The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(71)

“I shouldn’t—” Phoebe starts, but Bridge cuts her off with a snort.

“What? You’d rather go take a cold shower at the high school? I have some spare pajamas that’ll fit you. And they’re not former theater costumes either.”

Phoebe peers at me, laser focused, like she’s asking me a million other questions, starting with Is this okay with you? and ending with We are definitely not getting an early arrival on our nooky date, are we?

I’m paraphrasing.

Pretty sure Phoebe Lightly wouldn’t put the question quite like that.

“C’mon, Phoebe.” I gesture to the stairs leading to my entry room. “Unless you want to keep getting eaten alive by the bugs out here?”

“Oh, are there bugs? I barely even notice now that they’re biting on top of all the other bites.”

Bridget claps. “Oh my gosh, Phoebe, the Gold Star halo and peak mosquito evolution. You’re, like, a real Tickled Pinker now. C’mon. I won’t tell your grandma if you use our shower again.”

While Bridget heads up the stairs, Phoebe pauses next to me. Her hand brushes mine, and my cock goes hard in an instant.

She’s not what I’m supposed to be attracted to, but I can’t seem to help myself.

Probably because she’s more than I thought she was when she arrived.

She might even be more than she thought she was.

And that’s one more thing we have in common, even if she’ll never know it.

“This place isn’t half-bad,” she says quietly.

I nod and loop a finger around hers. “It’s magic.”

“I can see why you wouldn’t want outsiders.”

“Yeah?”

“Too many people like us—we’d ruin it.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

She lifts a brow at me and steps closer. “Is that the grumpy fishing lumberjack talking or the horny guy who’s plotting ways to send his kid to check on the goats while he joins me in the shower?”

When she puts it that way, I’m not actually sure what the right answer is.

“Dad! Phoebe! C’mon, before you get eaten alive.”

I don’t move.

Neither does Phoebe.

“Thank you for letting me feel like I fit in,” she whispers. She goes up on tiptoe, brushes a kiss to my cheek, and then drops my hand to ascend the stairs. “Bridget, does this Gold Star award come with a free hour of Wi-Fi?”

“Wi-Fi will rot your brain,” my daughter replies.

Phoebe laughs.

And that sound, of her enjoying herself here, fitting in here, laughing here, more than anything, is dangerous to my heart.





Chapter 24


Phoebe


It’s one in the morning. I have to leave for class in eight hours. I smell like someone put chili-cheese dogs under my armpits, my eye still aches, and my skin is so gritty with sawdust I’ll never be clean again.

Also, I’m getting my ass handed to me by a fifteen-year-old in Yahtzee, I’m snacking on Cheetos and drinking root beer, I’m still wearing the Tickled Pink Gold Stars halo, and I don’t want to leave.

Ever.

Teague’s passed out cold in one of the easy chairs on the first level of his tree house, one foot propped on an ottoman, one arm resting on his stomach while his even breathing provides the background music for our game.

“Yahtzee!” Bridget whisper-shrieks. “That’s two this game. Swag.”

“Cheater,” I hiss. “Also, what does swag even mean?”

“I’m lucky, not a cheater,” she retorts as she does a little dance with her arms. “The dice gods adore me. And you’re too old to get swag.”

“I get swag all the time. Stuff We All Get? SWAG? I have so much swag it needs its own room in my town house.”

“I have so much swag that it can’t handle the -ger on the other end.”

We stare at each other for a beat before Bridget snorts with laughter the same time I crack up.

Teague snort-snuffles, then bolts straight up. “Wha—hell. What time—Bridget. Bed.”

She rolls her eyes.

I roll my eyes.

She falls back on the rug with another shriek of laughter. “Phoebe! You look like your mom when your grandmother was up to bat!”

“Oh my God, I thought you liked me!”

“You two realize the entire earth is trying to sleep?” Teague grumbles. “Bridget. Bed. Phoebe. Go home.”

“You know you’d have a much better social life if you weren’t so cranky and all go to bed, go home, let me snore in peace all the time.”

Teague stares at me like I’m a remote-controlled zombie alien while Bridget bangs a hand on the floor and hoots. “She’s not wrong, Dad.”

“What did you put in that root beer?” I ask her.

“Sugar, Phoebe. It’s sugar.” She straightens, still giggling. “Does Tavi ever have sugar? Like, for real, when no one’s watching? Because I would auction off this tree house to pay to watch that.”

“Bridget—”

She rolls her eyes again at the tone in Teague’s voice. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, go to bed, blah blah. It’s not like I’m doing anything before noon today.”