The Feel Good Factor(27)

The way he says kitten—so raspy, so commanding—sends a shiver over my flesh. “Not at all?”

“What I want is the complete opposite.”

Holy hell, he can tell me what to do all night long. Tie me up, pin me down, cuff me.

Except I can’t go there. We can’t go there.

Fortunately, Molly skips to her Lou right on over to us, thrusting a bucket of sidewalk chalk at me. “You do a giraffe, and I’ll do a hippo.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

And it sounds like what the doctor ordered to stop the quick spread of a lust relapse.

Molly squats on the stretch of sidewalk in front of my house.

“Giraffe time,” I declare as I bend down to the concrete, working on the shape of the long neck as Molly draws a big bulbous blob for a hippo head. “That’s not too bad.”

She smiles. “I want to be a vet.”

“For safari animals?”

“Yes.”

“That’s awesome,” I say as I outline the tall creature’s face. “So you’d be a big-game vet.”

“Or I’ll be a cowgirl.”

“That could be fun too.” I draw giraffe ears next, as Molly works on the hippo’s belly.

“Or a ballerina, or a rock star.”

“What if you’re all four?” Derek chimes in as he joins us on the sidewalk. In the stroller, the baby’s eyes flutter, and she stretches her little legs and arms, looking too adorable for words.

“Yes! I can be all four.”

“You can be anything you set your mind to,” I add as I finish the giraffe’s tail.

“Whoa!” The praise comes from Derek as he surveys my handiwork. “You sure can draw.”

“Thank you. It’s just something I do for fun.”

“That’s a helluva talent for fun.”

“Uncle Derek, you said a bad word,” Molly calls out.

“Want me to arrest him?” I offer as I stand, dusting one hand against the other.

Derek offers me his wrists, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, please lock me up.”

And I walked right into that one.

Devon’s eyes flicker open, and I brace myself for a scream, but Derek swivels around, scoops her up, and peppers kisses on her cheeks.

And, I’m a ghost pepper. I’m the hottest jalape?o in history. Wait, nope. I’m the surface of Mercury because of the way Devon coos and tugs on his beard.

That’s it. I’m a goner.

“She sure likes you,” I say as casually as I can while he nuzzles the cutie-pie.

“The feeling is quite mutual.”

“How old? Six months?”

“She’s six months and two days,” Molly interjects as she scoots down the sidewalk to work on the hippo’s tail. “Come join me.”

I make my way to Molly. “You do his face,” she tells me.

I swivel around and fill in the hippo’s eyes. “And how old are you?”

“I’m four years, eleven months, and sixteen days.”

“Wow. You sure are a very specific counter.”

Derek bounces Devon on his hip. “Molly also loves to talk. Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Uncle Derek!” Molly chides.

I smile. “That’s cool. I like to listen.”

Molly chatters on about her favorite animals, her favorite friends, her favorite clothes, and her favorite games as we illustrate an entire savannah in front of my home while Derek holds the baby and plays with her.

It’s weirdly . . . domestic.

It’s also thoroughly unexpected.

I didn’t anticipate coming home and finding my hot housemate playing with his nieces.

“Where’s your nephew? Doesn’t your sister have three kids?”

“He’s playing basketball,” Molly answers.

“At a friend’s house,” Derek adds, and Devon cuts him off with a wail.

“And someone is officially hungry.” He glances at the time on his watch. It’s past six thirty. “We should go. Make you guys some dinner.”

Molly claps. “Can we have dinosaur nuggets and french fries?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, you can have chicken and broccoli.”

Molly’s nose wrinkles, making it clear what she thinks of that idea. “Pretty please.”

He shakes his head. “If you don’t like that, you’re welcome to have a delicious salad of beets, carrots, and organic apples.”

“Gross.” Molly makes a gagging sound.

“C’mon, then, porcupine. Time to go.” He glances at the artwork, then turns to me, his eyes landing on mine. “Guess I’ll see you later, officer.”

A strange feeling envelops me—the wish that he’ll say, “Let’s have a drink,” or “Want to watch a show?” or “Should we grab a bite?”

But those are crazy thoughts, so I shake them off.

My stomach doesn’t though.

It rumbles loudly.

“Someone wants chicken and broccoli,” Derek teases.

“Seems I do,” I admit.

“I’ll make you something later if you’d like.” The offer is sweet and completely welcome.