Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

THIRTY-SEVEN

HANNAH

Maddox steps past me into the house.

I can’t believe this idiot thought Chelsea was his kid.

Or that I’d keep a child hidden from their father.

Idiot.

Maddox pauses at the bench to toe off the tennis shoes he’s wearing, leaving him in white socks, worn jeans, and a gray T-shirt that shows off more of his tattoos than I’ve ever seen.

I untie the apron I have on and pretend we aren’t wearing matching outfits. With my jeans in the form of shorts and my T-shirt a white V-neck.

Normally, I don’t feel comfortable wearing shorts around anyone other than my family. But I remind myself that Maddox saw a lot more than my thighs last night.

I shut the door harder than necessary.

Don’t think about last night.

But as I watch his back muscles bunch under his cotton shirt, I can’t help but think about it. He’s just…

I pull the apron over my head.

It doesn’t matter if he’s sex incarnate.

Never again.

THIRTY-EIGHT

MADDOX

I should probably feel bad about crashing Hannah’s mom’s birthday party. But I also have a feeling that without her mom’s insistence, I’d still be standing outside.

The small entryway opens into the main room, with a living room— jam-packed with furniture— on my right and a dining room on the left.

A bouquet of flowers sits in the center of the round table, and a pair of balloons is tied to the back of one of the chairs.

The house is probably a century old, with scuffed wood floors and archways between every room, making it feel small. But it’s cozy.

The floral-patterned rugs and curtains don’t exactly strike me as Hannah’s taste, but I never even saw her dorm room, so I can’t really claim to know her style.

A woman, who must be Hannah’s mom, walks into the dining room from what I’m guessing is the kitchen on the far side of the room.

She’s the same height as Hannah, with similar honeyed hair, only hers is mostly gray.

“Hi, Mrs. Utley. I’m Maddox Lovelace.”

The woman stops midstride, and her eyes widen. “Mad Dog?”

My smile is genuine. She’s not exactly my usual fan demographic. “That’s me.”

I hold out my hand, and she moves closer to take it. “So nice to meet you, dearie. Hannah used to talk about you all the time.”

“Mom!” Hannah snaps from somewhere behind me.

We both ignore her as I grin. “Oh really?”