“No! Don’t do that.”

Her little face wrinkled. “Why can’t I put them in my room?”

“Umm.” Think. Think. Oh wait! “Because they might have some bacteria on them. From your eye infection.” I smiled coming up with that excuse. Though my daughter looked at me funny. Like . . . why the hell are you smiling because my eye infection might be on my blanket, you weirdo? Nevertheless, I took the pillow and sleeping bag and tossed them behind me, into the living room.

Then I stepped outside and pulled the front door shut as fast as I could. “Ready?”

“Uh . . . Dad . . . you forgot the leash?” She looked down. “And your shoes!”

Jesus Christ. “Shoot. Okay . . . give me one second.” I opened the door back up, only enough to reach in and grab the leash off the wall and a pair of shoes, and then pulled it shut again.

“Let’s go.”

Birdie walked down the stairs. I looked back over my shoulder a few times, but there was still no sign of Sadie. Hopefully she’d figure out what had happened and at least be dressed when we got back.

I stalled for a good half an hour, taking Marmaduke on a long-ass walk, until Birdie said she needed to go to the bathroom. Arriving back at the house, I hesitantly opened the front door. Birdie’s sleeping bag and pillow were exactly where I’d left them. I glanced around—the house seemed quiet. While Birdie ran off to the bathroom, I peeked into the kitchen. No sign of Sadie. So I went to the bedroom and the master bath. Both empty. On my way back out to the living room, I noticed my dress shirt folded in the middle of my bed—the one she’d been wearing this morning, the one she’d worn to sleep last night.

She was gone. I blew out a sigh of relief, and my shoulders relaxed. Though while I was glad to protect my daughter, a part of me felt like shit for letting Sadie leave without having said anything to her. Especially after what had gone down last night. She deserved better than that.

So after I called Birdie’s doctor to make an appointment to get her eye checked, I let my phone charge for a little while and then decided to send a text to Sadie.

Sebastian: Sorry about the abrupt departure. Birdie came home early with pink eye. I’m taking her to the doctor now.

A few minutes later, my phone dinged with a response.

Sadie: No problem. I completely understand. Good luck at the doc!

I debated addressing what had transpired between us last night, but what the hell would I say?

Thanks for letting my drunk ass grind against you.

I don’t want to shower so I can keep your smell all over me.

Figuring sometimes it’s just better to leave well enough alone, I typed something innocuous.

Sebastian: Thank you. Talk soon.

Then I set my phone back on the charger.

I forced myself to take a quick shower and shave before getting ready to take Birdie to the doctor. Inside my closet, I grabbed the first shirt on a hanger that my hands touched, then went to my dresser to get a T-shirt for underneath. But the folded shirt on the bed caught my eye again.

I shouldn’t.

That would be fucked up.

Looking at my closed bedroom door, I stood five feet away, staring at the goddamn thing as if I went too close, it might bite me.

But the damn thing taunted me even from a distance.

Touch me.

Smell me.

Wear me.

Just once won’t hurt.

I tried to ignore it, but then I started to reason with myself.

I should probably just smell it once. See if it needs to be washed.

Yeah . . . that’s what I should do.

Of course that made sense.

One sniff.

Just one sniff.

I walked over to the bed and picked up the shirt and brought it to my nose. Inhaling deeply, the smell of Sadie permeated my senses. It smelled exactly like her.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

I inhaled a second time.

Though I should’ve listened to myself . . . Just one sniff . . . because the second time . . . Birdie busted through the door, catching me red-handed with my face nuzzling the shirt.

Her brows drew together. “What are you doing, Daddy?”

“I . . . uh. I was just making sure my shirt was clean.”

She giggled. “Is it?”

“Umm. Yeah. I guess so.” I stood there staring at her.

“Do you feel okay, Daddy? You’re acting really weird today.”

“Yeah. I’m fine, sweetheart. Sorry.”

“Come on.” She held out her hand. “It’s time to go to the doctor.”

“Okay . . . just let me grab a shirt.”

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“It’s dirty.”

She laughed. “You just said it was clean.”

“Oh. Yeah . . . it is clean. It just . . . has a stain on it.” I wadded up the shirt in my hand and tossed it on the bed, picking up the one I’d taken out from the closet. “I’ll just wear this one.”

Later that evening, I was glad when Birdie said she was tired and going to turn in early. We were both wiped out from our slumber parties last night. I really needed to unwind, and I looked forward to going into my room, kicking my feet up, and watching some TV maybe. But after flicking through the channels and finding nothing, I decided what I really needed to relax was more than some stupid show. I needed a release.

So I got up and locked my bedroom door and slid open my end table drawer, where I hid lotion. Only when I went to grab it, there was a folded piece of paper sitting on top of the bottle. Thinking nothing of it, I took it out and unfolded it.

Dear Sebastian,

I had a great time last night. If you’re reaching into the drawer for what’s underneath this note, I hope you think of me while using it.

God knows I thought of you while I did my thing last night in your bed.

Love,

Sadie

P.S. You might want to wash the sheets ;)

CHAPTER 18

SADIE

Talk soon.

That’s what his last text had said. But apparently the two of us had different definitions of soon.

Five days and still no contact.

As if I’d suffered a loss, I’d gone through the stages of grief. At first I was in denial that Sebastian wasn’t going to contact me again. I’d checked my phone every twenty minutes, even though I had the volume set all the way up and my ringer also set to vibrate . . . you know, just in case he’d messaged or called when I fell asleep or something. I knew that Sebastian and I were looking for different things, but even a hookup deserved some gratuitous conversation after the fact.

After the first few days of silence, I’d gone on to anger. How dare he not call or message after that evening? I knew I’d been the one to initiate things, but he was more than a willing participant. The erection prodding at my hip was proof positive of that.

Then, on day six, contact had finally come. Sebastian’s number had popped up on my cell phone, and I got so excited that I fumbled it in my hands and dropped it on the floor—which resulted in the screen cracking. But hey . . . at least he’d finally called.

Only the voice on the other end when I’d answered wasn’t Sebastian’s at all. It was Magdalene’s. She’d called to make arrangements for my next training session because Birdie had been asking when I was coming. Apparently the man of the house was too damn busy to call himself.