“Buckle up,” Maddox commands. “Okay, Mom,” I reply out of habit, even as I reach for the strap. “Not your mom,” Maddox growls before shutting my door. Protected by the tinted windshield, I watch him as he walks around the front of his car. He really is an incredible-looking man. The height. The build. The way he holds himself. Not my mom, indeed. Maddox is Daddy material.
