Single Dad

by River Laurent

  “Right,” I nod. “Hey—the sooner we start, the sooner the money’s in the bank and we can really get this thing rolling.” Everything I’ve worked for in the last three years comes down to this. Nothing less than my entire life, really. If this fails, I’ll have to start from scratch. Every cent I’ve earned, raised, or borrowed is at stake. Everything in my life.

  “You think you’ll win it?” he asks before taking a bite of what smells like an Italian hoagie with extra onions.

  I can’t help but scowl. “First, you tell me you doubted that I’d make the show. Now you’re doubting that I’ll take home the prize. Have some confidence, man.”

  “Hey, the tech world has its ups and downs and massive change can occur overnight—but that’s still not as crazy as this show is gonna be for you.”

  “Is that your idea of a pep talk? Because it’s not all that inspiring. You need to watch some sports movies and figure out where you’re going wrong.”

  He laughs and shrugs off my sarcasm. “All I’m saying is…it’s gonna be intense.”

  One of the many reasons we work so well together is he lets things roll off his back, while I’m way too serious. “Like the last three years haven’t been intense. Believe me, man, I get where you’re coming from, but I have it under control. You don’t need to worry about a thing.” I chuckle darkly. “Besides, I’m fairly sure there’s only one person I have to worry about.”

  “Who?”

  “My teammate.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Teammate?”

  “Yeah. Her name’s Dakota.”

  “Oh. Dakota, huh?”

  I’ve known him long enough to know exactly where his mind is going. I hold up both hands, laughing. “It’s not like that. Believe me. She’s not my type.”

  “Your type is no type.”

  “There’s no time for women.” For the last few years, I’ve been throwing all my time and energy into developing our product, and building a business around manufacturing it.

  “You could find the time if you wanted to,” he says chewing slowly.

  “Maybe I don’t want to, then.” I have no intention of sacrificing even a piece of my dream just because I need to get my dick wet on the regular. There are always women willing for a quick hookup, I’ve never had a problem with that, but there’s no time for anything more.

  Eric knows this, but still feels the need to bust my balls over it every now and again. “Okay, okay. So what happens when you two win? Do you split the prize with her?”

  I like that he used the word ‘when’. “I’m guessing she’s the competition after that,” I muse, tapping my fingers on my desk. “I’ll take her out. No worries about that. The money is as good as ours.”

  He smiles before becoming serious. “Listen. I know I give you a lot of shit, but I wanna let you know this means alot to me. Thanks for doing this for us.”

  “Hey…like I told you from day one. I’m all-in. This has been my dream for too long to let a little thing like lack of capital end it.”

  His phone rings and he answers. “Hello Sukie,” he says cheerfully while grimacing at me.

  Sukie is an aspartame drinking bitch, who unfortunately is also our only potential investor. We’ve been courting her for three months. She has sadistic tendencies. She knows we have a solid business plan and we’re going to make her a lot of money, but she just likes to see how many hoops she can get us to jump through first. I’d really like to tell her to take a running jump, but I know I should keep her on the hook, just in case things fall through with the show. I give him the thumbs-up.

  He flashes me one in return before diving into his conversation.

  Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, something my father used to say to me. It was one of his favorite sayings, and it’s something I remind myself of every time I get too excited about the game show. That’s why we’re still jumping through Sukie’s mean little hoops and hoping she comes through on her promises. I won’t let my dream die. I can’t. If something goes wrong and I don’t win the show, I still have a backup plan.

  But I will win.

  I turn my chair away from Eric and look out of the window. It’s easier to think when I can look out over the river. I’ll do everything in my power to make that money mine. If I freak out over a stunt, I’ll just remember everyday of these lean years, eating nothing but ramen or cereal for days on end, just to afford rent while I peddled my designs around to potential buyers. I decided to produce it myself, when none of the buyers were willing to let me have a say in production. I might have been a little too hasty then, but I was still cocky enough to believe nobody knew my product better than I did. The clock is ticking and I still haven’t proven myself right.

  I have to win.

  I think of Dakota. She’s got a nasty temper and a hell of a foul mouth to match, but I can tell she’s probably never done anything crazy in her whole life. It’s one thing to tell yourself you would do something for money, but another to actually go through with it, especially knowing millions of people are going to see the footage. It’ll be nerve-wracking and if she’s not completely committed, we’re dead in the water. I’ll have to convince her to go through with the stunts.

  So…they were looking for a couple with the right chemistry. I try to imagine the sort of things the audience will want from us. An image of Dakota naked and bouncing on my dick, with those gorgeous breasts free, flashes into my mind.

  Just like that, I’m hard as a rock.

  Fuck, how long has it even been since I got laid? I actually can’t remember. It’s been that busy lately. My inbox is chock full of emails again. I had just finished answering messages before I left for the audition this morning. It’s nonstop—inquiry replies, parts manufacturers offering quotes, latest updates from our marketing firm. No wonder I’ve got an erection just thinking about a woman.

