stirrups, all my business wide open
for everyone to—”
“Christ, Avery!” Colt held up one hand to block the image. He didn’t want to think
about his sister that way. He liked to pretend she didn’t have girly parts or a sex
life—that Emma was conceived immaculately. “Just go.”
“Thanks. I owe you.” She blew a kiss at her daughter and told Colt, “Don’t give her
any candy.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. Of course he wouldn’t give the kid any friggin’ candy—it
was nine o’clock in the morning. What kind of moron did Avery take him for?
“How about a doobie from the evidence room?” he asked. “Can I give her one of those?”
“Love you too, Colton,” she sang in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, her child-friendly
way of saying Fuck you, and the Harley you rode in on . “Be a good girl, Em,” she added before rushing off to her appointment.
Emma didn’t miss a beat. “Look, Uncle Colt.” She thrust out her belly to display a
sticker, pointing to a cartoon character dressed in a harem girl costume. “She’s my
favorite princess.”
“Oh, yeah?” He scanned the cartoon’s heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and the cleavage spilling
from her off-the-shoulder halter top. Jeez, whatever happened to Strawberry Shortcake
and Rainbow Brite? He shook his head. “She’s not my favorite.”
Emma’s tiny pink lips parted with a pop. “She’s not?”
“Unh-uh.”
“Then which princess is your favorite?”
Colt scrambled for a name, coming up empty. “Uh,” he made a wide circle with his hands
and guessed, “the one with the poofy dress.”
“Belle or Cinderella?”
“Cinderella.” He recognized that one. Nodding at Emma’s sticker, he said, “I don’t
like the way this girl is showing off her tummy and her—” ginormous tits “—uh, her bosoms.”
“Oh.” Emma nodded in understanding. “Her bubbies.” She craned her neck to inspect
said bubbies. “She’s sexy. One day I’ll have big bubbies too, then I’ll be sexy.”
Good God. As if kids these days didn’t have enough to worry about. “You’re only six,
hon. I don’t want you thinking about what’s sexy.”
“But my friend Shayla said boys like big bubbies. She has three brothers, and they
told her so.”
“Well, first of all, that’s not true.” In all the years since Leah left town, he’d
never seen a pair of breasts that compared to her flawless, pink-tipped B-cups. But
he wasn’t about to share that tidbit with Emma. He thought for a moment, then warned,
“And besides, you wanna stay away from boys. They’re gross.”
“Really?”
“Yep. They pick their noses and don’t wash their hands.” Then he hastily added, “Except
for me.”
A new voice from the doorway said, “You wash your hands after you pick your nose?”
Colt glanced up to find Leah watching them. A thrill ricocheted up and down the length
of his body from groin to chest. “Every single time,” he told her. “I have standards,
you know.”
“Hmm. I’ve heard mixed reports on that.” She folded both arms beneath those magnificent
bubbies, and Colt’s mouth broke into a grin. No matter how exotic, that buxom cartoon
character had nothing on Leah.
He let his eyes trace the gentle curves of her denim-clad thighs and a teasing swell
of hips peeking out from beneath an oversized Vikings sweatshirt. Nothing screamed sexy! like a woman who loved football, even if she did pull for a shitty team like Minnesota.
Leah didn’t need to put all her goods on display to make Colt’s heart thump. She was
a natural beauty without even trying.
“Emma,” Colt said when he’d finished ogling, “this is Miss McMahon. She and I were
real good friends once.”
Emma turned her wide, brown eyes on him and tipped her head. “But you’re not friends
anymore?”
He glanced at Leah and lifted his brows, a silent message that it was entirely up
to her.
“Is she yours?”
for everyone to—”
“Christ, Avery!” Colt held up one hand to block the image. He didn’t want to think
about his sister that way. He liked to pretend she didn’t have girly parts or a sex
life—that Emma was conceived immaculately. “Just go.”
“Thanks. I owe you.” She blew a kiss at her daughter and told Colt, “Don’t give her
any candy.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. Of course he wouldn’t give the kid any friggin’ candy—it
was nine o’clock in the morning. What kind of moron did Avery take him for?
“How about a doobie from the evidence room?” he asked. “Can I give her one of those?”
“Love you too, Colton,” she sang in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, her child-friendly
way of saying Fuck you, and the Harley you rode in on . “Be a good girl, Em,” she added before rushing off to her appointment.
Emma didn’t miss a beat. “Look, Uncle Colt.” She thrust out her belly to display a
sticker, pointing to a cartoon character dressed in a harem girl costume. “She’s my
favorite princess.”
“Oh, yeah?” He scanned the cartoon’s heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and the cleavage spilling
from her off-the-shoulder halter top. Jeez, whatever happened to Strawberry Shortcake
and Rainbow Brite? He shook his head. “She’s not my favorite.”
Emma’s tiny pink lips parted with a pop. “She’s not?”
“Unh-uh.”
“Then which princess is your favorite?”
Colt scrambled for a name, coming up empty. “Uh,” he made a wide circle with his hands
and guessed, “the one with the poofy dress.”
“Belle or Cinderella?”
“Cinderella.” He recognized that one. Nodding at Emma’s sticker, he said, “I don’t
like the way this girl is showing off her tummy and her—” ginormous tits “—uh, her bosoms.”
“Oh.” Emma nodded in understanding. “Her bubbies.” She craned her neck to inspect
said bubbies. “She’s sexy. One day I’ll have big bubbies too, then I’ll be sexy.”
Good God. As if kids these days didn’t have enough to worry about. “You’re only six,
hon. I don’t want you thinking about what’s sexy.”
“But my friend Shayla said boys like big bubbies. She has three brothers, and they
told her so.”
“Well, first of all, that’s not true.” In all the years since Leah left town, he’d
never seen a pair of breasts that compared to her flawless, pink-tipped B-cups. But
he wasn’t about to share that tidbit with Emma. He thought for a moment, then warned,
“And besides, you wanna stay away from boys. They’re gross.”
“Really?”
“Yep. They pick their noses and don’t wash their hands.” Then he hastily added, “Except
for me.”
A new voice from the doorway said, “You wash your hands after you pick your nose?”
Colt glanced up to find Leah watching them. A thrill ricocheted up and down the length
of his body from groin to chest. “Every single time,” he told her. “I have standards,
you know.”
“Hmm. I’ve heard mixed reports on that.” She folded both arms beneath those magnificent
bubbies, and Colt’s mouth broke into a grin. No matter how exotic, that buxom cartoon
character had nothing on Leah.
He let his eyes trace the gentle curves of her denim-clad thighs and a teasing swell
of hips peeking out from beneath an oversized Vikings sweatshirt. Nothing screamed sexy! like a woman who loved football, even if she did pull for a shitty team like Minnesota.
Leah didn’t need to put all her goods on display to make Colt’s heart thump. She was
a natural beauty without even trying.
“Emma,” Colt said when he’d finished ogling, “this is Miss McMahon. She and I were
real good friends once.”
Emma turned her wide, brown eyes on him and tipped her head. “But you’re not friends
anymore?”
He glanced at Leah and lifted his brows, a silent message that it was entirely up
to her.
“Is she yours?”
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