She walked in looking like a dream in little white denim shorts and a Wranglers’ T-shirt tied at the waist. The shorts showed just a hint of the sweet curve of her tight ass, and I didn’t mind that one little bit.

How many times had I fantasized about this exact moment? About her walking into whatever apartment I happened to be living in at the time? Except in my fantasies, she would already be backed up against the door with her legs around my waist and my cock buried inside her.

Fuck, she had been here less than a minute, and I already had a boner.

“Wow, Axel. This is so nice,” she said, looking around the living room, oblivious to the erection crisis in my pants. “And this view is amazing.” As I watched Blaire walk across the honey-colored wood to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which perfectly framed the Dallas skyline, I gripped my dick and gave it a warning squeeze.

Cool it, buddy! This is not your time.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have wine, beer, or sodas.”

“Wine sounds good. White, if you have some cold.”

In my modern kitchen, I pulled open the doors of my black matte Café French Door refrigerator and located the expensive bottle I had grabbed on the way home. I poured both of us a glass and brought the bottle in a portable wine chiller out to the living room, setting it on the glass top of my rustic wood coffee table. “Here you go,” I said, and we sat on the soft navy-blue couch, our bodies turned innately toward each other. “So, tell me about our daughter.”

God, that sounded weird to say, but I liked it. A whole fucking lot.

Blaire’s entire face transformed as she began telling me about Carrie. It practically glowed with pride and love… so much love, and I knew in my heart that she was a phenomenal mother to our child.

“She was born on December fifteenth at 3:33 in the morning. She weighed in at eight pounds, nine ounces, and she was twenty-one inches long. She had a ton of curly black hair and the brightest blue eyes.” She paused and looked at me before smiling. “Your eyes.”

Oh, God. My heart…

“She’s just the coolest kid ever, Axel. And so damned smart. She’s in preschool, but she’s reading at a second-grade level. She’s very independent and wants to do everything herself,” she said, her lips pressing into a soft smile that told me she was thinking of something specific, and probably completely adorable, that our daughter had done.

“Just like her mother,” I noted with a smile, and she laughed her sweet tinkling laugh that made my heart do some complicated gymnastics maneuvers in my chest.

“Was she born in San Diego?”