Page 25 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

Not me.

I slam the gate door behind me and lock it; the bolt scraping with disdain. That should be enough to let him know that his little plaything is not welcome to leave through our gate.

There’s a light now on in the kitchen. Fuck, Dad’s home. He’s probably going to want to hear about my day, ask me how packing went, ask me where I’ve been. I couldn’t possibly deal with an inquisition right now, not with how my eyes are pricking with tears.

I tuck myself up against the fence and sink down onto my bottom, pulling my legs up to my chest. My cheeks still burn from embarrassment.

I let Hunter Ricks in for a split second, and he’s managed to somehow break my heart. So utterly. How is this possible?

The worst part is, I knew better. I knew he was too old for me and that his flippancy toward sex and intimacy would somehow break my little heart.

Yet, I let it happen. I let it happen because for just an instant, I wanted something that didn’t make sense to want. I hoped. I risked. I did all of those things they say you have to do for love…or something like it.

And I failed spectacularly in less than half an hour.

What is wrong with me?

I’m going to need to contact Jordan for an emergency session. That much is obvious.

8

HUNTER

I lean my chin in my hand as I watch Jessica pick up a whole pancake with her fork and try to eat it. I’ve taught her how to cut things into bite-sized pieces, but she is adamant it’s faster just to stick things onto the fork and do her best.

Makes for a show with every meal, I’ll tell you that. However, her hair has gotten quite long and I’m slightly terrified she’s going to end up with a wad of maple syrup in her hair.

No matter, my mind is elsewhere. Half of it is on my steaming cup of coffee and how badly I already need a second one.

The other is on Amy.

In fact, my mind has been on Amy from the second she left a week ago, when we were interrupted by those awful text messages. To say I felt like an idiot would be an understatement. I couldn’t have known that Amy and I would find our way toward each other like that. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have invited her down. Or, I wouldn’t have even considered inviting a woman over for the night. The first I had invited since Amy came to my house in that damned bikini.

Amy felt like a second choice. And Amy Solace should never feel like someone’s second choice.

She wasn’t mine. She was my first that night and she continues to be my first whenever my mind gravitates toward the thought of being intimate with someone else or even just…just talking. In fact, that woman had been second choice to her. A means to an end. A way to see if I could take her out of my head.

Because for that whole time, I want it to be Amy.

“Want a bite, Daddy?” Jessica asks, holding her fork out with the half-eaten pancake.

I smile through my tiredness. “No thanks, honey.”

Her eyes look at me emphatically. “You look hungry.”

Not for food. Not hungry at all for food. For an opportunity. However, I indulge her spirit and take a nibble of her syrup soaked pancake. “Mmm, sweet,” I say, my mouth bristling at the saturation of maple. “Not as sweet as you, though.”

Jessica grins and shakes her head, putting the pancake back into a pool of syrup. “So silly, Daddy.”

Having a kid makes being a person hard. They notice everything. They can sense changes in mood and the way that you’re reacting to them. But they’re too small to understand it and certainly not nearly mature enough or old enough to be a sounding board for your issues. I’d obviously never ask that of Jessica. First of all, she’s three and, second of all, it’s important to me that she stay carefree for as long as possible.

I remember being a very serious child at home. At school, I was a class clown and would act out, which made for lots of visits to the headmaster’s office. At home, I had to be good. Especially around my father. He saw me so infrequently that when he was home, he expected me to be an ornament in his life, not an actual child.

That’s the opposite of how it should be. I want Jessica to feel as free as possible to be her whole self when she’s at home with me. She should feel safe to act out and feel her emotions, knowing I will always be here and love her, even if we have to work through some complicated things.

My smartwatch buzzes on my wrist. It’s an alarm to let me know it’s time to get Jessica in the car for day camp. That’s something that helps me a lot as a parent. Alarms. Alarms for bedtime, alarms for school drop off and pickup, alarms for dinnertime. When you’re a single parent, a truly “I’m-on-my-own” single parent, sometimes you need to make your alarms your copilot. “Okay, Jess, last few bites. Then we have to brush our teeth and jump into the car for camp.”

Jessica takes a humongous bite, tearing a majority of the pancake off her fork. She leaps out of the chair and puts her fists on her hips. “Ready!” she shouts with a mouthful of pancake.

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