by Amali Rose
I guess that’s my answer.
Remembering all the public relations lessons I got before the show, I slip on a mask of professionalism and give her a bland smile.
“That was me.”
“Oh my God!” She squeals and turns to her friends. “It is him!” Turning back to me, she steps closer, her body now pressed up against my thigh. “You know, there’s nothing hotter than a guy with a baby. You were so sweet with your little girl in that one episode.”
Oh, fuck no.
“Yeah, that wasn’t my daughter,” I grit out. Making sure Lulu didn’t appear on the show was the one good decision I made. But I know which episode she’s talking about. It was a bogus babysitting setup with Toni? I think that’s who it was anyway.
“Oh.” She shrugs, her hand sliding lower until it’s cupping my dick and she leans in, close enough to whisper suggestively. “Well, I really wanted to fuck you after that episode.”
How to go from friendly stranger to inappropriate dilfie in one easy move, ladies and gentlemen.
“Whoa, okay, slow your roll there, beautiful,” Grayson quickly interjects while I try to tamp down my annoyance. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop manhandling my brother and step away from the table.”
The look on her face is pure shock and I can’t help but chuckle as I remove her hand from my dick. “While I appreciate the offer, I’ll have to pass.”
I watch a myriad of emotions flit over her face before it settles on anger. “Whatever, you were an asshole anyway.” And she does what could only be described as flounce back to her table.
“He really is,” Gray calls out to her retreating back. “Consider yourself lucky you got away unscathed!”
She flips him the bird.
“I think I’m in love.” He clutches his chest and blows her a kiss.
I laugh at his over-the-top theatrics, grateful he is here to diffuse the situation.
“Christ, I think that’s the first time a girl’s hand on my dick has ever made my balls shrivel up.” I gulp down the rest of my beer.
“You’re clearly not hanging around the right girls then.” He grins over his drink.
“I don’t even want to know what that means, fuckface.”
“Shit, that reminds me.” Gray puts his beer down and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I saw this on my feed today and it’s fucking hilarious. Hold, please.” He starts scrolling, his finger is flying across the screen and he’s already chuckling to himself. “Here.”
He sticks his phone under my nose, and I see an old-fashion-style wanted poster with my face on it. Apparently, I’m wanted for being a “giant douche nozzle and most likely having a small penis.” Reward is two hundred and fifty grand.
Huh, I would have thought I would be worth more than that.
I knock the phone out of his hand, and he curses at me as it lands on the table with a loud thud.
“What the fuck, man? That shit is expensive.” He snatches it back up and cradles it to his chest while throwing me a wounded look.
Asshole.
“You know.” He points at me, waving his finger almost violently. “You used to have a much better sense of humor about this shit.”
“Yeah, well, that was ten months, three million insults, two hundred and seventy-five thousand indecent proposals, one hundred and ninety thousand threats of violence, eighty-two marriage proposals, and twenty-three baby-momma offers ago.” I lean back in my chair and shake my head. “Now it doesn’t seem so funny.”
He eyes me strangely. “That’s oddly specific, but I take your point.”
“I’m just sick of everyone thinking I’m a cheating little bitch.”
“No one who knows you would ever believe that bullshit,” he counters.
“It’s not the people I know that I have to worry about.” I know he’s right. I know I shouldn’t give a fuck what people think but I went on that goddamn show in the first place because I want to find love, and for a single dad running on fumes ninety percent of the time, the offer of having it hand delivered sounded too good to be true.
That should have told me something right there.
Now, every woman I meet thinks I’m either a complete scumbag, or a quick fuck to tell her friends about.
I scrub a hand across my face and sigh. “Ignore me, I’m just feeling pissy because Harvey has been harassing me about doing a reunion show.”
“Seriously?” Gray’s brows rise. “Didn’t they just finish a second series? How do they have time for reunion shows.”
“I know, and there’s another series starting next month too. Apparently the DILF is the gift that just keeps giving,” I deadpan.
“Dating the DILF.” He snickers. “Stupidest fucking name ever.”
“Stupidest fucking idea ever.”
We tap our bottles and cheers to that.
“I’m home.” I throw my keys in the dish by the door, flinching as they hit the ceramic bowl and bring my fingers to my temple to massage gently. It’s been a long day and my catch-up with Grayson wasn’t nearly as relaxing as I had hoped it would be. All I want to do now is sit down in front of the television and relax.
The tiny footsteps that are flying toward me down the hall and the overexcited shrieking that accompanies them, are telling me that’s not going to happen anytime soon.
“Daddyyyy!” A tiny blonde tornado throws herself into my arms and I thank whatever deity is watching over us that I have the foresight to brace myself for her onslaught.
“Hey, kiddo.” I bend down and lift her up, inhaling her strawberry scent as she nuzzles into my neck. The stress of today falls away when her little arms tighten around my neck.
“Lulu, get your butt back here and finish your dinner,” a gruff voice calls from down the hall.
A small growl vibrates against my neck and I try to contain a laugh. My daughter is not a fan of being told what to do.
“C’mon, what did Gramps make you tonight?”
