Page 38 of The Single Dad

“Are you okay?” I ask. “I thought I heard a scream, or…” I trail off, not sure what to say.

“Yes, yes,” she says quickly, her rapid breathing calming down to a normal rate. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

As my eyes adjust to the dark of her room, I begin to realize that she’s flushed, her cheeks burning red. And… I can smell something in the air, sweet and musky. The way she’s breathing so hard…

Holy fuck.

She was having a sex dream.

As soon as I realize, my imagination goes wild, thinking about all the things she could’ve been dreaming about—all of the things that could have been happening in that dream.

Fuck. She’s tempting me in the worst ways. It was bad enough to be skirting around her for so long, thinking about the way she met my gaze while I stroked my cock that night.

I would fire her so that I could fuck her, but Archie fucking loves her. I’d be an idiot to shake up the kid’s life like that, especially when things just started to get normal.

Riley looks up to meet my gaze, and her eyes widen; she clearly knows that I can tell what just happened. There’s a moment of unbelievable tension between us, thick enough to cut.

Taking pity on her, I decide to give her a way out. I clear my throat and say, “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Yes,” she blurts out. “That’s—yeah. A nightmare.”

I nod. “I get it. I have them a lot.” As soon as I say the words, I regret them. I didn’t mean to let the personal detail slip; it just seemed like the natural thing to say to ease the awkwardness. She has a way of drawing these things out of me.

Riley blinks, looking curious and somewhat surprised. Tentatively, she asks, “What do you have nightmares about?”

I sink down onto the bed with a sigh. There’s no point in dodging the question now. It’ll only make things even more awkward between us, which is the last thing I want.

“I have nightmares about my sister,” I admit. “Of the night she died. It was… awful for me. I’m in a better place now, of course—for Archie’s sake, you know—but it’s still hard.”

“Oh,” she says, wide-eyed and taken aback.

“When I’m awake, it’s not so bad. But when I’m asleep, the nightmares become impossible to avoid.”

“Is that—” She hesitates for a moment. “Is that why you bury yourself in work?”

I chuckle softly at that. “Probably not. I’ve always been a hard worker, ever since I was a kid.” I tip my head to the side, considering her words. “Maybe that’s part of it.”

* * *

Riley

Cole—it feels wrong to call him Mr. Sullivan now that he’s in my room at three in the morning—sits on the edge of my bed. He wears a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, dark blue, plaid. His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, and he looks groggy, unfocused. He’s so much less untouchable like this.

So much more human.

I get the sense that not everyone gets to see this side of him, and it intrigues me. Between my legs, my clit still throbs from the remnants of my dream, and I’m still embarrassed that he burst in on me like this, but now that he’s sitting and talking to me, it’s honestly not so bad.

Of course, I know that he figured out what happened. And he knows that I do. But if we’re just having a conversation—an intimate, personal conversation, at that—it will help to ease the embarrassment.

It feels like he doesn’t just see me as his perky, cheerful nanny. I’m a person to him. And I’m grateful for it.

“And I wouldn’t say I bury myself in work,” he says, in an unsmiling attempt at humor. “That’s a little uncharitable, don’t you think?”

I shrug one shoulder. “Well… you work longer hours than anyone I’ve ever known. And I knew people who pulled double shifts at the restaurant.”

Cole huffs, a sound that’s similar to a laugh, but is more of a breath. “Yeah. Well.”

There’s a pause in which I stare at him, and he stares at the floor.

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