Page 28 of The Single Dad Dilemma

My eyes widen a little as his statement. It throws me completely off guard. That was… intense. Right?

Ridge clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, you know, because you’re so good with Lou.”

Right. Lou.It’s nothing, Darcy. Don’t get your panties in a wet twist.It’s about his daughter and nothing else. Think about it. He’s a good-looking, successful, single dad. He’s nice and responsible and has his shit together. For fuck’s sake, he’s a decade older than me. He’s not interested in some college girl who gets sloppy drunk and texts her boss to help her out of a bad situation. That’s a whole lot of drama, and something tells me Ridge is not about the drama.

“Of course,” I say, nodding chaotically. My center of gravity is still out of whack. I feel like a bobble head doll stuck to the dash of someone rolling over one pothole after another.

“Anyway, I should get out of your hair. I wouldn’t want to ruin any more of your coveted kid-free weekend.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says. “And Darcy, I want you to look at me when I say this.”

I’d turned away, ready to retrieve my shoes and glasses from his bedroom. But I stop in my tracks when he says that, and turn back toward him.

His eyes are intense and fixed on me. Their darkness is so commanding.

“If you are ever, and I do mean ever, in trouble—if you ever need me like that again—do not hesitate to call me or text me or drive here. I’ll be there for you,” he says.

My heart constricts. Why, oh why is he saying all of these wonderful things to me? I can’t take it.

“I will.” I choke down the lump in my throat.

He nods and offers to drive me home, but I decline, insisting he’s already done enough. So then he offers to call me an Uber while I get my shoes. I accept since my phone is dead, but he refuses to let me pay him back for it, too, even though I insist like three times. It’s a real resistance-is-futile situation.

I collect my shoes and put on my glasses, then take some of the medicine he left for me and stop into the bathroom to relieve my bladder. Shock registers on my face when I get a look at myself in the mirror. There’s smeared mascara under my eyes, and my hair is frizzed up. I smooth it down as best as I can and use the hair tie around my wrist to pull it into a messy knot. I’ll deal with it when I get home.

This is not a glorious moment for me. I would just like to put that on record. In fact, this is my hell. If hell is a making of your own worst fears and each person’s hell is totally different based upon their own psyches, then mine is most definitely feeling like a fool in front of Ridge Jessup. Yes, specifically and only Ridge Jessup.

I make my way back to the living room, where Ridge is waiting by the door.

“Your ride will be here any minute,” he says. “I put some coffee into a travel mug for you.”

“Ah, you take such good care of me.” I giggle pathetically. “I’m so spoiled.”

“As you should be,” he says as I come to stand by him. His eyes skirt away from meeting mine, like he’s just as surprised that he said that as I am.

“So I’ll see you Monday,” he says, opening the door.

I nod, and to avoid any more blunders, I settle on not saying anything else. I give him a wave, clutching the travel mug to my chest and making a mental note to wash it and return it when I come back.

And like, thank fuck I’m coming back, right? Wow, I have such a nice boss.

A nice boss with a nice ass and a heart of gold. Fucking great.

FOURTEEN

RIDGE

I’m in a panic. That’s the only way I can really describe it. It’s Thursday. Tomorrow, I’m scheduled to leave for a tattoo convention, which means Lou was supposed to go with Alma and George tonight. And I told Darcy she didn’t need to come over tomorrow.

Ten minutes ago, at exactly 4:37, Alma texted me. She’d normally call but the first thing she said was that she’d lost her voice. Her and George have caught some bug. Their throats are sore, voices nearly gone; they have fevers and chills. Basically, a shit sandwich. I feel terrible for them.

But I also feel terrible for me, because they were my guaranteed weekend childcare for conventions this summer. Which leaves me very fucking short on options for tomorrow.

If I bail, the guys would understand. They probably wouldn’t even sweat it. But I would feel bad. I’m supposed to be a leader. I don’t want to leave my team to fend for themselves when I’m the one with all the information for registration and accommodations.

“You know what you have to do,” Waylon says from the door.

It’s not a question—more a statement. A moment ago, I’d yelled the word “fuck” very loudly when reading Alma’s texts. He appeared at the doorway a second after, and I told him what was wrong. And that’s when I panicked.

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