Page 30 of The Single Dad

Chapter 9

Riley

The next morning, I wake up before my alarm. Immediately, I’m hit with a wave of embarrassment, my stomach churning before I even sit up.

I could hardly sleep last night. The image of Mr. Sullivan standing there, holding his massive cock, staring at me with what I can only describe as lust.

I can’t believe I did that.

It was hot as hell watching him, but I don’t even get the luxury of focusing on that, because mostly, I’m just ashamed. I can’t believe I did that.

What was I thinking?

I spent the entire night lying awake in bed, realizing, over and over again, what Mr. Sullivan probably meant. He was embarrassed, of course, and he was telling me, unequivocally, to leave.

He wanted me to get out. And instead, I stayed.

God, I am so fired.

I pull myself out of bed and get dressed slowly, still kicking myself. I head into the bathroom to wash my face, staring at myself in the mirror for a long moment.

The last thing I want to do is go downstairs, but I have to. It’s Friday. Archie has pre-K today, and I don’t want to be late. I’m convinced that my job is in jeopardy already; the last thing I need is to make that even worse.

“Come on,” I tell my reflection quietly. I run my fingers self-consciously through my loose, dark brown hair. The ends fall past my shoulders. I gather my hair into a messy ponytail for convenience’s sake, then let my hands fall back to the rim of the sink.

“Come on,” I repeat. “Get over yourself. It was a simple mistake. You have to face him again eventually.”

I swallow, then rinse my face with a splash of cold water and head out of the room to face the day.

Down in the kitchen, Mr. Sullivan is sitting at the counter, as he is every morning. He looks up as I enter. His gaze is cool and closed-off.

“Coffee?” he asks dispassionately.

“Sure,” I reply, hesitant.

Mr. Sullivan gets up from his stool, heading over to the espresso machine to get a latte started. While the machine splutters, heating the coffee, we stand in awkward silence.

Part of me wants to just ignore what happened, but I know from experience that it’s a bad idea to let things like this go unspoken. It’ll just make everything worse in the long run.

I clear my throat. “So, about last night…”

“I don’t think we need to talk about it,” he interrupts curtly.

I open my mouth to say more, but before I can get a word out, he cuts me off.

“It’s fine,” he says. “We just need to learn how to navigate around each other. We’re in an adjustment period. Archie and I are still getting used to having someone else in the house, and to sharing space. I’ll be more careful about boundaries and locking doors in the future.”

I wince at his frosty tone. “Mr. Sullivan, I am so, so sorry. I—”

“It’s fine,” he repeats coolly, brushing it off before I can stammer out my apology. “We don’t need to know about each other’s lives. I think we can both agree to leave our personal lives out of this arrangement, since they have no bearing on the job you’ve been hired to do.”

I nod in agreement, my mouth dry. “Of—of course.”

“Consider my bedroom off-limits,” he continues. “If you need something from in there, ask me about it.”

“Got it,” I say, embarrassment flooding me all over again.

The coffee machine stops, and Mr. Sullivan takes the cup out from under it, grabbing the steam wand to foam the milk. As he prepares the latte, he adds, “Oh, and I should probably mention—sometimes, I’ll have women over.”

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