I go to leave the office, but Gia pulls up short, turning to Aaliyah and holding out her hand. “Come on, Aaliyah.”

Aaliyah doesn’t hesitate to accept Gia’s hand, which speaks volumes—this woman will never reject my daughter. Hell, Aaliyah had gone to bat for her like she’d pushed Gia out her own pussy. Still, the quick look she shoots me, full of indecision, has my chest pulling tight.

I abruptly nod, and relief flashes across her face.

Together, with Gia between us, we leave the school.

“Let me ask you a question.”

I twist the eye under the spaghetti down to a simmer and turn around to face Aaliyah, who sits at the breakfast bar. Out of habit, I look over her shoulder toward the living room, checking for Gia. But she’s sitting in front of the television, engrossed in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power . She loves that cartoon and can watch it for hours. It’s aight for a remake. Still ain’t the original.

“You think she’s really okay?” I ask.

Aaliyah twists on the stool and peers over at Gia, too. When she faces me again, a small, soft smile curves her pretty mouth.

Yeah, I have no business noticing how pretty—and fuckable—that mouth is.

“Honestly,” she says, thankfully dragging my attention away from thoughts that are inappropriate and dangerous, “I think the fact that we believed and stood by Gia is why she can shake it off and be at ease now. There’s a comfort and...security in knowing your parent unconditionally loves and believes you.”

At the wistful note in her voice that I’m not even sure she’s aware of, I narrow my gaze on her. Frowning, I study her, my curiosity sharp, greedy. Hard to believe when I first met her, my initial assumption was na?ve, innocent...simple. I stand on na?ve, and she still carries that air of innocence that’s so tempting to a man like me—a man likes to get his hands dirty. But simple? Nah. She’s far more complicated; there’s a lot more underneath that good-girl exterior.

And against my better judgment, I want to dig deep, uncover all that is Aaliyah Montgomery. Just from some of her revelations in that office today, I have questions.

First among them is the one that’s been scratching at me since before we left the principal’s office. “She’ll always have my support. Even if she does shit I can’t get behind, that doesn’t mean I won’t love her and help her in any way I can. If somebody comes for her, they come for me.” Something glints in her eyes, and I don’t miss how she swallows hard. “But I got another question.”

I cross my arms, and her gaze dips, lingering on my chest, as if she can’t help but follow my body’s movement. Lust bullies its way into my veins, flooding them. It solidifies inside me like a separate, new organ. My dick hardens, and if she glances down toward my black joggers, she’s probably going to get an eyeful. Crossing the kitchen, I don’t stop until the high counter hides my erection.

“What is it?” she asks.

“What did Hutchinson mean by telling you about ‘that kind of talk’ up at the school? Something happen I should know about? And before you say you don’t know what I’m talking about, ma, the way you cut him off was sus as hell. Don’t think I didn’t catch that.”

She balls up her face, but a moment later, sighs, her shoulders sinking like a deflated balloon. “When I first got to the school, the other girl’s mother was there, and she was loud, yelling at the principal. But when she tried to scream at Gia, I...” She scratches the side of her nose then lifts her gaze to mine. “I might’ve threatened her.”

“You...might have threatened her,” I repeat slowly. “What did you say, Liyah? Exactly?”

Her body gives a tiny jolt, and I’m not sure if it’s from my low tone that vibrates with anger at that bitch for daring to address my daughter or my shortening her name. The nickname seemed too familiar, too...intimate.

I mentally cringe at my slip.

Another sigh. “I told her, ‘Don’t let the cross around my neck fool you. I will beat the hell out of you now then hold it while I pray for you later.’”

I stare at her. Blink. “You said what?”

“Don’t let the cross—”

“Yeah, I heard you.” I slice a hand through the air between us. And I had. But my brain is having the damnedest time catching up to my ears. I squint at her. “You told that woman you would beat the... Do you even know how to fight?”

Her head jerks back as if I offended her. But then she shrugs, a sheepish smile twisting her lips. “Actually, no. But she didn’t know that.”

