He didn’t want her children here.
That was the only explanation for his distant behavior, and it seriously grated that he hadn’t even taken the time to introduce himself to her kids. For someone who was consistently and relentlessly trying to sleep with her, he was sure going about it the wrong way. Because completely ignoring a pair of wet, shivering six-year-olds? Definitely not the kind of behavior that would make her fall into bed with a man.
Leaving their wet shoes and coats in the hall to dry, Miranda took Sophie and Jason by the hand, and the three of them followed Dylan down the corridor toward the kitchen.
As a peal of children’s laughter drifted into the hallway, Seth cringed and ducked back into his bedroom. It was the third time he’d left his room intending to join everyone in the kitchen, only to change his mind and retreat.
Christ. You’d think he was about to face a pack of rabid dogs rather than two harmless six-year-olds.
Though come to think of it, he’d prefer hanging out with rabid dogs.
Grow a pair, buddy. If you wanna fuck the mom, you’ve gotta be nice to the kiddies.
Only in rare circumstances did he silence his inner man-slut the way he did now. Nice to the kids? Shit, the mere thought of it had him reconsidering his pursuit of Miranda, something he’d invested months’ worth of effort into.
But he didn’t like kids. As politically incorrect as it might be, it was common knowledge to all who knew him, which was why no one expected him to make an appearance at Lieutenant Commander Becker’s house for any Baby Sadie-related events or asked him to babysit John Garrett or Will Charleston’s kids.
Man, he’d never thought he’d say it, but thank God for Dylan. Mr. Awesome had come to the rescue like Mary fucking Poppins flying in with her umbrella, promptly turning a couple of frowns upside down and saving the day.
Seth had seen the gratitude shining on Miranda’s face, and for a second, he’d experienced a burst of envy. No way could he have made those kids laugh like that. If you wanted him to save the day, put an MP5 in his hands and point him in the direction of a terrorist. He wasn’t the kind of man who brought smiles to children’s faces.
A soft knock on the door jarred him from a train of thought that was growing more and more unsettling by the second.
“Yeah?” he called brusquely.
The door opened and Miranda poked her head in. Her expression reflected both concern and irritation. “Dylan said you might have some clothes you can loan me. He’s going to throw our stuff in the dryer.”
“Yeah, I do.” His voice sounded gravelly, so he cleared his throat, adding, “You need something for the rugrats too?”
She stepped into the room, shaking her head. “No, they changed into a couple of Dylan’s T-shirts.” Her lips quirked. “They’re practically drowning in them. Your roommate’s a big guy.”
Seth’s jaw tensed. The note of appreciation in Miranda’s voice raised his hackles and made him take back every nice thought he’d had about Dylan in the past few minutes.
“The big guy couldn’t spare something for you to wear?” Seth said with a bite to his tone.
“He made a cryptic comment about how it wouldn’t be appropriate.” She rolled her eyes. “I get the feeling he thinks it would be treading on your territory if he lets me wear his clothes.”
Damn it. Now he had no choice but to think good thoughts about Dylan again. He even mentally awarded his roommate a gold star for knowing that Seth would absolutely murder him if a single item of Dylan’s clothing so much as touched Miranda’s skin.
“Which is ridiculous,” she went on, locking her gaze with his. “Because you don’t own me, and therefore I can wear whatever I want, regardless of who it belongs to.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But tonight?” He strode over to his closet. “Tonight you’re wearing my shirt, babe.”
“I hate it when you call me babe.”
He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”
“So now you’re an expert on what I like?”
“Yep.” He tugged a flannel button-down off one of the hangers, then handed it to her.
Miranda reluctantly accepted the garment. She ran her fingers over the well-worn material before looking at him in surprise. “This is soft. And it looks worn.” She lifted one eyebrow. “I thought you were only allowed to wear black. You know, because you’re so darn cool.”
“I can make anything look cool, even flannel. And I don’t only wear black.” To illustrate, he gestured to the fresh pair of gray sweats and white wifebeater he’d changed into.
The way Miranda’s hazel eyes rested on his chest a little too long didn’t go unnoticed.