Page 36 of The Single Dad

OLIVIA: The worst…

OLIVIA: He’s such a hard-ass

ME: Cole is kind of a hard-ass, too.

OLIVIA: But he’s gorgeous. It’s not the same.

ME: Fair enough

OLIVIA: Anytime you wanna swap, let me know

ME: Lol, I’m good, thanks

ME: Sorry you have to put up with him, tho. I’m sure something better will come along.

OLIVIA: Yeah, I hope so.

OLIVIA: Anyway, I have to get an early start tomorrow, so I’m gonna go to bed.

ME: Probably a good idea.

ME: Goodnight!

OLIVIA: Goodnight :)

I plug my phone into the wall and get changed into pajamas—a simple gray tank top and shorts. I go through my nightly routine, mulling over the conversation I just had with Olivia while I brush my teeth.

It figures that Olivia wants me to get together with my boss, after putting up with so much bullshit from hers. But that’s the problem. The idea of starting something with her boss is unthinkable, repulsive. It’s distant enough that she’s never thought about what might go wrong in a situation like this.

Namely, that my job itself would be in danger.

I finish brushing my teeth, then comb my hair and head back into the main bedroom.

As I settle into bed, my thoughts have shifted to my strange run-in with Mr. Sullivan. Honestly, it shouldn’t have been that strange. People run into each other all the time. Awkward physicality is just part of sharing space.

So why did it get me so flustered? And, for that matter, why did he seem to feel the heat, too? I know I wasn’t the only one acting tense.

Groggily, I sink into the pillows, turning onto my side. Is this real, this magnetism between us? What if I’m just imagining it—making something out of nothing, turning completely normal interactions into awkward, stilted encounters?

Does he even feel the same attraction toward me that I do for him? Or is this all one-sided?

Even as I drift off to sleep, my mind is spinning with frustration.

* * *

I stand at one of the large windows in Cole’s house, in the lightly-used sunroom where I set up my easel, looking out at a beautiful sky. I’m thinking about painting it; the clouds are like strange wisps of satin, and I know they would be stunning rendered in watercolor.

Before I can turn back to my easel, though, I feel arms wrapping around me from behind, strong and well-muscled. The touch is gentle, but it still spikes my heart rate. That’s nothing, though, compared to the electric sensation of a kiss on my neck.

A sudden, desperate feeling builds in my core. Desire. Need.

His voice is in my ear. “What am I going to feel if I touch you?”

I can’t respond—I can only whimper. His hand slides down the side of my body, fingertips gliding over my tight-fitting shirt and finding their place between my legs.

“It’s only fair,” Cole whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “You saw me come. I want to feel you come.”

His fingers begin to set a rhythm against my clit, over my pants. The fabric between his touch and my core frustrates me; it’s an unnecessary barrier, and I want it gone. It’s going to drive me insane.

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