I bark out a loud crack of laughter. Studying her and the discomfort on her face, I laugh harder, longer. So long that tears sting my eyes and my chest twinges from not being able to catch my breath.

“I’m glad you find it funny. Principal Hutchinson warned me I could be banned from the school’s campus for threatening violence,” she grumbles.

That cut my hilarity off like a switch. “He got me fucked-up,” I snap. “Why didn’t you say anything? Bet. I’ll be back up there tom—”

“No need to do that. Like I said, he warned me. I’m good to still pick Gia up and drop her off. But I can’t make any promises if I see that witch in the line. What grown woman screams at a kid?”

“Thank you,” I murmur, and my tone is low, gritty. Unless it has to do with my daughter, Sheree cauterized most of the softness out of me. And the fact that this warmth is mixed with a grinding, dirty need... Yeah, not much has been familiar since Aaliyah showed up in my tattoo shop. “I appreciate what you did for Gia today. And for staying this evening. With me here, you didn’t have to come back to the house, but Gia appreciates it.”

So do I.

When Gia pleaded with Aaliyah to come home with us, indecision had wavered over Aaliyah’s face, darkened her eyes. I got why she was hesitant. Her returning home with us... It felt personal. I didn’t need her here in a nanny capacity; she was strictly here because she cared about my girl.

And fuck if that didn’t make her even more gorgeous. I didn’t know that was possible, but here we are.

Shoving away from the bar, I turn, heading back to the stove to place much needed distance between us. So I can take a breath that isn’t infused with her fresh, fruity scent. That has to be more than her shampoo. I bet it’s embedded in her skin. Saturates her pussy...

Shit.

“How’s school going?” I ask, desperate to latch onto any subject to distract my thoughts from the swollen, drenched flesh between those thick thighs. “You’re going to the University of Chicago, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

I slowly stir the sauce, lifting the spoon to my mouth for a quick taste. Frowning, I open the cabinet above the stove and grab the garlic and onion powder as well as the oregano.

“And?” I glance over my shoulder at her, eyebrow arched, before shaking the seasonings in the sauce. “You’re liking it?”

The beat of silence has me looking at her again, and she tucks thick strands of hair behind her ear. I frown harder at the gesture that smacks of embarrassment.

“Yes, I love it actually,” she says. “My classes are interesting, even the prerequisites. Well, maybe not calculus.” She scrunches her face up, and the expression is adorable and startlingly...young. Damn. That mix of guilelessness and sensuality is so damn fascinating. “But the other classes? I enjoy going to them. My professors are great. I enjoy the discussion, even the homework.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m sounding like a nerd.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Whoever says brains isn’t sexy as fuck has obviously never had a crush on Velma.”

She tilts her head, eyebrows wrinkling. “Scooby-Doo’s Velma?”

“Hell yeah. I get most people thought Daphne was hot, but it was Velma for me. Those glasses, bangs, that skirt and sweater that no doubt covered real thickness underneath. And then, of course, her figuring out every mystery. Nah, man. I need my girl to add to me, not just be pretty window dressing like Daphne. Velma was sexy and a beast.”

I check the pot of water, and seeing that it’s finally bubbling, I grab the spaghetti and drop the pasta in. When I turn around to grab the salt from the counter, I catch her staring at me, her full lips slightly parted.

“What?” I shake a little salt into my palm and toss it into the water.

“That was...awesome,” she breathes. “And also a little disturbing considering you broke all this down when you were younger.”

I snort. “My ass was fast when I was a kid. Come here.” I jerk my head for emphasis, beckoning her over to me.

Her gaze remains on me as she slides from the bar stool, rounds the corner and approaches me. I’m a tattoo artist; I’m used to being in close proximity to people. But the closer she gets, the more my skin is on fire. It even crackles in the soles of my feet like the herald of a nut. Fuck. That’s impossible. I can’t come from just looking at her, from inhaling her scent.

I should give my dick a heads up on that impossibility since my balls are tightening and blood pounds there, thickening my shit.

“Here, taste this.” I lift the spoon to her mouth, hovering just in front of that pouty bottom lip. “What do you think?”

