Page 30 of Single Dad Dilemma
It wasn’t like I was devoid of male companionship in my travels. I’d had some great companionship. Didn’t-even-have-to-fake-it-with-anyone kind of companionship. But in general, I didn’t chase it. I didn’t care enough to chase, because that was just one more thing that might make it harder to leave, and no one had time for that shit.
Me. I was no one.
I stopped, studying a framed photo of a slightly younger Barrett wearing a football uniform, face stoic as he stood in between an older couple that must be his parents. The chiseled features were sweaty and dirty, black streaks under his eyes, and the curves of the muscles in his arms covered in streaks of green from the grass. Even then, not a smile in sight.
Maybe his face would break if he tried. Shatter from the force of trying to use muscles that never got used. Then I snorted, because what a fucking hypocrite I was. Like I was any better.
There was a side effect to living the life I led. Meeting people all over the country, from all walks of life, you started recognizing patterns. You could see things that others might not always see so quickly. And in Barrett King, I could see, quite clearly, someone who’d work himself to the bone trying to prove ... something.
I wasn’t sure what; I didn’t know him well enough. But it was enough of a mystery that the seed of interest had been planted and bloomed before I could do a damn thing to stop it.
There was a shuffling sound behind me, and I tilted my head as I continued to study the picture in front of me.
“Does your dadeversmile?”
There was a beat of silence.
“Sure,” answered a deep voice. “Just usually not at prickly neighbors with the social skills of a potato.”
The sound of Barrett’s voice—low and measured and just that hint of annoyance—had me pinching my eyes shut and fixing my face into an approximation of a polite smile before turning.
There was no way it worked. I probably looked like I’d chugged battery acid instead.
How did a man that big ninja-sneak into a house? From the size of him, he should have heavy footsteps, a telltale slam of the door. Something to prepare a girl to, you know, not be snooping in his shit.
“You’re home early,” I said slowly, absolutely hating the blush flooding my cheeks. Blushing! For fuck’s sake. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been embarrassed by anything, and the fact that this time it was him made me want to scream into a pillow.
“I did text you.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” I hedged, shifting away from the bookshelf like I hadn’t been two seconds away from riffling through family albums.
Of course I hadn’t heard anything. My phone was in my soggy-ass coat.
“It’s not my fault you ignored your phone.” It was the utterly unrepentant gleam in his eyes that made my cheeks feel hot. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who liked pushing buttons. “Just keep in mind who’s breaking the rules here. I did uphold my promise that you’d never have to see me.”
“You didn’t say I could never come over,” I argued. “Should I have left your kids in their freezing-cold clothes?”
“No.” His eyes started at the top of my head, which was covered in a black beanie with a fluffy white pom-pom on top, to the blanket around my shoulders, stopping on my feet—the feet currently wearing his slippers—where they narrowed imperceptibly.
I swallowed. “My feet were ... cold.”
“Apparently. Do you always help yourself to strangers’ clothing?”
“Only when absolutely necessary.” I tilted my head. “I wasn’t sure you wanted my little piggies falling off in your entryway, what with the impending hypothermia and all.”
“How long were you outside?”
“About an hour and a half.”
He let out a disbelieving scoff. “Unless you were out there half dressed, you aren’t at risk of hypothermia. It’s in the high twenties.”
“Fucking freezing,” I amended.
“Can’t hack it? You’re in the wrong place for winter, then.”
“Yeah, lake effect, whatever, I heard all about it.” I tightened the blanket around me as the tiniest shiver racked my frame. He noticed,his gaze dragging from head to toe again, like he was scanning for injuries. “It’s snow. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll remember that when we get eighteen inches in a weekend.” I narrowed my eyes, ready to call bullshit, but Barrett glanced up the stairs. “What are they doing up there?”
