Page 14 of His Vivacious Angel
“Autumn?” Dad asks loudly from down the hallway.
Forest looks relieved, one corner of his lips tugging up. He might be off the hook for now, but I’ll find a way to look at his phone soon.I’d better not find any weird feet pics.
I peek at Benjamin, whose tiny mouth is parted as he breathes evenly. He gives my nieces and nephews a run for their money in the adorable department. I try my luck by sitting up slowly, but he startles once more, and I have to resort to humming again.
“Help me,” I tell Forest a few minutes later when he just stands there, continuing to watch me like a Peeping Tom.
Slowly, he slides his hands under Benjamin and accidentally skates his fingers along my breasts and lower stomach. I press my lips together, holding back the gasp trying to bubble forth…as well as the urge to arch my back and press my breasts against his warm hand.What is wrong with me?
“Sorry, sorry,” Forest whispers urgently, lifting his son. “I didn’t mean to?—”
I shush him, point to the crib, and all but sprint from the nursery and down the hall, my stomach clenching with unexpected heat. I nearly collide with my dad.
He grabs my arms, ducking down to see my face. “Whoa, are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, smoothing out my dress. “Just couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“Why? Did something happen?” Dad shoots his eyes up over my shoulder with a frown when we hear Forest pad down the hallway.
“No, no,” I say. “The boys just had a hard time falling asleep, and I’m worn out.”
“Hmm.” The men eye each other silently until Dad suddenly asks, “You play?” He points to one of the built-in bookcases that brackets the stone fireplace, a TV hanging from above the rough-hewn mantel. He plucks a hardback RPG handbook roughly the size of a college textbook from the middle shelf and thumbs through it.
Oh no.
Forest must have unpacked more of the house while I was in the nursery. His bookcases are inundated with—oh god—hand-painted miniature medieval knights, warlocks, and swords the length of toothpicks. I count three different custom sets of polyhedral dice on display, and a leather-bound binder that I’m ninety-nine percent certain contains a treasured trading card collection.
“Used to,” Forest says. “But it’s been a few years. I was hoping to find a group?—”
I groan.Please, god, no.
Forest gives me a questioning look. “Once we moved here, but with the boys being so young, it’ll probably be a while until I can play again.”
“You’re just in luck,” Dad says, all traces of hostility wiped clean, just like that. “I have a group with my sons-in-law and a few friends. It’s my turn to host game night next Saturday. Why don’t you join us? I can introduce you to the crew.”
Aw hell.I know that look. Dad is on the fast track to making a new best friend…with my aggravating boss.
Forest’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “Yeah, that sounds great.” Then they fall. “Oh, but the kids?—”
Dad snaps the book closed with a goofy smile. “The ladies who don’t want to play usually get together to watch the kids, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind watching yours, too.” He gives me his best puppy-dog eyes. “Right, Autumn?”
I cross my arms. “No, I don’t mind,” I say with a tired sigh. I’ve given him enough hell this week that I feel like I ought to throw him a bone.
“Knew I could count on you,” Dad says, tugging me into his side to kiss my crown. “This is going to be great!”
“But you’re going to owe me,” I tell Forest. Gathering my purse from the couch, I pull out my phone and make some quick calculations. “For tonight, it’s two-seventy-five.”
Forest gapes at me. “For what?”
“Babysitting.”Duh, I add silently.
“Three hundred dollars for babysitting?”
“No. Two hundred and seventy-five.” I lift my chin. “Twenty per hour for one kid, fifteen dollars for each additional kid, times five and a half hours.” I threw in thecost of watching Josephine, though I didn’t do much, just for the hell of it.
Dad coughs into his fist. “She’s kidding, of course. Come on,” he says, putting a hand on my back to steer me to the front door.
Forest grins, pulling his phone from his pocket. “No, no. I ought to give her something for her time.” He’s wearing a tiny smirk when my phone chimes. The asshole sent me two dollars and seventy-five cents, along with the middle finger and angel emojis.