She stares at me, and for a moment, the big kitchen seems small. Tight. And she fills every inch of the limited space. I watch her mouth, focused on the moment when those luscious lips will part and I’ll get my first peek at her tongue. Imagine it tasting me instead of the red sauce.

Like time has slowed, she leans forward, closing her mouth around the spoon. Her tongue slicks over her lips, as if ensuring she captures every bit. Her eyes close, and when she releases a moan, an answering one claws its way up my throat. Only by sheer will, held together by tape and prayer, do I contain the hungry sound.

And it’s an act of God that I don’t grab my dick and give it a good, hard pump.

“Delicious.” She hums, her thick lashes lifting and granting me up-close-and-personal access to those beautiful brown eyes.

“Good.” I clear my throat, trying to hide the gravel coating my throat.

It takes everything in me not to close my mouth over the same spot hers just occupied. Clenching my jaw, I deliberately lower the utensil to the platter next to the stove.

“I gotta ask, so don’t get your lil’ sensitive ass all uptight. There are a lot of good schools in Alabama or Georgia, even Florida. Why come all the way to Chicago, where you don’t know anyone and you only have a, what? Cousin, right? Wouldn’t staying closer to home have provided a safety net and bigger support system?”

Silence greets my question, and I look over to her. Seeing her expression, I once again wonder how she became so proficient at shutting down. Who made her so proficient.

“You good, ma?”

She nods, but shifts so I can only see her profile, and I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans or risk putting them on her so I can study that face. Try to pick apart that blank expression for clues to her thoughts.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She opens a cabinet door and removes plates. Does she really believe I can’t see through this evasion tactic? Yeah, the fact that she won’t even look at me says she’s not fine . “And you’re right, there are plenty of great colleges and universities in Alabama. But they weren’t for me, and their programs didn’t offer what I was looking for. The University of Chicago does.”

“Aye.” I wait until she sets the last plate on the counter and cants her head to look at me. “Thank you. ’Cause if you’re going to lie to me, at least look me in the eye. Or better yet, just tell me you don’t want to talk about it or it’s none of my business. I prefer that to you lying to me.”

“That’s fair.” She dips her head before meeting my gaze again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I nod.

“What’re you going to school for again? I don’t think you mentioned it.”

“Visual arts with a concentration in illustration.”

Surprise ripples through me, and I go still, the colander for the pasta hanging next to my thigh. This woman is like one of those Russian dolls my nana used to collect. Open one and there’s another on the inside. And another. And another. I’m constantly discovering something new about Aaliyah. Discovering another side to the unassuming woman who walked into my tattoo shop weeks ago.

Unassuming. Shit.

It’s not easy admitting I misjudged someone, but I did.

Yes, she’s who she first appeared to be. But also so much more.

Like a dependable, capable employee.

A fierce defender.

And an artist.

I hate that I’m fascinated. That a nagging curiosity to know more scratches at me.

“Illustration, huh?” I finally say, and she nods, still not looking at me. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

She shrugs, and I grunt out an irritated sound. “What did I say about lying to me?”

This time, her head tilts toward me. “You’re my boss, but I don’t owe you a conversation. Or my thoughts. As a matter of fact—” she backs away from the counter “—my workday is over, and I’m not on the clock.”

“So you’re a runner.” I flick off the heat underneath the spaghetti. “I’m learning so many things about you today, Liyah.”

“ Aa liyah,” she corrects, voice low.

Tension practically vibrates from her, drawing her so stiff one Chicago autumn breeze would crack her in half. Interesting that of all the things I’ve let fly from my savage mouth, this —a question about her college major—gets such a dramatic reaction.

She might not have wanted to let me see that I got under her skin. I don’t know how to back off, how to let go. It’s a good trait when you’re opening a new business in a crowded field, but, as I’ve also been told, it’s an annoying one as well. I can easily guess which camp Aaliyah falls in.

“ Aa liyah,” I murmur, giving her that. For now. “Do you feel better getting that off your chest? Good.” I nod, not giving her a chance to answer. I already know what her little stubborn ass will say anyway. “Now go put those plates on the table so we can get ready to eat.”

