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Nor could she ignore shoulders thick enough with muscle to seat a couple of baby walruses—and those suckers had heft.
“The neighborhood is gorgeous,” she scoffed, looking out the window toward The Beacon, where he resided on the top floor. “The building is lovely, too. I’m starting to regret choosing marine biology over professional hockey.”
“You’re not a big mouth. You’re just . . . guileless.” Chloe laid a hand on her chest. “Thank you.”
“The look on your face is the same one you had when I tried to explain bra sizes.” “Someone needs to burn that system and start over.” “It makes sense to us!” “Oh yeah? Then why are eighty percent of women wearing the wrong bra size?”
Mean daddy spitting facts.
What the hell had this girl been through, and who was he going to kill?
“Give me a chance to show you that you’re safe with me.”
“Since I’m your dad, Corrigan, why don’t you just ask your mom if I qualify?”
UR MOM
“Fuck you, mom jokes. You’re never too old for this.” “Touché.”
And two very mature grown-up men drove out of the parking lot blaring their horns and waving Orgasm Donor sweatshirts out their windows. In other words, just a typical day of hockey practice.
Oh, Tessa.
Was it odd to be dancing in the middle of a crowd, reminiscing about her time in Antarctica? Thinking about her favorite penguin, Kirk, and missing the monstrous bite of cold that could rush suddenly at sixty miles per hour and eat straight through five layers of clothing? Yeah, it was slightly odd, but didn’t everyone on the dance floor miss something or someone?
“Maybe I just think a marine biologist named Finn is a little too convenient.”
“I liked her. Two seconds after meeting her, she was breaking my balls. That’s a hockey player’s dream.”
The inked skin/thick butt/muscle trifecta was really bringing home the fact that she was not simply working for a single father. She was working for a snack. A DILF. A big boy.
“Are you feeling all right, Tallulah?” His gaze ran down to her throat, up and over her cheeks. “You’re a little flushed.” “No. I mean, yes. I am feeling all right. I get a little emotional talking about Pedro Martinez.”
“I grew up in a noisy house. I think that’s why marine biology appealed to me.”
“Do you want a lemonade?” asked the Organizer. “No,” Burgess shouted. “He hates joy in all forms,” Tallulah explained in a whisper.
“Bro.” This, from Pinstripes. “Stop trying to make fetch happen.”
“Was it Sam Adams again?” “No, it was Yuengling. Brewed in Pennsylvania. I’m sure he’s telling everyone I’ve gone soft. I hope you’re happy.”
“Are we done here?” Burgess asked, voice low. “Yes,” Tallulah said, weakly. “Goodbye to everyone except that guy,” Burgess called, hitting Pinstripes with one final glare, before turning Tallulah around and escorting her back the way they’d come.
“Time with you could never be a waste. Only a privilege.”
It was snack city out there. Did everyone know about this?
And the fact that she was casually making sports references made her want to cry even harder.
“We do. What am I thinking about right now?” “Banana pudding.” “Holy shit!”
Blood orange and basil.
OMFG WE GET IT.
Tallulah calculated her odds of winning against Burgess’s stubborn nature versus her chances of winning against a coin.
IT’S 50/50 THERE IS NO CALCULATION.
