“Me-li-o,” I whine.

“Go get him. I have dad business to discuss with him. You wouldn’t understand.”

I get up and go to the door. Sam is sitting on the couch watching the end of the cook-off show. He pauses it when I walk up. “Melio wants to talk you. Would you mind?”

He holds out his hand and takes my phone, lifting it gently to his ear. He’s wary of my phone. That’s funny.

“Yes, sir,” I hear him say. Sam’s eyes meet mine and I see him grin. I lift my hands in question and he waves me away.

I go and sit down on the other end of the sofa.

“Of course,” he says into the phone. He glances in my direction and then quickly away. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of her.”

He laughs. But then I hear a sharp retort through the phone and he sobers, his cheeks growing red. “Yes, sir,” he says.

He hands the phone back to me. I lift it to my ear. “What did you do?” I ask Emilio.

“Nada damn thing that didn’t need doing.” He chuckles. “Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Melio.”

“Think about what I asked you.”

I nod like he can see me. “I will. I’ll let you know.”

He says goodbye and hangs up. I sink back against the couch cushion. Sam laughs.

“What’s so funny?” I glare at him.

“Nothing.” But he’s still biting back laughter.

“What did he say to you?”

“You really want to know?” He grabs my foot and jerks it into his lap. My bottom slides across the couch.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a man bodily move me around before. I’m not sure I like it. And I’m not sure I don’t like it, either. “What did he say?”

“He said the only thing that could be referenced as a woody around here had better be the Woodpecker. I think he meant you. And that I should worry about castration if I try to get in your pants.”

“Oh.” What little breath I can get in and out stalls. Sam sort of stole it all with that declaration. “I’m sorry about that.” I wince.

“He’s your dad.” He shrugs. “I respect that.”

I nod, because I can’t think of anything to say. I lean back and look at the ceiling. Sam tugs on my middle toe. “Did he have news about your mom?”

I nod, and lay my forearm over my eyes.

“H-he s-said she c-came to s-see him.”

His fingertips very gently skim up and down the top of my foot. “Did he say what she wants?”

“M-money. Wh-what else?” I realize my tapping stopped when he jerked my foot, and I just stuttered in front of him, over and over. I open my eyes and lift my arm from them, looking down at him. “Wh-what sh-should I do?” I lay my arm back over my eyes. “Sh-she’s l-living with a kn-known d-drug dealer.”

“Who?” he rushes to ask.

“His n-name is Bone. Do you kn-know him?”

He stiffens, and his hand tightens on my foot. “I know him.”

“I k-kind of w-want to see her,” I say quietly.

“Of course you do. It’s natural to want a connection. She gave birth to you.” His fingers start their gentle sweep again, and the sensation shoots straight to the center of me. “Can I help?”

I shake my head. “I w-want to th-think about it.”

“Understandable.” He picks up the remote and turns his show back on. “This is the best part.” He points at the TV and grins. I lift my feet, but he grabs them and holds tight. “Stay a few minutes. I missed you when you were gone.” He grins at me again.

My heart clenches.

His fingers start that slow sweep up and down my foot again. I turn my head so I can watch the TV with him. He talks to the TV while the cook-off is going on, like Emilio does when he’s watching sports. It makes me laugh.

He looks at me, his brows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” He grabs my foot tightly and holds it, his other hand holding my middle toe. He gives it a tug and I squeal.

“Let me go!”

He laughs and tugs my toe until it pops. It doesn’t hurt. But it’s damn aggravating. “That’s what you get when you mess with me,” he taunts.

I lift my feet from his lap amid his protests, and sit up so I can settle against his side. “This okay?” I ask.

He nods and puts his arm around me.

God, what am I doing?

Sam

Something shoves my shoulder. “Sam!” a voice hisses.

I freeze. Someone’s in my room.

“Sam!” the voice hisses again. I look at the clock. It’s two in the morning. When I went to bed, I was all alone and I had blue balls from sitting on the couch snuggled up with Peck. “Sam!” the voice says again.

“What?” I ask. I roll onto my back and see the outline of a person staring down at me. I reach over and turn on the bedside light.

“Sam, th-there’s a d-drip over my b-bed.”

“A what?” I’m still not completely awake.

“The c-ceiling is d-dripping water,” she says. “C-come and look at it.”

What the fuck am I supposed to do about dripping water? Then I remember the growing water stain on the ceiling of her room. “Oh, crap. The water.” I should have called maintenance. “How much water are we talking about?” I toss the covers off and grab my crutches. I’ll be so glad when I can walk on my leg. I hobble into her room and turn on the light. Ping. Ping. There’s a steady drip right over where her head should be.