Her lips flatten—or try to. Good luck with that. The Bears have a better chance of winning another Super Bowl than that damn dick tease of a mouth has of disappearing.

“You have selective hearing,” she growls.

I arch an eyebrow. “When it comes to bullshit, yeah. And we both know you leaving right now and disappointing G is bullshit. So I tuned that all the way out. Now—” I jut my chin toward the small breakfast nook “—go. I’m hungry.”

She doesn’t move, though. And my brow rises higher, irritated and...riveted by the play of emotions flickering over her face like a movie reel. Some of them I recognize—anger, frustration, surprise. Arousal.

My dick jerks in my joggers, and it takes everything in me not to reach inside my boxers to readjust the flesh that’s been at some semi-state of hard in her presence these past weeks.

The other emotions that whisper across her face, though? They’re tougher to evaluate, dissect or label. Maybe grief? Anxiety...defeat?

That last one has a need to protect roaring loud in my head, clenching my gut. Only Gia has ever stirred an urge—an instinctive need—so strong in me. Not even Sheree did. And that’s sad as fuck. But it’s also what it is.

“Liyah.” Frowning, I move toward her. The loud, jarring ringtone from her cell halts me mid-step.

Her petite body flinches. Sucking in a low but audible breath, she reaches in the back pocket of her jeans and removes her phone. She glances down at the screen then answers it, pressing it to her ear. She does all this without glancing my way.

But she does return to the counter and pick up the plates.

“Hey, Tamara.” She moves to the table and sets out the dishes. “Yeah, I’m going to be here a little later, but I should be home before you leave for work.”

Listening to Tamara, she crosses back over into the kitchen and opens the drawers with the silverware. Another thing she changed. Before she got here, I could’ve bought stock in plastic forks and knives.

“Yes, ma’am.” That honeyed accent sounds even more pronounced wrapped around those two words. She laughs and the light note directly contradicts the mood she wore like a soaked blanket only moments ago. “At some point, you’re going to stop worrying about me—” She breaks off, a scowl darkening her features as she snatches the cutlery from the drawer. “Her stomach’s just fine, thank you. Heffa.”

Both my eyebrows jack upward as a loud but muffled bark of laughter emanates from the other end of the phone.

“Bye, girl.” She pulls the phone away from her ear and presses her thumb to the screen, still glaring down at it.

“Your cousin?” I ask. “The one here in Chicago?”

“Yes, Tamara. She’s letting me stay with her since I only have a partial scholarship,” she mutters, nudging the drawer closed and returning to the table, silverware in hand. “She worries about me more than my mama.”

Her disgruntlement tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Is she older?”

“Only by a year.”

“Must be pretty close then. Especially if she’s letting you live with her. I love my sister, but ain’t no way in hell she’s staying with me. We’re not a death penalty state, but I’m not built for life in jail, either.”

“You’re not close?” she asks, the first personal question about me since she’s started this job.

“With a father who’s a truck driver and more out the house than in and a working mother, we didn’t have a choice but to be close. She’s my best friend other than Chelle.”

I could’ve just said “yes,” but something I refuse to scrutinize compelled me to give her more. Usually, if it didn’t have anything to do with tattoos or the money paid to get one, then it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“I don’t know if we’re close or not,” she says after carefully setting the forks and knives beside the plates—just a fork next to G’s. “Growing up, no. Actually, not until very recently would I say that we’re closer than we’ve ever been. She’s been nicer than I deserve,” she quietly adds, but not so low I don’t catch it.

“Than you deserve?” I snort, moving the colander to the sink then pouring the pasta in. “I can’t see you purposefully hurting or offending anyone, ma.”

“Just because it’s not on purpose doesn’t make the hurt any less.”

I still, the empty pot hovering over the sink. Her words sinking so deep, they grow claws and cling tight.

How fucking true.

“What’d you do to hurt her?” I ask, deliberately keeping my voice even. Free of judgment.

Another pause, and for a few seconds, I don’t think she’s going to answer. Then, “Didn’t think for myself. Being a coward.”

