Page 7 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

Iwatch Allie take the stage once more, dressed in those same coveralls that first caught my eye. There's a difference this time, though—her gaze locks onto mine, loaded with a promise, a challenge, and it's the most intoxicating thing I've ever felt.

The bidding starts, a flurry of numbers flying around the room, but none of it registers. All I can focus on is the way she moves with a confidence that's as alluring as it is captivating. It's as if we're alone, caught in our own little world where the rules of etiquette don't apply.

I can't stand the suspense, the slow climb of numbers. With a decisive lift of my hand, I respond to an amount that silences the room—a bid that says more about my intent than any words could. The auctioneer catches the shift in the atmosphere, his eyes twinkling with understanding as he looks between us.

"She's all yours," he declares, his voice carrying a note of finality that seems to echo in the suddenly still ballroom.

I rise from my seat, the sound of my chair scraping against the floor echoing in the hushed space. As I make my way toward the stage, I realize everyone else in the ballroom is gone. The distance closes, step by step until I'm standing before her, the electric charge between us a living thing.

"Have you come to claim your prize?" Allie teases, her voice a sultry melody that pulls me in.

Without a word, I close the gap, my arm wrapping around her waist to draw her close. The world fades away as I lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that seals the promise of what's to come—a kiss that's both a beginning and an answer to the unspoken questions swirling between us.

The kiss deepens, driven by a hunger that's been building since the moment we first locked eyes. It's passionate, demanding, a declaration made not in words but in touch, in taste, in the unyielding hold we have on each other. And when we finally break apart, the look in Allie's eyes tells me everything I need to know—this is just the start of our adventure.

We stand there on the stage, the world around us still blurred into insignificance. There's a sense of rightness, of inevitability, as if everything that's happened tonight has been leading up to this moment.

"Allie," I whisper again, my voice a low rumble filled with anticipation. "Ready for that date?"

Her response sends a thrill through me, "I'm ready for whatever you want to do with me—or to me." The playful challenge in her eyes is unmistakable as she begins to untie the sleeves of her coveralls and pull them down, a move that's both bold and incredibly sexy.

But just as the vanishing fabric starts to reveal more skin, a jarring sound cuts through the thick tension—a persistent, annoying alarm. It pulls me back, away from Allie, away from what was about to unfold.

I wake up with a start, the dream evaporating like mist under the morning sun. I'm in my home office, not the auction, and I try to shake the dream that felt all too real. The room is quiet, save for the alarm ringing from my phone. I stand as I turn off the alarm, stretching out the stiffness, the remnants of the dream still flashing in my mind.

Time to get focused. My date with Allie is today. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, the excitement for what's to come igniting once again. That dream, as vivid and tempting as it was, is just a precursor to the possibilities that lie ahead. Allie, with her infectious laugh and those captivating green eyes, is waiting.

After selecting the perfect ensemble for the evening—a crisp, tailored shirt paired with dark jeans that strike a balance between casual and refined—I decide to check in on Caleb. My twenty-six-year-old law student son has carved out his own slice of independence in the spacious third story of my Brooklyn brownstone. With a set of stairs leading directly to his apartment, he enjoys a level of privacy most young men his age would envy.

As I ascend the stairs and enter his apartment, I find Caleb lounging on the sofa, absorbed in some TV show. He's inherited traits from both of his parents: my jawline and intense gaze. But he has his Latino mother’s skin, along with her dark, expressive eyes.

It's an arresting combination, and there's no denying Caleb is a handsome guy. His sharp wit and intelligence only add to his appeal, making him not only good-looking but genuinely interesting to be around.

"Hey, Caleb," I greet, leaning against the doorway. "Got a minute?"

He glances over, a quick, assessing look that shifts into a warm smile. "Sure, Dad. What's up?"

"Just wanted to touch base before I head out. You got plans this weekend?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

Caleb mutes the TV, turning to face me fully. "Actually, yeah. Mike's getting married next month, remember? This weekend's the bachelor party. We're heading upstate."

"Ah, that's right," I nod, recalling the details. "Sounds like it'll be a good time. You'll be gone the whole weekend, then?"

"Yeah, leaving in a few hours and coming back Sunday night," he confirms, a hint of excitement in his voice. It's rare to see him so animated about social plans; Caleb's usually more reserved, a trait he definitely didn't inherit from me.

I chuckle, the ease between us a testament to the close relationship we've nurtured over the years. "Make sure to keep an eye on Mike. We don't want him doing anything too crazy before the big day."

Caleb laughs. The sound is rich and full. "Don't worry, Dad. I've got it under control. We're just looking to have some fun, nothing wild."

I study him for a moment, pride swelling in my chest. "I know you do. Just be safe, all right?"

He meets my gaze, his expression softening. "Always am. You don't need to worry about me. So, what about you, Dad?" Caleb suddenly turns the table, a hint of curiosity lighting up his eyes. "Got anything special planned for tonight?"

I hesitate for a moment, caught off guard. My love life, or the lack thereof, isn't typically on the agenda for our talks.

"Not much, just a quiet evening planned," I respond, deliberately vague. Sharing details about my date, especially one as unconventional as this one is, feels like crossing an invisible line I've drawn in the sand over the years.

Caleb's sharp enough to pick up on my evasion; however, a playful smirk appearing on his face. "Come on, I can tell you’re lying. What's going on? Got a hot date or something?"

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