Page 33 of The Single Dad Dilemma

Ridge introduces Waylon to me first, who’s the tallest of them all. He’s equal parts imposing and goofy, which is a weird combination. His stature alone kind of makes you gulp, but in a very sexy way. He’s got tattoos that run all the way from his jawline down, his arms are covered, and in the shorts he’s wearing, I can see his legs are just as packed with ink. He wears a classic gold watch with a brown leather band, which gives him this odd sophisticated edge. His eyes are light blue, and coupled with his dirty-blonde hair, he looks like he could be a bit Scandinavian. You know, if the Scandinavians had a Mafia.

When he introduces me to Banks, there’s a lot of saliva in my mouth suddenly. He’s like, so pretty. Maybe too pretty. His eyes are deep green, which work magic with his nearly black hair. It’s pushed back like maybe he rakes his hands through it often. He’s clean shaven, which I don’t usually like, but it would be an absolute sin to cover up those dimples so I totally get it. And he might have the straightest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen in my life.Of all of them, he looks like he does double or triple the workouts they do. They’re all in great shape, but he’s just a little more toned.

Last, Ridge gestures to Killian. And he’s not just Irish in name. He’s got a quiet demeanor, much more reserved than the others. His hair isn’t a bright orange, but more like a reddish-brown. It pairs well with his light brown eyes and fair complexion. But I think it’s the haircut that takes him up a level. With ease, he’s pulling off one of those modern-day mullets, shaved very close on the sides and partying hard in the back. There are two little notches in his fade right at his left temple. It’s just really working for him.

“So, you must be the hot nanny,” Waylon says, sidling up in the chair next to me. He leans his forearm on the table, crowding my space ever so slightly.

“Um.” I panic a little because, what?

Ridge punches him straight in the arm with a decent amount of force, but if I had to guess, it was only a warning shot.

“You’re a dipstick,” Ridge says, shaking his head.

“A dipstick?” Waylon repeats.

Ridge looks over at Lou, who seems oblivious, but it’s clear he’s avoiding harsher language in the presence of little ears.

Waylon nods, catching his drift. And just like that, the conversation turns sort of normal. The guys all take turns asking me things at different times. Everyone laughs and we all get along so well, it feels like this isn’t even our first time meeting. Ridge seems to work with really great people.

But every once in a while throughout the conversation, my brain is like, “Hey, what was up with calling you the hot nanny?” Because—and call me crazy if you want—that sounded like he was repeating what he was told. Did Ridge tell him I was hot? Because the idea of that might make me pee my pants. Ina strictly metaphorical sense. Probably. The very idea has my nerves a little shaken.

But Ridge described Waylon as one of those people who never takes life too seriously. According to him, the guy is always having a good time and making jokes. He was probably just messing with me, trying to get a rise.

Though, sometime after everyone finishes eating and before we stand to leave—for one very delicious minute—I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to be worshipped by Ridge. To take and take with only my own satisfaction in mind.

Because I don’t have any evidence to support my claims. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s ten years older than me. Or that when he smiles at me, it reaches his eyes. Maybe it’s just the way he runs his fingers through his hair all sexy-like and I can’t help but to occasionally objectify him.

But if I was a bettin’ woman, I’d put my money on Ridge being a very thorough and generous lover. A giver, if you will.

SIXTEEN

RIDGE

There was a part of me that was a little nervous to have her meet all the guys. Waylon’s “hot nanny” comment being one of the reasons. I roll my eyes at the thought. Deep down, I knew one of them would make a slick comment.

I can’t imagine how uncomfortable she must’ve felt. She was probably like, “Ew, my boss is a creepy old guy who thinks I’m hot.” Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But still. Who says “hot nanny” out loud like that?

After lunch, we spent the rest of the day doing a few different things. Lou asked if there was a park we could go to, so after a few minutes of research, we walked a couple of blocks to a local park. She spent most of the time swinging, while Darcy and I sat at a nearby picnic table, watching her and talking.

I learned that she’s an only child, that her parents didn’t provide her a stable home, so she went to live with her grandmother who passed away her senior year. I learned that her friend and roommate, Lyric, is a mortician, which is really fucking interesting to me and I have a lot of questions. And then I found out just what kind of cocksucker her ex Tyler is. Hesounds insanely manipulative, and he treated her like absolute dog shit. It’s enough to make my hands crave a little violence.

She’s not the only one who shared, though. I felt like it was only fair to tell her about myself in exchange. I told her the story of how I fell into tattooing. And that’s literally how it happened. I excelled in art classes, went to college for fine arts, and was painting. Then, me and a couple of buddies went to a tattoo shop to get our very first tattoos. I was nineteen. I sat down with this guy who just looked cool as fuck. He had ink everywhere. When I walked out with a modest piece the size of my palm, it was instant addiction. I dropped out of school, the same guy who tattooed me took me on as his apprentice, and the rest is history.

Vanessa came up, of course, and I filled her in on the truth of the matter in more detail. We weren’t in love. We had a fling and it was what it was. But we had agreed from the moment she told me about Lou that we were going to co-parent like pros. There was no anger, no animosity, which I will always be grateful for.

And now, after a long day of sharing, we’re stepping back into the one hotel room with the one bed and I’m not panicking inside. All day, I’ve just wanted to reach out and touch her. Tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Brush my finger along her jawline. Press my nose into her collarbone and inhale her scent. Of course, I don’t think she has a clue, which is a good thing.

“I’m going to take a quick shower before bed, if that’s okay?” Darcy asks.

“Yeah, of course,” I say. “I’m going to get Lou’s chairs arranged and get something on this TV for her to watch while we wind down.”

Darcy nods as she pulls a couple of things from her bag. I’m only a couple of feet away. She turns to pick something up from the bed, and her bag topples over the edge of the mattress, spilling its contents onto the floor.

A bright yellow balls rolls towards me, stopping at my feet. Darcy freezes for a moment as I look from her to the yellow thing and back. I pick it up to hand to her, realizing it’s actually lemon-shaped and silicone. Realization hits me and I swallow hard.

“Oh my god, thanks. Yeah, um this is for my face,” she says, taking it quickly. “It, uh, like exfoliates.” Before I can say anything else, she grabs all her stuff and runs to the bathroom, then closes the door behind her.

I’m not an idiot. That’s definitely not for her face. That was a fucking sex toy. Darcy brought a sex toy, but I can’t read into it. She was under the impression she’d have her own room she could retire to. She assumed she’d have some privacy.

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