My involuntary response is to contradict her, tell her the woman who stood up to a principal, threatened a parent and defended a small girl like a lioness isn’t a coward. And that same woman, who left the safety and familiarity of her hometown to travel to another state so different it might as well be a new country, definitely owns her own mind.

But I don’t say it.

Because, though it’s true, that feels like lip service. And something—call it instinct, call it a knowledge gained by dealing with a lot of people’s shit—tells me that not many people in her life have listened to her. Truly listened .

Crossing the distance separating us, I stop next to her, cup her shoulder and gently but firmly turn her around to face me. Like earlier at the school, an electrical current sizzles from my palm, up my arm, arcs across my chest and works its way down to my dick.

Damn. The way even the littlest thing causes me to brick up around her, I might need to start wearing a fucking jockstrap. Clenching my jaw against that jolt, I grip her other shoulder.

“So what if you were a follower? Or a coward? So the fuck what? Weren’t we all something else other than who and what we are today? Everything in our lives shapes us into who’s standing here now. Not just the good shit but the bad, too. The shit we’re proud of and the things we don’t even like to think of, much less talk about. That ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, ma. It is what it is, and anyone who tries to make you feel bad for learning a lesson—whether it’s at fourteen or the big age of twenty-four—is a muthafucka who probably has their own shit they haven’t dealt with. Lift that head up, baby girl. You ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of.”

She stares at me, her heavy-lidded eyes searching my face as if waiting for a punch line. The longer I remain silent, the deeper the stain across her rounded cheekbones. The faster her soft breath. Finally, she slicks her tongue across her lips, and of their own volition, my fingers tighten. Her eyes dilate as if I cupped her pussy instead of her shoulders, and shit, my body reacts the same way.

I should take my hands off her. Back up. She’s my fucking employee. She isn’t aware of how she’s looking at me. What those eyes, those lips are begging for...

Those last two warnings should be enough to have me releasing her and falling far back, but damn. They got lust flashing into a gotdamn inferno. That innocence, bruh. Innocence tempered with curiosity, and her body pleading for something she probably doesn’t acknowledge.

Let me find out lil’ mama likes to be handled and to be fucked hard and nasty.

Her being my employee and me wanting nothing to do with breaking in virgins won’t save her.

Caution alarms blare in my head, nearly deafening me, but they don’t stop me from lowering my head, my gaze briefly flicking to Gia to make sure she’s still occupied. I press my lips to the top of her ear. A hard shudder ripples through her, echoing in me, and fuck . Why didn’t she hide that reaction from me?

Every restraint, every reason why I shouldn’t be doing this, evaporates like smoke.

Sliding one hand across her shoulder blade and down the elegant length of her spine, I grip her hip, holding her. As small as she is, I’m almost folded over her, but these fucking curves... I squeeze the rounded flesh under my hand, my fingers grazing the top of that perfect, fat ass.

I pause, granting her time to object, to shove me off. But she doesn’t move. Unless you count the shiver that rips through her again. Pressing closer, I growl at the softness of her small, plump breasts brushing my chest. The graze of her beaded nipples that the thin sweater she’s wearing can’t hide. The feel of those thick, perfect thighs against mine, granting me the perfect idea of how firm and welcoming they would be around my waist—my face. The give of her slightly rounded belly under my dick.

Shiiit. If it feels this good grinding against her stomach, pushing into that wet, soft pussy might take me the fuck up outta here.

Slowly, still silently offering her time to tell me no, I trace the outer rim of her ear with my teeth. Follow it up with the tip of my tongue.

A small whimper punctuates the air, and it’s both a pump of my dick and a caress to my chest. Warring sensations, equally devastating to my body and senses.

Yeah, some of my original assumptions about Aaliyah might’ve been off, but one still stands.

She’s dangerous.

Again, I should retreat, put the space of this house between us.

Instead, I suck her earlobe between my lips, tonguing it, sucking it like I would her clit if she gave me the word.

The dull prick of nails in my lower back has a rougher, deeper sound rumbling out of me. I want to rip my shirt up, grant her access to my bare skin and order her to do that shit again. But that would require releasing her, removing my own hands, and that I’m not ready to do.

