“That’s not true,” Mae argued.
“Well, if he’s not, he should be. He’s more feminist than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“I doubt you would know a feminist if she bit you on the butt.”
The Caveman smiled. “I’ve never been bitten on the butt by any woman, feminist or not. But I’m willing if you are.”
Folding her arms beneath her breasts, Mae said, “By your lack of manners, the size of your neck, and the slope to your forehead, I assume you play hockey.”
Hugh glanced at John and laughed. Giving shit and taking it when it was thrown right back at him was one of the things John like about Hugh. “‘Slope to your forehead,’ ” Hugh chuckled as his gaze returned to Mae. “That was a good one.”
“Do you play hockey?”
“Yep. I’m goalie for the Chinooks. What is it you do, wrestle pit bulls?”
“Pickle?” Georgeanne reached for the relish plate and shoved it at Hugh. “I made them myself!”
Once more John felt a tug on his belt loop. “Do you know how to fly a kite, Mr. Wall?”
He looked down into Lexie’s upturned face; her eyes were squinted against the sun. “I could try.”
Lexie smiled and a dimple indented her right cheek. “Mommy,” she hollered as she spun around and raced toward the other side of the table. “Mr. Wall is gonna fly my kite with me!”
Georgeanne’s gaze swung to him. “You don’t have to do that, John.”
“I want to.” He placed his juice box on the table.
Setting down the relish plate, Georgeanne said, “I’ll come with the two of you.”
“No.” He needed and wanted time alone with his daughter. “Lexie and I can manage.”
“But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, I do.”
She quickly glanced over her shoulder at Lexie, who knelt on the ground untangling string. She grabbed his arm and pulled him several feet away. “Okay, but not too far,” she said, stopping in front of him. She rose onto the balls of her feet and looked over his shoulder toward the others.
She whispered something about Lexie, but he wasn’t really listening. She was so close he could smell her perfume. He lowered his gaze to her slim fingers resting on his biceps. The only thing keeping her double Ds from brushing against his chest was a tiny slice of empty space. “What do you want?” he asked, raising his eyes up her smooth arm to the hollow of her soft throat. She was still a tease.
“I just told you.” She lowered her hand and dropped to her heels.
“Why don’t you tell me again, but this time keep your breasts out of the conversation.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “My what? What are you talking about?”
She looked so genuinely perplexed, John almost believed her innocent expression. Almost. “If you want to talk to me, don’t use your body to do it. Unless, of course, you want me to take you up on your offer.”
She shook her head, disgusted. “You’re a sick man, John Kowalsky. If you can manage to keep your eyeballs off the front of my dress, and your mind out of the gutter, we have something more important to discuss than your absurd fantasies.”
John rocked back on his heels and looked down into her face. He wasn’t sick. At least he didn’t think so. He wasn’t as sick as some of the guys he knew.
Georgeanne tilted her head to the side. “I want you to remember your promise.”
“What promise?”
“Not to tell Lexie you’re her father. She should hear it from me.”
“Fine,” he said, and reached for his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He shoved a side piece down the front pocket of his jeans, leaving the glasses to hang by his hip. “And I want you to remember that Lexie and I are going to get to know each other. Alone. I’m taking her to fly her kite, and don’t you follow us in ten minutes.”