I peer through the doorway at the shelf of treats, zeroing in on the cinnamon-y, caramel-y pastry calling our names. My stomach rumbles. “It does look tasty, but you just had breakfast. How about we make monkey bread this afternoon?”
Her smile spreads across the city. “Deal.” We resume our pace. “But, Daddy, do you know how to make monkey bread?”
I roll my eyes. “I know how to research recipes and buy ingredients.”
She pats my arm. “You’re so smart.”
“So are you.”
When we reach the school, a dark-haired dynamo whirls into Abby from out of nowhere, smash-hugging my kid. “You should come to my gymnastics class today,” the kid declares when she lets go.
My girl beams. “Sure, Gabriella!”
“It’s after school. My dad is taking me. Can you come with me?”
Abby swivels around. “Can I go? She said her class is doing balance beam, and I really love doing the beam. Please, please, please.”
And the monkey bread afternoon falls by the wayside. “Of course, little bear. But I bet you don’t have a leotard, so why don’t I drop one off for you after my yoga session?”
She snickers, then turns to Gabriella. “I call him Daddy Yoga, like Baby Yoda from The Mandalorian,” she whispers to Gabriella.
The little brunette giggles.
“Bring leotard I will,” I say in my best Yoda voice.
Both girls laugh, but then Abby smacks her forehead. “I have a leotard! There’s one in my bag from my last class. And we can make monkey bread when I get home.”
“Seems you have the whole afternoon planned.”
Abby smiles proudly. “I do.”
Gabriella looks up at me and presses her hands together. “Mister Taylor, next time I come over, can I paint your toes again?”
I arch a brow. “Were you the culprit who made them pink and blue last time?”
A deep, belly laugh comes from nearby, and I turn to the source of it—a guy in glasses with a thick beard. “She does drive-by pedicures when dads fall asleep.” The man extends a hand. “I’m Arturo. Gabriella’s dad. Good to meet you.”
As the girls scurry off to the playground before the bell rings, Arturo gestures to them. “Gabriella said she wanted Abby to come to gymnastics today. Is that cool with you? It’s kind of last minute, but I’ll take the girls.”
“Absolutely. I appreciate you doing that,” I tell him. “Let me know where to pick her up?”
He waves me off. “Nah. S’all good. I can drop her off when they’re done.”
“Works for me,” I say, with a smile. “You’re a full-service dad.”
Arturo smiles. “That’s me. I’m a stay-at-home dad,” he says, looking supremely satisfied with that.
“Good on you,” I reply, and I mean it.
He glances around like he’s checking for eavesdroppers. When he finishes his sweep, he says, “Also, that catch the other week in Seattle. Epic, man. Epic.” He holds up a hand for a combo high-five, fist bump.
“Thank you.”
“You’re killing it this year. Don’t retire. We need you around for a long time. And don’t you dare sign with anyone else in the off-season. Hey, how about a deal?” He points at my chest. “If you re-up, I’ll always take the girls to gymnastics. I’ve got an extra booster seat in my car.”
“You should be my agent. I like that deal,” I tell the guy, then thank him again for ferrying the kids around, and we exchange numbers before I skedaddle.
But honestly, his situation doesn’t sound too bad either. He seems pretty happy doing what he likes.
I make my way to the gym, join the guys for a workout, and shoot the breeze. But my thoughts aren’t entirely on the here and now.
They’re on the future—a year ahead and a couple of hours from now when I meet Katie at her studio.
I’ve seen her five times since our cancelled date—from the classes to the private sessions—and each time I want to see her again a little bit more.
Seeing her is terrific and tempting at the same damn time.
I resist because the last thing I need this year is a whiff of a scandal. But, even more so, I don’t want to bring that on Katie.
The Renegade and the Yoga Instructor—Caught Downward Doggie Style. Yeah, that’s not how I want to cap off my career—by putting a black mark on hers.
But also, I want more than doggie style with Katie.
More than sex.
I just like her.
A whole helluva lot.
And I sure wish we didn’t have the worst timing in the world, because all I want is to take her out and treat her well.
Katie circles me as I lie on my back near the wall, my legs going up it and forming an L.
For the record, I hate this pose.
It’s hell on the hammies.
“Shimmy your booty,” Katie tells me. “A little more. Just a smidge closer to the wall.”
The waterfall pose is fuck-all hard. As I wiggle my butt closer to the wall, she laughs, tugs my legs up, then bends to adjust my butt.