Grinding my erection into her, I open my mouth over the line of her jaw and suck once more, rolling my tongue over skin that’s both sweet and musky. Need, hot and urgent, floods my veins, converging in my dick so each rock of my hips shoots it higher and hotter.

The part of my brain that has retained some semblance of sense rears its head, whispering that I don’t have a lot of time. It’s a minor miracle that Gia has been this quiet. But fatherhood has taught me I’m on borrowed time, and her barreling in here, declaring she’s hungry, is only minutes away.

Yet, I don’t hurry. I trail my lips up over Aaliyah’s cheek, the bridge of her nose to the other cheek, following those cinnamon freckles like they’re breadcrumbs. Her breath hitches, and she tilts her head back, offering me easier access. I press soft kisses to the place where a dimple dents her cheek when she smiles then finally, fucking finally , cover the pretty, carnal mouth that has been driving me to distraction for weeks.

There’s no way I can contain my groan, even at the risk of Gia running in here at this moment. Aaliyah’s too sweet, too delicious, too gotdamn good .

“Open,” I harshly demand. “Let me get in, ma.”

If I have my way, this won’t be the last time I say this to her. Next time, it’ll be me insisting she lets me in that tight, soaking wet pussy. That same something from earlier insists her cunt is perfect and will curve only to my dick.

That intuition—that promise—has me plunging my tongue between her lips, tangling, sucking, pulling. Where before my kisses across her cheeks and nose and jaw were gentle, tender, this isn’t. It’s a fucking, pure and simple. It’s a command to give me everything she has, and when she believes she’s done so, to fucking go further and unearth more to hand over.

It occurs to me I might be a little obsessed with having her. Now that I know that fruity, sensual scent isn’t a fluke, that it graces her skin, and I taste traces of it on her tongue and lips... Now that I’ve found out what that lil’ sound of greed is like, I don’t want to stop until I find out if her nipples will contain the same flavor, if those thick thighs will tremble around my head while I gorge myself on that pussy.

Yeah, obsessed could be an understatement.

Either she’s a quick learner or I’ve misjudged her being a virgin—I don’t really give a damn. I’m thankful for either one or both. Especially when she curls her tongue around mine and sucks so gotdamn hard my dick is jealous. My hand slides over her hip, and I cup that worship-worthy ass, squeezing hard.

“You don’t kiss like a virgin, ma.” I sink my teeth into her full bottom lip, draw on it with the tip of my tongue. “I don’t know whether to thank or beat the shit out of the person who taught you that.”

At my voice, my compliment—shit, both—she stiffens.

Fuck .

One moment, that beautiful ass is sitting on my hand, and in the next, my palm is tingling with the sensory memory of it.

Aaliyah stumbles back several steps, her wide, desire-hazed eyes on me, fingers lifted to her kiss-swollen lips. Her chest rises and falls, and I can’t help dropping my gaze to those pretty breasts. Even with the distance she placed between us, I can clearly see the outline of her nipples against the sweater. I’m twisting between the protective urge to calm her, soothe her, and the more primal one to pull that sweater up and suck on the beaded tips. Could be she sees that in my face because she backs up even more.

“I—I think I should go,” she softly stutters.

Minutes ago, I informed her she was staying, but now, I agree with her. I struggle to look unaffected by the...war our mouths just waged, but I’m fucking shook. How can she have my dick ready to bust with a kiss? I haven’t been this close to nutting this fast when inside a woman, much less not inside her.

Now that the fog of lust is slowly clearing, and my common sense is coming back, all my mistakes, and why I shouldn’t have touched her, flood in with a crash.

Nanny.

Gia needs her.

Young as fuck.

No relationships.

The hell was I thinking to say fuck all that—to risk all that—and kiss her? Gia is attached to her, and my daughter’s emotional security is more important than getting my shit wet. Besides, even if Aaliyah’s age, inexperience and where she is in life right now versus where I am weren’t all relevant, there’s still the fact that my marriage and divorce soured me on relationships of any kind. Having the mother of your child, the woman you thought would be by your side for the rest your life, end up betraying you—with one of your boys—strains the belief in love and commitment.

