Page 74 of Dirty Little Midlife (fake) Date

“For letting me shave your face.”

He grins. “Not even a nick this time.”

“I did thatonce,” I protest, and he laughs—then tugs me in for a kiss.

Desmond’s kisses have always destroyed me. They’re heat-seeking missiles fired at the most vulnerable parts of me. It’s like he knows exactly how to tear me apart, bit by bit, rendering me completely powerless to his advances.

I kind of like it.

I stand in the vee of his legs, wrapping my arms around his neck, and I kiss him back with all the intensity I feel. He grunts like he’s been starved for me, like nothing in the world exists but him and me.

Pulling back, Des meets my gaze. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to do this after we got back to Heart’s Cove.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He kisses me, his arms tightening on my waist. “I thought it might only be for the weekend.”

“It’s still the weekend until tomorrow.” Grinning, I touch my nose to his, then pull away and hurry to the front of the shop. I flick the lock on the barbershop door and pull the blinds. He watches me from the chair, eyes dark. When I approach him again and slide my hands over his chest, Des lets out a low huff.

He pulls away before we can kiss again to stare into my eyes. Whatever grew between us in Colorado expands to fill the space that separates us now. Des’s hands cup my cheeks, his thumbs coasting over my skin. “I lo—I really like you, Mia. But you have a lot going on. Bailey has a lot going on. I don’t want to be in the way while you try to figure things out with your ex-husband.”

In the way? What does that even mean?

He must see my frown, because he continues by saying, “What do you need from me?”

“Des, just kiss me, please,” I say, not caring that I’m begging. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

A violent shudder courses through Des’s body, then he tightens his hold on me and crushes his lips to mine. I moan against his mouth, curling my arms around his shoulders. His thighs tighten on either side of me, pinning my hips in place.

“Mom? Des?”

I fly off Des’s chest, sending the barber’s chair spinning. Des clears his throat, stopping the chair with a foot on the ground. We both turn to look at the door at the back of the barbershop. Bailey stands in the open doorway, looking vaguely disgusted.

“Why were you kissing?”

“Hi, honey,” I squeak. “I was just giving Des a shave.”

Bailey arches an eyebrow. “Right.”

A noise comes out of Desmond that sounds suspiciously like a snort. He swallows thickly, then glances at me, hands spread helplessly.

“Is Des staying for dinner?” Bailey asks.

“Um.” I blink at my daughter, then at Des. They both stare back at me, so I look at Bailey again. “Do you want him to stay for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Bailey says. “There’s a Lakers game on tonight. We could watch it even though I hate the Lakers.” She frowns. “Unless you were going to watch it at home? You don’t have to stay.”

“No,” Des blurts. “I’d love to stay for dinner.”

Warmth tingles in my chest. It sounds like he really means it. Des stands, sending me a questioning glance. When I nod, he heads toward Bailey and ruffles her hair. She peeks around his chest to smile at me, and then they both disappear into the hallway.

Following after them, I find Bailey showing Des the doll, saying how much more she likes the socks he gave her. Des looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but if I’m reading his expression correctly, it also looks like he’s inordinately pleased.

I wink at him, finding the remote to turn the TV on to the sports channel. Bailey hops onto the sofa and pats the seat next to her for Des to sit in. When I’m in the kitchen getting snacks for the three of us, I hear Des ask, “What did you think of your dad?”

“He’s okay,” Bailey responds. “It’s kind of weird meeting him.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

---