Page 4 of Grumpy Single Dad

I sigh, shaking my head because dating is the last thing that should be on my mind.

What was supposed to be a fun father-daughter camping trip turned into a disaster. But I have to say that running into Mariah at her ice cream shop was the best thing I could have imagined.

Dinner is delicious, and the ice cream is even better. We're about to put on another movie for Frankie, but it's clear that she can't keep her eyes open much longer.

"She's had a long day," Rye whispers to me as she strokes my daughter's hair.

I know it's not intentional, but as Frankie leans against Rye, I can sense the comfort and safety my daughter feels with thiswoman. Once Rye started moving her fingers through Frankie's dark brown strands, Frankie dozed off.

I don't know what these feelings surging through me mean. I don't want my heart putting Frankie on the line because I see the potential of who this random stranger could become for the both of us. I resign myself to keeping my distance from the generous woman who owns an ice cream shop.

Memories of the last time I carried Frankie to bed are fleeting. She might have been five or six, and she's definitely heavier than I remember. But the moment I put her in bed, she smiles and turns over. Her breathing is soft, and watching her sleep eases my nerves.

The faintest whisper reaches me as I leave the bedroom. "Night, Dad."

"Good night, Frankie," I tell her softly and head back downstairs. Rye's washing dishes, drawing me close, and I stop myself just as she tosses a glance over her shoulder.

"Is she all tucked in?" she asks, using a towel to dry the wet dishes and place them back into the cabinets. "You can crash in the other bedroom. The sofa in the office pulls out into a bed. I can sleep in there."

"No." My voice is low and gruff as I say, "I'll take the sofa bed, and you take the spare bedroom. You've done more than enough for me and Frankie. I won't let you sleep on a couch on top of that."

Something about the mere mention of what Rye should or shouldn't be sleeping on top of drags my mind down to the gutter. I'd much rather her sleep on top of me, but that's just my little head speaking for the bigger one—the bigger one thatknows better. My lack of a love life is no reason to let my lewd imagination take over.

"Sleeping on that couch won't be the hardest thing I've ever slept on," she replies with a grin that sends tingles down my spine.

Tipping my head to the side, I can't stop myself from asking her, "What's the hardest thing you've ever?—"

Before I can get my question out, the storm outside surges. A crash of lightning and an explosion of thunder rattles the walls. My head shifts and my ears perk as I listen for the sounds of Frankie waking up. Thankfully, there's nothing but silence until a thud from outside rattles the two of us.

"I'll go take a look." I move toward my coat hanging by the front door. On the floor right under it is the gun case I bring while traveling. I never leave home without it. However, I don't remember bringing it inside.

I'm certain the confusion on my face propels her to speak as Rye says, "I brought it in. Doesn't make sense to leave that in the car. It won't be of much use to anyone out there."

I give her a slight nod. "Thank you. I didn't want to assume or bring it in here without letting you know I have that with me."

"It's fine, Dallas. Truly, it is. I'm actually surprised you don't have more firearms since y'all were going to be camping," she says, walking toward me and drying her hands with the dish towel.

The slightest whiff of raspberries comes off her hair as she moves by me to squat and examine the case. She doesn't touch it but eyes it with curiosity. When I kneel beside her, our bodies lightly touch. It ignites something buried deep inside of me.Buried so deep I’ve forgotten what it feels like, and the intensity is almost like a gut punch.

To avoid putting my foot in my mouth or using my mouth to capture hers, I grab the case and rise to my feet. When I extend my hand for her to take, the graze of our palms touching is like a jolt to my system. Blood and primitive urges of excitement course through my body at a pace that has my heart pounding.

The desperate yearning of my body to be close to hers is distracting me from going outside to check on the noise. Her supple pink lips, perfectly kissable in every way. The curves of her silhouette make me want to take her into my arms and hold her against me forever.

Delicately shaking away my burgeoning sexual fantasies, I find my voice to tell her, "I didn't want to bring an entire arsenal with me. I picked one of the sites that have a mix of stuff for kids and campers. The campsite has showers, a pool, and a bunch of stuff to make sure everyone has plenty to do. With all that entertainment, they keep wildlife and riff-raff at bay."

"Wildlife and riff-raff, huh?" she chuckles. "That sounds like one of those things my dad says."

Jesus. I don't want to sound old.

"How old are you?" I ask her.

"Twenty-five."

"Thirty-six," I reply. "You're so young and running that ice cream shop all by yourself?"

She shrugs. "My first job about a decade ago was there. When the previous owner wanted to retire, they left the business tome. I've only ever worked there. So youth and experience don't exactly line up here."

"I'm impressed," I admit, but the perverted corners of my mind bully their way to the forefront. I can't stop myself from wondering about her experience in other aspects of her life. I want to know what her hand looks like wrapping around my cock, what her tongue tastes like, how that ass of hers feels bouncing up and down on my lap.

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