Page 47 of Summer with the Single Dad

But she must have re-read the same paragraph sixteen times because her brain was too tuned into the sounds of the house. The sounds that Bennett was making downstairs. Then upstairs in the bathroom when he came to brush his teeth.

Was he wearing a shirt?

What did his feet look like?

She’d never been a foot person—she actually found them kind of gross—but something told her Bennett had big feet. Nice feet.

Why the hell did that thought pop into her head?

She slammed the heel of her palm against her forehead. “Stop it. Just. Stop.”

It was ten o’clock by the time she turned out the light and snuggled under the covers. Under Bennett’s covers. Because she was in Bennett’s bed. Where he slept. Where he … did other things that most people did. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to open up his nightstand drawer and snoop. But he probably took any lube or masturbatory devices out before she moved in. He wasn’t an idiot.

He was the opposite.

He was considerate. He was kind. He was patient.

He was smart.

He was sexy.

He was … everything she’d ever hoped for in a partner.

Too bad she didn’t deserve him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She should have known better. In fact, she did know better. So why didn’t she do it?

Why didn’t she set her alarm for four in the morning, or six, so that way she avoided running with Bennett? Because she was such a creature of habit that her body woke up at five o’clock without an alarm. And … she wanted to see him. She wanted to run with him.

But she refused to admit that last part and blamed her military-precise circadian rhythm.

When she descended the stairs to have her protein shake in the kitchen, she wasn’t surprised, but pretended that she was, when Bennett was already there, standing over the sink, having his own protein shake. Her face and chest heated as the very vivid dreams from last night came flooding back. Especially when he lifted the blender bottle and his bicep popped in his tight-fitting fitness shirt.

The dreams had been hyper-realistic.

And dirty.

Every single one left her breathless, her panties damp, and her body flushed.

All of them left her needing a cold shower and with a hollow feeling in a very intimate part of her body.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” she said, as she came to an abrupt stop just on the edge of the kitchen.

“Why are you apologizing?” How was he able to make a black, moisture-wicking, long-sleeve running shirt with the reflective stripes, black running shorts, and a headlamp look like a freaking sexy tuxedo? It was incredibly unfair. And she couldn’t look away.

“I … I don’t know.” The man left her tongue tied and the longer she stared at that popped bicep, the hotter her body grew, and the more those dreams flashed into her mind.

He gave his shaker bottle a thorough rattle, then gulped down the rest of the chocolatey mixture, mesmerizing her with each sexy undulation of his prominent Adam’s apple.

Why was that a turn on? Why did everything he do turn her on?

She should have left her protein powder and shaker in her room. There was no need to keep it in the kitchen. When she got back after her run, she’d move it.

“You fuel up before a run too?” he asked, rinsing out his blender bottle.

She nodded and told herself, and her libido, to calm down. “I can’t workout on an empty stomach, but I also can’t workout with anything real in my stomach either. Protein powder and water is the perfect solution.” She scooped her chocolate powder into her own shaker bottle and filled it up from the sink.

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