Page 8 of Single Dad Dilemma
I took a pause on the front step and tried to rein in the out-of-control feeling kicking my pulse dangerously high.
It didn’t work.
I knocked on the front door, tipping my head back to stare up at the darkening sky.
The music kept playing. Another scream of laughter and a loud thumping sound had me cursing under my breath.
I knocked again. Louder.
No change from the inside.
Heat crawled across my neck, a dull burning sensation that could either be the beginnings of a heart attack or flames threatening to split my skin open.
Whoever this woman was ... she would hate me by the time this was over, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care.
Chapter Three
Lily
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked, peering over Maggie’s shoulder.
“Yes,” she answered with an emphatic nod.
“I guess we’ll find out when we get to the bottom.” I tapped her arm. “Helmet.”
“Do I have to?”
“Oh yeah.” I tucked some hair behind my ears. “And you guys do this at home?”
The kids shared a look. “Yup,” they said in tandem.
“Why do I feel like I’m getting manipulated right now?” I muttered.
Bryce handed his sister a bike helmet—the one he’d snagged from their garage about thirty minutes earlier, when they’d convinced me this wasthe best idea ever—and she tugged it on, buckling the strap under her chin.
The moment they turned those big dark eyes in my direction, I was a fucking goner. As a kid, this was exactly the kind of thing I would’ve wanted to do, if our house had an entryway like this.
The staircase was big, the kind of sweeping, grand thing that dominated all the homes built in that time period. Scott and Patty had told me to make myself at home when I arrived.
Was this what they had in mind?
Highly doubtful, but with Maggie’s concussion risk minimal and me holding her tight from behind to bear the brunt of any unforeseen carnage, I decided this was exactly what I’d be doing if I were babysitting two adventurous preteens in my own home.
I mean, my home didn’t exist, because the nomad lifestyle didn’t really jibe with a mortgage, butifI had a home, andifI had a big-ass staircase, I’d do some mattress surfing in a heartbeat.
“Ready?” I asked.
She wiggled herself farther down onto the mattress, nodding over her shoulder. “Ready.”
Bryce must’ve turned up the music, because the heavy pop bass echoed through the entryway as I pushed us off from the top step. They were fun kids, but holy hell, the music choices of this generation left something to be desired. I’d have to pour bleach down my ear canals before the night was over.
I pushed off, and Maggie squealed as the mattress slid down the wooden steps, the jarring bounce, bounce, bounce left me laughing breathlessly and in possession of a bruised tailbone when we came to a halt as the front of the twin mattress hit the ground. We toppled forward, ass over teakettle, and Bryce pumped his fists in the air, running down the steps after us.
“That was awesome!” he yelled over the music.
I flopped onto my back with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”
“Can we do it again?” Maggie’s face hovered over mine, her grin almost impossible to resist. “That was the funnest thing I’ve ever done.”