  I lean back against my chair. A spring is broken in the seat and it needs to be replaced, but I’m not going to spend good money on making myself comfortable. I shift slightly and my thoughts return to Dakota. No, I wouldn’t mind at all if the audience chose a sexy stunt for us to pull. Making out in public, or maybe something even more risky. I could definitely live with an excuse.

  I stop myself before my fantasy goes too far.

  Fucking chill out, Trent.

  She’s already in my head. What would she think if she knew I was sitting here, thinking about her, steadily getting harder every time I picture her in my head? Before my erection gets any more obvious, I need to stop thinking about her. It’s not only the idea of Eric busting my balls for the rest of my life either. It’s the danger of getting too close to her and losing focus. I can’t fall into the trap of seeing her as a hot girl. The last thing I want to do is start thinking with my dick. When the time comes, I’m going to have to do whatever it takes to win the money.

  “Yo, man. You listening?”

  “Hmm?” I barely turn my head in Eric’s direction.

  “Sukie wants dinner tonight. You in?”

  I consider it, then shake my head. “No, I can’t. You go.”

  “What?” His jaw drops. “You’re actually gonna let me go on my own?”

  “She likes you better than me, anyway. She finds you more approachable.” I grin.

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “I’ve seen her eyes light up.”

  “She’s, like, a hundred years old,” he groans, dropping his chin in his hand and looking miserable.

  “Yeah, but you know what they say about older women. They know tricks women our age haven’t even heard of yet.”

  His face flushes dark red. “You don’t actually think I would sleep with her, do you?”

  “Well…” I shrug, trying not to laugh.

  “You’re sick, man. Sick. Ugh.” He shudders.

  “You’re making too big a deal of this,” I joke. “I think you’ve already thought about it, or you wouldn’t keep trying to convince me I’m wrong.”

  His m
outh falls open again. “I’m trying to convince you that you’re wrong because you seriously just grossed me out.”

  “Whatever, man. I wouldn’t blame you if you went for it. She’s hot for an older woman.”

  “She’s not!” he sputters, shaking his head, and shuddering again.

  “She’s got that classy thing going on, you know?”

  “So does my mom!” he argues.

  It’s too much fun, having the chance to bust his balls for once. “So what? Your mom is hot too.”

  “I’m gonna straight-up kill you.”

  “Whatever. I’m just saying, if she was interested in taking things back to her penthouse…” I raise my eyebrows and let the thought trail off while he fumes.

  “I would do just about anything for this company you’re trying to get off the ground, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sleep with a woman three times my age, just to get the money.”

  “Suit yourself.” I grin, turning back to the window. I’m not serious and he knows it—though it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he convinced her to invest…

  Chapter 8

  DAKOTA

  My hands won’t stop shaking. I wipe them down my jeans nervously. I don’t want to show up on camera with shaking hands. Are there cameras set up around me? There could be, for all I know. I’m not sure how the show works, exactly, but there’s got to be a way for the audience to see what we’re doing.

  I look up at the department store. I don’t remember when it was a John Wanamaker’s, but Mom does. They still do the Christmas light show here every year, and we’ve gone every year even though it hasn’t changed a bit in all this time. We would then go for lunch and do some shopping together. It’s something I’ve looked forward to every year.

  We won’t go this year.

  My heart hurts a little when I think about that. So much is changing so quickly. But next year…next year, we’ll go, because Mom will be alright by then and she’ll be able to do simple things like Christmas shopping.

  The thought of her illness and the treatment she needs gives me strength and courage. I’m going to need all the courage I can get, once it’s time to get the stunt started.

  And it would be, if Trent would ever show up. I swear to God, if he chickens out on me…

  He shows up before I get the chance to complete my thought. “What took you so long?” I ask, telling myself not to notice how utterly, utterly gorgeous he looks in a tailored black shirt and jeans that seem to strain around his thick, muscular thighs. I shouldn’t be paying attention to his thighs. Or his eyes as he slides his sunglasses off.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Some of us have to deal with a little thing called traffic.”

  “Oh, that’s cute. Because there’s no such thing as traffic, where I come from.” I look around, eyes darting back and forth. People are turning their heads to look at him. At that moment, I realize that I’m really lucky they paired me off with him, because it was obvious he was going to be picked. Who’s not going to watch him? “They’re probably watching us right now.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” He grins. “And they probably love it.”

  “Yeah, well…” I can’t say what I want to say. I can’t call them a bunch of vultures who get off on watching other people suffer and make fools of themselves. Talk about a sure-fire way to get kicked off the show. I look down at my phone, clutched in my palm. “Did your text say anything other than to be here at this time?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  “Terrific.” I feel like a doofus standing around with him. “Are we maybe supposed to check in and announce that we’re here?”

  “Why are you asking me these things like I’m gonna know the answers?”

  He sounds irritated and I whirl my head around to look at him. We stare at each other for a beat, and it takes everything I have in me not to kick him in the balls. “Why are you in such a crabby mood today? Somebody scratch your precious car again?”

  “I’m riding my motorcycle today.”

