You Can Count On Me (Christmas Daddies, #2)

by Fae Quin

“Pops says violence is never the answer,” Bubba quoted again, but his eyes were full of mischief this time. “But Theodore Roosevelt said ‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’ And he was the president, so…” He shrugged as if that explained everything.

I’d been a train stop for a lot of people, but I was self-aware enough to know I wasn’t anyone’s ultimate destination.

These two lost boys had me wrapped around their little fingers and they didn’t even know it.

Quicker than I could blink, I was halfway to the playground, alarm bells ringing in my head, and anger unlike anything I’d ever felt before burning hot and ashy in my chest. I ate up the distance faster than if I’d been flying, my vision going red-hot with rage. No one touched what was mine and got away with it. No one.

“Did you just spill milk all over my kid’s fucking backpack?” Trent’s voice was low, dangerous. Calm as a river just waiting to drown you.

There was so much I needed to figure out, but that was okay. It was all okay. Because Trent was sunshine, laughter, and broad shoulders. And he might be strong enough to carry us both.

Rooster was solid and warm. Cinnamon sugar. He smelled like cinnamon sugar. I held on tight. And the way he melted against me had my heart racing and my toes curling in my boots. I’d never been so viscerally affected by someone else’s touch. Never felt sick with need, desperate and grateful—like the innocent brush of his lashes against my skin or his soft as sin lips against my throat was enough to make me burst into flames. No sparks. My. Ass. Goddamn fireworks were going off inside me.

Fly, baby, fly. My mischievous little baby.

Maybe now you’re around I don’t have to protect him anymore.