“Nuggets.” Her voice is barely a whisper and it seems that my enthusiastic welcome stole the last of her energy. I walk up the hall to our open-plan kitchen living area and her head rests on my shoulder, one hand gently rubbing her eye and the other wrapped around the back of my neck, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger. It’s a quirk she’s had since she was a baby and I think at this point I find it just as comforting as she does.
“Hey, Dad.” I move through the galley-style kitchen and move straight to the dining table, gently placing Tallulah on her booster seat, not bothering with the straps.
She pushes her dinner plate away, a scowl marring her innocent face. “No. I’m done.”
“Tallulah Renee, you’ve barely touched it. I want one more nugget, a spoonful of potatoes and a piece of broccoli eaten before you can be excused.”
I duck my head to hide a grin and make my way to the refrigerator to grab a water. The only person I know who is more stubborn than my daughter is my father and seeing them clash is funny as fuck.
“Goddamn it, Gramps!”
Until it isn’t.
Turning, I glare at my dad who is rubbing a hand over his jaw, his brow furrowed, before I shift toward Tallulah.
“That little outburst has cost you your television time tonight. Now eat your dinner.” I narrow my eyes at her, and my strict father act must do the trick because she starts shoveling food in her mouth without arguing.
“Jesus Christ, Dad,” I hiss when I’m far enough away that Tallulah won’t hear me. “You’ve got to be more careful around her. I swear to God, I heard her say fuck the other day. Then she just stared at me with this angelic look on her face. You’re turning my daughter into a deviant.”
Dad folds his arms across his chest and looks me hard in the eye. “You’re never going to stop her from hearing the words, Miles. It’s up to you to teach her not to repeat them.”
I huff out a laugh. “That’s easier said than done, Old Man.”
He pierces me with a glare, and I deci
de not to push my luck and change the subject.
“She looks exhausted, what did you guys get up to today?” I round the island bench and take a seat, keeping Tallulah within my sights.
“That kid from number seven came over for a playdate.” He groans painfully. “Talk about a deviant, that kid has a court date in his future, mark my words. Here.” My stomach growls loudly at the sight of the plate of food he slides in front of me. “You look tired too. Bad day?”
I chew my food, happy to have some time to consider my answer, knowing that Dad will have little to no sympathy for my situation.
“Harvey got a hold of my new number and was calling all day.” My throat tightens remembering his smarmy voice and the new promises he was throwing around.
“You were a damn idiot getting involved in all of those shenanigans in the first place. I warned you.” He shakes his head, disappointment pulsing off him. “Thomas and I both warned you.”
He’s got me there. He and my big brother did warn me, and when my life came crashing down ten months ago, they were the first to say I told you so. But they were also the first to step in and help me get control back, which takes the sting away from the continued barbs they throw my way.
“I know, Dad.” I imagine my face is as petulant as my almost-three-year-old’s was ten minutes ago and I try to school my features into a less hostile version of myself.
“Daddy, I’m tired.”
I turn to see Tallulah almost falling asleep at the table. I sigh and push away from the island bench where I was eating.
“I’m going to give Lulu her bath, you’re good to let yourself out?”
“Yeah.” He begins gathering up the dirty dishes and rinsing them. “Go, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I move to walk behind him and slap him on the back. “Thanks, Dad. I really do appreciate all your help.”
He meets my eye, understanding clear and bright. “I know,” he answers brusquely. His eyes turn to his granddaughter and his heavy expression suddenly lightens, a grin spreading across his face. “I think you’re needed.”
I follow the direction of his look and see Tallulah, fast asleep in her mashed potatoes.
Adelaide: I swear Thompson has a butt plug permanently shoved up his ass.
Adelaide: I mean have you seen the way he walks?
Adelaide: Like a goddamn penguin!
Adelaide: It’s unnatural, Charlie. UNNATURAL!
A tired, but good-natured sigh slips past my lips as I read Addy’s response to my earlier message. Pulling my keys out of the ignition, I sink back into my seat and type a quick reply.
Charlie: That may be so, but I believe my question was: did you file the paperwork for his continuance?
Adelaide: Yes, I understand that was your question, but I believe it was pertinent that I shared my observation before I forgot. Because it was funny as fuck, *Charlotte*
Adelaide: And, yes, I filed the paperwork.
Groaning, I shove my phone in my purse and take a moment to shake off the stress of the week.
Ice cream. I need ice cream. A pint of mint choc chip will make everything better. It’s the one golden rule of life that has proven to be true over and over.
Ice cream fixes everything.
I climb out of my beloved Prius, ignoring the bite of my waistband and instead concentrate on the mission at hand. My determination is admirable, if I do say so myself.
A light mist of rain has begun to fall, so I hurry through the parking lot to the beckoning fluorescent lights of the supermarket, the familiar tap of my heels on the asphalt comforting me.
Rushing through the automatic sliding doors, I make a sharp right turn and head straight to the freezer section. This week has been a complete nightmare and all I want to do right now is head home and climb into bed with my delicious, sugary treats and a smart-ass devil called Lucifer.