  Yeah, because that doesn’t make him sound like even more of a jerk? The guy’s got a nice car and a motorcycle, and he acted like I just killed his dog when I barely scratched the car. Spoiled baby. “Oh. Well. Very masculine. Congratulations on that.”

  He winces and that feels good, somehow.

  Our phones ding at the same time.

  “Saved by the bell,” he mutters as he pulls up the text.

  So do I. And my jaw hits the ground, or just about.

  Congratulations. You have made it to the destination of your first stunt. Enter the store, but do not come out wearing the clothes in which you went inside in. You are not allowed to buy any of the merchandise. You have fifteen minutes to complete your stunt. The clock starts as soon as you finish reading this text,’ I read, as I feel myself break out in a cold sweat.

  I look up at him and he is staring at me with a frown. Just like that, we’re on the same page. And we’re both gobsmacked.

  “They don’t come right out and say it, probably for legal reasons, but they want us to steal, don’t they?” I whisper, horrified.

  “I guess so.” He looks inside the building.

  My gaze follows his. It is full of people, but worse, a security guard goes through the door. My stomach feels like somebody poured concrete in it. “I’m not doing this. I can’t get arrested.” I start hyperventilating. “I’m not a thief. They can’t force us to break the law like this.” I glance up at him, trying to gauge his feelings.

  He nods. “I know. Maybe we can get away with it somehow, and not get in trouble.”

  “Are you kidding? The clothes in these stores have tags on them. Security tags. As soon as we walk past the sensors, we’re caught. I’m not going to prison.” My voice is high and squeaky. There is no way I’m going to steal.

  “How fast can you run?” he asks, with a wink.

  “Can you be serious?” I snap, losing my fear in my anger.

  “I was being serious.”

  “You’re crazy. I’m not doing it.” I dance from one foot to the other and wonder if the audience will think it’s funny when I pee my pants, because that’s pretty much what I feel like I’m about to do. I can already see myself getting handcuffed and arrested for stealing an outfit I don’t even need. A thought suddenly occurs to me. “What about underwear? Are we supposed to steal that as well?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Are you okay with us being known as underwear thieves?”

  “I don’t give a fuck what I’m known as. I just want us to complete the stunt.”

  “Millions of people are going to see us stealing from a department store. I’ll never going to get another job in my life. This is—”

  “So you’re just going to give up?” he cuts in coldly.

  It’s like a bucket of freezing water chucked in my face. I lose my hysteria instantly. I take a deep breath. “No.”

  “Well, then stop wasting time. Let’s get in there, and find a way to complete the stunt inside our allotted time.” He takes my hand.

  I’ve never felt such a strong manly clasp before, but I’m too busy being scared out of my wits to pull away.

  “Come on. Let’s eat the frog.”

  “What does that even mean?” I grumble as he pulls me through the doors.

  “It means get the hard stuff over with first.”

  “This is all hard stuff, Confucius,” I mutter as I jerk my hand away from his.

  We’re standing in the main concourse while three floors of departments loom above us. We both look up at the marble columns and brass railings.

  “Shit,” he whispers.

  I can hear panic in his voice for the first time. So maybe he’s human, after all. But that’s not going to help us. “Where do we start, do you think?” I ask, glancing around.

  “Well, first thing…let’s try to stop acting like shoplifters.” He takes my hand again, this time, gripping it so tight I can’t pull away. He leads me to the escalator. “Jus
t play it cool. We’re here looking for clothes for an event. I don’t care what. Make something up in your head to give you a story, something you’ll believe.”

  “Your funeral?” I mutter under my breath.

  “Or yours,” he mutters back.

  “Is a spangly red dress appropriate for a funeral?”

  “Sure, you can wear a spangly red dress to my funeral, Blondie,” he murmurs. “Whatever will give you something to focus on while we’re walking around. If you keep telling yourself you’re going to steal, you’re going to act shady and suspicious.”

  That much, I could believe. “Okay, I’ll do my best.” There aren’t many shoppers this early in the day, and on a weekday at that. “We would have be able to blend in better on the weekend, I think. More people. I feel so exposed.”

  “I’m sure they think about things like this when they set these stunts up.”

  “Yeah. They probably do. Do you think they are filming us right now?”

  He stares ahead. “Pretty sure, they are?”

  This is for Mom. This is for Mom. This is for Mom. Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll feel better about what I’m going to do.

  The women’s section comes up first, and I can barely put one foot in front of another. “What should I choose?” I mutter, looking around.

  “Something close to what you’re wearing,” he advises, looking me up and down. “Do they even sell clothes like that anymore?”

  “I swear to God.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Reflex.”

  “It’s a stinking sweater and jeans, dick,” I whisper as we start looking for something suitable through the casuals. “I mean, people wear sweaters and jeans all the time.” I thought I looked pretty cute when I left the house.

  “Not in this weather they don’t, but calm down. I was just busting your balls. We need to work together. We have less than ten minutes left.” He picks out a cable-knit sweater in a similar shade of cream to the one I’m wearing. “What do you think?”

  “Fine, fine.” I put it over my arm.