Page 54 of Single Dad Dilemma
I could call myself a lot of names, but that was the first time in my entire adult life I’d usedpetulant.
It looked like my Christmas present to myself was an absolutely untenable new situation with Barrett King. Because for a split second, just one teensy little second, when his arm had caged me in, I almost sort of, kind of, wanted him to kiss me.Reallykiss me too. Wrap his big hand behind my neck and tease my lips with his, slide his tongue into my open mouth and make one of those really great noises at the back of his throat—a deep, satisfied noise at the taste of me.
Just for a second, of course.
It hadn’t really been a teensy second, though. It had been a big one. It had been many seconds that made up many minutes. Then, when I lay in bed later, revisiting the horrors of those minutes, I swear I could feel the ghost of him, pressing me up against the wall behind my back. He’d tower over me, his body so much bigger than mine.
I don’t know what universe I was living in that a man towering over my anything sounded like a great fucking time, but regardless, it was where I found myself.
If I wanted to kiss you, I wouldn’t need a fucking plant to make me do it.
I laid a hand on my chest, the thundering of my heart the only distraction.
“I need a hobby. Or I need to go sightseeing.” An errant thought occurred to me. “Maybe I just need to get laid,” I whispered. “It’s been a while. That’s gotta be my problem, right? Any slightly attractive, non-smelly man could’ve trapped me under some mistletoe and I would’ve felt the same way. And I beat him in Scrabble, so my brain was already wired toward best possible outcomes in that house. It was just ... chance. Proximity.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “It’s not really personal to him at all. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
I looked over at the dog.
He started snoring. Loudly.
“Whatever. Besides, it’s not like he’s sitting at home talking aboutme.”
Barrett
“She cheats at Scrabble.”
The dish beneath my hand squeaked as I scrubbed the glass mercilessly.
“Uh-huh.”
I added more soap, flipped the water all the way to hot, kept my eyes laser focused on the casserole pan from dinner.
“She constantly tries to push my buttons. From the moment I met her, actually.” I gripped the sponge, the veins in my arms popping out as I scrubbed into the corner. “Don’t ask me how she’s so different with the kids. I think Christmas Eve was her idea, you know? Maybe Maggie didn’t even come up with the idea. Maybe it was Lily. And it worked.”
“I’m not sure—”
“And then,” I interrupted, “she tells me thatImust have hung the mistletoe. Like I’d ever hang mistletoe. Trapping people under some silly plant, forcing them into situations they don’t want to be in. Non-consent hidden under the facade of a horrible tradition.”
“Right.”
Two days.
It had been two days and I couldn’t force that woman from anywhere. Not from my brain. Not from ... other parts of my anatomy that were still very interested in thinking about her. Not from my—
No.
Once the gifts were finished—after Bryce opened up his gift from Lily with an awe-filled expression that made my throat tight—I’d made it through Christmas Day just fine. Watched football with the kids. Played a few more games—not Scrabble—and never once did I ask them about her or look next door or wonder, even the slightest bit, if she was sitting home alone that day too. Good for fucking me.
Not only that, but I survived one more day of my kids terrorizing the front offices before they went with Bridget to pick up my parents from the airport.
They were still awake when I got home from the office around ten p.m.
“And do you know what happened today at work?”
“It is very hard to say at this point.”
I kept scrubbing and scrubbing. “I was late to a meeting because I started looking up words for Scrabble.” My voice rose in volume with each consecutive word, and for the first time in my life, it felt like I was strapped to a runaway train. “Now she’s ruining my first day back to the office when I have the last game of the season against a division rival on Sunday—and if we lose, it’s going to be because I was thinking about mistletoe and Q words and how the hell she smells like cookies all the time!” I yelled.
The dish slipped out of my hands, clattering into the sink. Chest heaving, I braced my hands on the edge of the counter and hung my head.