Right on cue, I notice how my pants are stretching uncomfortably across my ass with every step I take, reminding me how long it has been since I spent any time on the treadmill. That would probably be a much better plan.
However, all thoughts of the treadmill disappear when I reach the ice cream section and I stare at the promised land. My eyes dart across the rows of creamy goodness looking for my beloved mint choc chip and the noise that escapes my lips when I can’t see it could almost be described as a growl.
A deep chuckle to my right grabs my attention and my cheeks are already flaming before I even turn to see who was witness to my small display of emotion.
The burn intensifies when I find myself face to face with one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen. The first thing I notice is his height. He towers over me, and considering I stand at five foot seven in bare feet, that almost never happens.
Vibrant blue eyes meet mine, full of mischief, and I allow myself a moment to imagine what it would feel like to look into eyes like that every day. The thought startles me and the moment comes to a quick end when he clears his throat and his teeth sink into his full bottom lip in, what I can only assume is, an attempt to fight the smile quirking his full lips.
A fight he is losing.
A wave of fresh embarrassment washes over me and I duck my head in an effort to avoid his gaze.
“Don’t you just hate it when they don’t have your favorite flavor?” I force a smile and turn to move away, desperate to leave this moment of disappointment and mortification behind, when the deep timbre of his voice stops me.
“Trust me, nobody feels more passionately about ice cream than I do.”
I glance up and take in his easy expression. He’s running a hand through his slightly unkempt, dark blond hair, a grin stretching across his face. I notice that his hair isn’t artfully tousled. You know the kind of messy that guys spend far too long on, in an effort to make it look effortless? Instead, it looks as though he spends his days running his hand through it, with zero care for his appearance. I try not to question why that endears this stranger to me.
“If they don’t have my Cherry Garcia, I will burn this place to the ground.” He leans toward me conspiratorially. “Can I trust you to have my back if shit goes down?”
My answering laugh is loud and unexpected. Somehow this guy has managed to put me at ease and soothe my awkwardness.
“Of course. Who better to have by your side at a time like that than a fellow ice cream annihilator, stranger or not,” I reply, my face the picture of earnestness.
“See, now, you get it!” He shakes his head gravely. “Not many people do.”
“Well, fortunately there is plenty of Cherry Garcia for you.” I nod toward a row full—full!—of his addiction. “So it looks like Whole Foods will live to see another day. But unless they get in more mint choc chip pretty damn quick, I can’t guarantee how long that will stay true.”
His smile matches mine and I try to remember when I have felt such an instant connection to a guy before. Have I ever? If I was a different person, I would flirt a little, and maybe ask him out for a drink. That’s what a normal twenty-nine-year-old would do on a Friday night, right?
“I’m Miles, by the way.” He offers me a large hand. “I figure if we’re plotting to take down grocery stores together, we should probably be on a first-name basis.”
I stare blankly at his hand for a moment, trying to remember the last time someone shook my hand in any setting other than business. Failing to find one, I slip my much smaller hand into his and smile at the warmth that immediately fills me.
“Charlotte.” We stand there, probably looking like idiots, slowly shaking hands, our eyes glued to each other and I am pretty damn sure the dopey smile he is wearing is mirrored on my own face.
That’s when it hits me. We’re having a moment. A moment, moment. Like in my romance novels when the guy and girl meet and BAM! Instant connection that inevitably leads to a happily ever after.
I’m having a goddamn real-life meet cute. Who knew those things ever actually happened? Not me, that’s f
or freaking sure.
His eyes, that have been slowly moving over my face like a gentle caress (because, yes, this moment is that swoony), suddenly zero in on something over my shoulder and widen with delighted excitement.
“It looks like today is both of our lucky day.” He points behind me, and when I realize what he is showing me, my grin widens. A lone pint of my adored ice cream has been pushed haphazardly in amongst a row of Strawberry Cheesecake. As I stare at the tub, I have to fight the urge to show Miles my gratitude with my tongue. Because if I lick it, it’s mine, right?
Shaking my head to dislodge the image, a satisfied sigh slips out on an exhale. Ice cream and a hot guy all in one night? Maybe it is my lucky day.
“I could kiss you right now.” Turning, I bend down to grab the ice cream, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart that began the instant his eyes heated at my declaration.
Unfortunately, that’s when it happens. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. I freeze, the moment suspended in time, as I realize the snug fit of my pants across my ass is now feeling pretty damn comfortable.
And breezy. Definitely breezy.
I’m frozen in horror, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, when the humiliation seeps in and I fully grasp the fact that my thong-clad ass is now on full display for Miles to enjoy.
I guess it’s safe to say our moment is well and truly over.
“What did you do?” Adelaide screeches at me, her face a picture of horrified glee.
“I dropped the ice cream and ran out of there as fast as I could with my purse covering my ass.” My face is on fire and I am just as embarrassed now, recounting the story, as I was on Friday night. “If I’m ever tempted to let my gym membership lapse again, or I forget to take my dry cleaning in and am forced to wear pants that haven’t fit since I was a college senior, you have permission to remind me of this horror.”
Adelaide smirks at me and I can already see her formulating some smart-ass reply, so I cut her off before she can make me feel any worse.
