“Well, hello,” Naomi crooned, crouching down to pet him. “His name’s Waylon,” Nash told her. “Waylon and Waylay,” she mused. “That won’t get confusing.” My nose burned. My face fucking hurt. My knuckles were bleeding. But looking at her petting my needy-ass dog with an arm full of flowers made everything else start to fade away. Fuck me. I knew what attraction felt like. Knew what to do with it too. But not with a woman like this. One who didn’t know it was smart to be afraid of me. One with a wedding dress and no ring. One with an eleven-year-old. This was the kind of situation that had me
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