Page 71 of The Single Dad

In the spirit of our game, I affect the posture of an art critic, holding my hand contemplatively to my chin. “Ah. That’s a very interesting piece, Mr. Sullivan. What can you tell me about it?”

The piece in question features a lion, identifiable only by its spiky mane, standing next to a dinosaur, identifiable only by its long neck. The two wonky creatures are standing on a strip of green, beneath a strip of blue. A yellow semicircle—the sun, I assume—hangs above them.

“It’s Trevor and Dino,” Archie explains. “This is one of their adventures. It’s from my story last night.”

It’s hard to say what scene in particular Archie’s painting depicts, but I’m not about to tell him that. Instead, I smile and say, “What a brilliant composition. You’re a very good artist.”

Archie beams, holding up the painting proudly.

“Do you want to show your dad?” I ask.

Archie turns toward Cole, who is sitting across the room on a small couch tucked into the corner. He’s working casually, his laptop balanced on one knee. He looks up as I mention him, catching my eye briefly.

A little shiver goes down my spine.

We agreed not to do anything while I’m on the clock, or while we’re around Archie, so he can’t touch me at the moment.

But every evening for the past week, after Archie is in bed, he’s come to my room. It’s so fucking hot—it feels taboo, exciting. Cole has introduced me to kinks I didn’t even know I had.

With each passing day, I’m more excited for the night to come, to give myself over to Cole and trust him to make me feel incredible. The sound of his growling voice in my ear as he whispers filthy things to me makes me see stars.

And then each night, in the aftermath, as I lie on the bed in a sated heap, the moment is shattered. He leaves. I try not to dwell on it, but there’s something in my mind that balks whenever faced with the truth of what that means.

The obvious fact that this won’t ever be anything more.

Archie trots across the room to show Cole his painting, and I take a quick breath, forcing myself to remember my mantra. Just have fun. Olivia must have told me a thousand times by now.

Focusing on Olivia’s advice, I gesture to Archie. “Hey, let’s not move the painting off the newspapers while it’s drying! Bring it back over here.”

As Archie lays the paper back down on its bed of newspapers, I bend over to point at the sun. I take care to give Cole the perfect view of my ass.

While I’m waiting for tonight, I might as well do a few things to drive him crazy.

“This paint is still wet,” I tell Archie. “You could swirl a little bit of orange into the yellow, and it’ll look cool.”

Behind me, I can feel Cole’s stare. He’s definitely caught on to what I’m doing—and I think it’s working. I can practically hear him gnashing his teeth.

When I look back at him, he quickly looks back at his laptop screen like he’s trying to focus on his work. Despite his efforts, his gaze keeps sliding to me, and over the next half hour, I catch him staring every few minutes.

At seven o’clock, the second the clock on the wall chimes the hour, Cole stands abruptly. “It’s time to get ready for bed, Archie.”

“Aw,” Archie complains, looking over his shoulder.

“You’re covered in paint, and if we want you to be in bed by eight, we need to get you in the bath now.” There’s a briskness to Cole’s voice, despite his gentle tone. I can tell that he’s been waiting for this all evening. “Let’s go.”

I start to put away my brushes, ready to head upstairs and run Archie’s bath, but Cole holds up a hand to stop me.

“There’s no need,” he says. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”

“Really?” Archie looks up at Cole with wide, adoring eyes. “Are you gonna tell me a story?”

“Of course, bud.” Cole ruffles his hair, and I feel a flutter in my chest. I love seeing Cole with Archie. He’s a little stiff sometimes, in the way that people sometimes are when they don’t know how to interact with kids, but he clearly loves the little boy.

Archie puts his brushes into a cup of water, then gets up from the floor and follows Cole out of the room. Quickly, I busy myself clearing up the newspaper and hanging up Archie’s painting to dry. I clean off the brushes in the sink, then hurry upstairs.

From down the hall, I can hear the sound of Archie’s laughter, and the faucet running. I hear the deep rumble of Cole’s voice in response, though I can’t tell what he’s saying.

A shiver of anticipation goes down my spine. Buzzing with arousal, I go straight to my room, closing the door gently behind me.

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