Page 19 of Who's Your Daddy?

Lia is just another one of those women. No biggie. Dime a dozen, right? Granted, there aren’t dozens of women walking around with big, beautiful, striking hazel-brown eyes like that. And I certainly haven’t met a dozen women — or evenoneother woman — who has a body quite like that.

Long, lean legs...

Round, perky tits...

Smooth, supple skin...

Full, luscious lips...

She’s got a sweet, girl-next-door kind of face, but those lips...

Fuck me. Those lips have no business being on a face like that. That face creates the illusion of innocence and wholesomeness, but those lips are an instant trigger of lascivious thoughts. They’re plump, kissable, and ineffably softer than they look. Those are the kind of lips that get teenage boys hooked on porn. The kind of lips that play on your mind all day until the constant fantasy of how good they would feel around your cock becomes so painful and severe that you end up jerking off in the shower.

Not saying I did that...

Fine. I just did that.

I’m not proud.

And then, to top it all off, she’s witty and has a laugh I could listen to for hours. That laugh is accompanied by a tiny dimple on the apple of her left cheek just below the corner of her eye. It’s the oddest place for a dimple, but damn, is it cute.

Maybe that’s a little unique. Maybe all those things combined make her stand out a tiny bit. I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve had a constant boner since Thursday morning because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I’m sure it’s not evenherthat’s got me reeling like this.

I hate to admit it, but she was right. My brain has trouble processing rejection. Waking up alone was an obvious blow to my ego, and I have to be man enough to admit thatthat’swhat’s bothering me. Not her.

I turn off the shower and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. Dylan’s bachelor party is tonight, so I’m just going to push her out of my mind and enjoy a Saturday night out with my friends. Some booze. Some dancing. Some women. She’ll be forgotten by morning.

After drying myself off, I pull on a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, and a slim-fit mahogany leather jacket. Dylan is in the kitchen waiting for me when I walk downstairs. It’s embarrassing how excited he is, considering that this is ajointparty for him and Isabella. Who does that? A bachelor party is supposed to be a night filled with filth and depravity. I wanted strippers and cigars and copious amounts of alcohol. But Dylan believes that his fiancé’s tits are the only tits he should ever see, so we have to settle for wholesome PG13 fun.

“Where’s Scott?” I ask, tugging up the sleeves of my jacket.

“Outside. I asked him to call Bella and tell her we were leaving to make sure she’s ready by the time we get there.”

“We could just ditch her and have a real party tonight.”

He doesn’t even respond to that and heads out the front door. Scott is already seated in the limousine parked in my driveway and hangs up the phone when we get in.

“How you doin’ over there, Scott?” Dylan asks as he shuts the door. “You’re looking a little pale...like the ghost of girlfriend’s past has come back to haunt you.”

Scott narrows his eyes at him as if he’s strangling Dylan in his mind. Although Scott is a math teacher, his buzz cut and broad shoulders make him look like a marine. That alone makes his threatening stare look more dangerous than it is. “Fuck off, Dyl.”

Scott’s tone is one I’ve used on Dylan many times before. His annoying habits have a way of pulling those kinds of retorts out of us. It’s not necessary for him to rag on Scott right now. The night is going to be awkward as all hell without any help from him. Scott dated Isabella’s sister, Catalina, back in high school, and she’s coming along on our PG13 adventure tonight. He hasn’t seen her since they broke up five years ago, and Dylan, being the jerk that he is, is not making the situation any easier.

Look, on the upside, I’m glad he’s feeling better. We were playing basketball earlier today, as we do every second Saturday. But Dylan was out of it today. When we pressed him, he said he found out that he can’t have kids. A confession like that just out of the blue totally killed his usual happy vibe, and he was still a little depressed when we left the court. These jabs at Scott prove that he’s back in high spirits, but are they really necessary?

“No need to be a dick,” I say, and Dylan’s eyebrows rise at the comment.

“Dick behavior begets dick behavior. Just ask him about the voice note he sent to me after I got divorced.”

Scott drops his head and snickers. “If that’s the standard...I deserve everything he throws at me, Pete.”

He changes the topic before Dylan adds more fuel to the fire, and we talk about sports until we stop outside Isabella’s house fifteen minutes later. The widest grin takes over Dylan’s face the second he sees his fiancé. She is wearing a skimpy red number, and he can’t keep his eyes off her as she climbs into the limo and sits down beside him.

Catalina and Isabella’s best friend, Tommy, come in after her and seat themselves between me and Scott. Although there is a slight sizzle of tension between Cat and Scott, they don’t say much to each other.

“Oh, my God!” Dylan shouts. “I am the luckiest guy in the world. My fiancé is so hot! I can’t wait to marry you.”

It takes an insane amount of effort to not roll my eyes. I don’t know if what he said is corny, pathetic or...kinda sweet. “I’m sure you’re counting down the number of sleeps like a child before Christmas.” Grabbing a bottle of champagne from the small bar fridge next to me, I unwrap the top and pop it open. I pour everyone a glass, then raise mine to the happy couple. “To the future Mr. and Mrs. De Lorenzo.”

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