And the secrets, the agony of them, will have you saying fuck it altogether.

A kiss temporarily made me forget all that.

But now it’s in front of my head like a billboard on the Loop.

“Daddy!” Gia barges into the kitchen and runs up to me. “I’m hungry.”

Jesus, what if she’d run in here seconds earlier? I’d been so consumed by Aaliyah, I wouldn’t have heard her. It was arrogance at its highest to think I had a handle on this. Shit .

“In a minute. Food’s almost done. Go wash your hands, okay?”

“Okay.” She spins around, but before she can leave the room, Aaliyah steps forward.

“Hey, sweetie, I’m about to leave. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

Saturdays are my busiest days, but I don’t make her work on the weekends. Aaliyah already stays late several nights of the week; she is young and needs a life. Gia stays almost every weekend with Sheree, and when she doesn’t, my sister, Leslie, watches her for me.

Never have I been so grateful for a Saturday.

And even as I think it, I feel like a bitch. But after that kiss—a kiss branded on my mouth and dick—I need space. We both do.

“Why?” Gia whines, her shoulders slumping. My baby girl can be dramatic, but her disappointment is real. “You said you were staying for dinner.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am. But I have to get home. Something...” She pauses and my whole body stiffens. “Something came up, and I need to go, but I will be back bright and early Monday. And your dad has my number, so if you want to talk to me, you can always call, okay?”

I could stop her from leaving. Play off that kiss like it was no big deal and pretend nothing’s happened. But I don’t have it in me. Lust still runs through me like bad alcohol. Making me sweat. Got my body aching.

So I stay quiet.

“Okay,” Gia says, voice low, soft. She bows her head.

That’s when Aaliyah finally glances at me, and before she quickly shifts her attention back to Gia, I glimpse the confusion and...fear there.

Fear?

My head jerks back, and acid seeps into my stomach. What the fuck put that in her eyes? Did I do something? Was I too rough? Did she say no at some point and I...?

I shake my head. Hell no. Fuck no. If she’d, at any point, told me to stop, told me no, I would’ve backed up. My mama raised me to respect women, not hurt them. Not take advantage of them. Aaliyah had been as into that kiss as I’d been. Still feeling the sweet and sexy suck of her tongue on mine, I’m a hundred percent certain of it.

So what...?

I take a mental and physical step back. She’s a complication, a puzzle and a distraction I didn’t ask for and don’t want. I should’ve never put my mouth on her.

And the thing about me? I don’t need to burn my muthafucking hand on the stove twice to learn a lesson. Nah, it only takes once for me to back the fuck up.

Aaliyah kneels in front of Gia and cups her cheek.

“Hey, none of that. You’ve had a rough day, but your dad is right here with you, and I’m only a phone call away. And since you’ll be home three days next week, you can come with me to school, how about that?”

Shit. I squeeze the back of my neck. I nearly forgot Aaliyah went to class while Gia was in school. We would have to figure out how to work around that because it isn’t fair for Aaliyah to take Gia with her. I might have to take her with me to the shop until Aaliyah is finished.

We could figure that out later.

“Okay,” Gia says, and this time, she sounds a little happier. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.” Aaliyah stands but not before planting a kiss on top of Gia’s head. “I gotta go, so give me a hug. You know I can’t leave without one.”

Gia throws her arms around Aaliyah’s waist, and she bends down to return the hug. Moments later, she gathers her jacket and bag and heads toward the door.

“Be careful on the way home.” I couldn’t resist calling the warning out to her even though Aaliyah doesn’t turn around to look at me.

She’s still new to the city, and it’s getting darker out earlier. And no matter how much I need her to get up out of here, there’s something inside me that wants to make sure she’s safe.

Aaliyah waves a hand but doesn’t glance in my direction. Even after the front door closes behind her, I don’t move. Not until Gia comes running back into the kitchen, reminding me that she’s still hungry. Turning my attention back to my daughter, I focus on her and getting food on the table.

But evicting my nanny from my head?

Yeah, that’s going to take an act of God.