Page 48 of The Single Dad Dilemma

With that, she walks off, and before Ridge can even ask, I inform him that pickles are her absolute favorite thing and she may in fact be eighty percent pickle juice on the inside.

A few minutes later, she’s back with a round of drinks. And a few minutes after that, Waylon, Banks, and Killian stroll in. I watch as the crowds of people literally part like the Red Sea as they move toward us.

I’ve noticed the same thing happening with Ridge. People just stop and stare for a few moments. Not that I blame them. Maybe their impressive physical stature is part of it, but I think it’s mostly the tattoos. Or rather, the way the two come together to form the perfect storm in one delicious specimen. And to see four of them at the same time? It scrambles your brain a bit.

“I just want you to know,” I whisper, leaning in closely so only he can hear me, “that you and your friends are like, really hot.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. “And which one of us is the hottest?” He raises his eyebrow at me in such a way that suggests there’s only one answer that’s acceptable.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it would be best if I saw all of you shirtless before deciding,” I tease, poking at his sides.

Ridge’s hand slides over my hip, and he grips my ass tightly as he pulls my body flush to his.

“What a little brat you are,” he says, then pulls me in for a kiss.

“If you guys are going to do that all night, can you tell me now?” Waylon’s familiar voice breaks our embrace and I giggle.

“Thank you!” Lyric says, taking a sip of her drink. “What the tattooed cowboy said.”

“Waylon, darlin’,” he says, holding his hand out to Lyric. “The name is Waylon.”

“Lyric,” she says, placing her hand in his.

Instead of shaking it, he pulls it to his mouth and plants a gentle kiss across her knuckles.

“Lyric? That’s a pretty name,” Waylon says. “But I’m still gonna call you darlin’.”

“Oh god,” Lyric says, rolling her eyes. “Give me your hat.”

He pulls the black cowboy hat from his head and hands it over with a surprising amount of willingness.

Lyric sets it on her head, then makes a couple of small adjustments as she checks herself out in the reflection of a nearby surface.

“Okay, for as long as you let me wear this hat, I will tolerate you calling me darling.”

“It’s darlin’.” He leans over the table toward her. “Gotta drop thatGat the end and say it with your soul.”

“Ope, sorry. I don’t have one of those.” She tips her new hat in his direction and then disappears into the crowd beyond her.

“Well, I’m invested in that,” Ridge whispers down to me, his attention on their interaction.

“Guys, we got eyes on us,” Killian says, hitching his thumb over his shoulder in Tyler’s direction.

Ridge fills them in on who Tyler is and what happened when we got here, then he admits that while he doesn’t think they’ll do anything stupid, he wanted them here just in case.

But he’s right. Tyler and his friends never come back over or say anything to any of us. When I pass him going to the bathroom, he doesn’t even look at me, just straight ahead.Maybe he was willing to run his mouth when there was only one tattooed guy and he had the numbers. And Tyler’s group still has the numbers, but I’m guessing he’s not feeling as confident in his boys as I am in Ridge and his guys.

Just looking at the two groups of men, they’re total opposites—one is made of boys wearing cargo shorts and baseball caps, while the other is a group of men with button-ups and boots. The only hat? A respectable black Stetson. Need I say more?

We spend some time on the dance floor, and I’ll tell you another thing men do better—dance. We sway and kiss, touch and laugh. Lyric dances with Waylon. Banks is very popular with some other ladies there. And Killian quietly sits at our table, watching our drinks and clocking Tyler every few minutes.

At the end of the night, we all pile into an extra-large Uber and drive to the house I share with Lyric. And normally I would leave her hanging with people she just met, especially guys, but something tells me I can trust them. She doesn’t seem to mind either.

I walk Ridge back to my room and shut and lock the door behind us. Laughter erupts from the other side, and it’s clear they’re all still having a great time. But me? I’m ready to peel out of these clothes and feel the weight of Ridge’s body on top of mine.

“Remember the hotel?” he asks, sliding a hand very slowly up my back.

“Yes.” I breathe deeply as he pulls at my zipper, undoing the back of the dress and letting it fall off my shoulders and down the length of my body until it hits the ground.

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