Page 4 of Wrong Number, Right Single Dad
Besides, I can always find another fuck buddy. God knows there’s no shortage of men out there looking for no-strings fun.
Tightening the belt on my trench coat, I tuck my full charged phone into my pocket. As instructed, I sent Katie the house’s address and shared my location with her.
Grabbing my keys—and nothing else—I make my way up the walk to his house.
It really is a cute place. The walk is made out of cobblestones. There are neatly trimmed hedges and a pot of geraniums on the porch. There’s even one of those ceramic gnomes tucked away under a picture window.
This is the exact kind of home my mom always wanted for us. If she could only see me now.
Actually, nix that. I definitely wouldn’t want my mom to see me now or a few minutes from now. When I’ll probably be on my knees or bent over the back of a couch.
With one more deep breath for courage, I ring the doorbell. And wait.
A few minutes later, the door swings open. My belly flips as a familiar figure fills the frame.
His brows knit together. “Hello?”
“I thought we said no small talk.” I give a coy smile, unknot the belt, and open my coat.
His hazel eyes widen. “What the…”
“Just point me in the direction of where it is you want to?—”
I cut myself off as a little girl with light brown hair in pigtails appears at his side.
“Who is it, Daddy?” she asks curiously. “And why isn’t the lady wearing any clothes?”
TWO
JARED
It takes three seconds for me to recover my faculties.
Clenching my jaw, I reach for the curvy brunette’s arm and tug her inside the house. Without a word, I pull her coat shut and tie the belt. I add a second knot to make sure it doesn’t fly open again.
Not that I don’t appreciate the view she was showing.
I just don’t make a habit of ogling women wearing lacy lingerie in front of my daughter.
“Sweetie, can you go check on Mr. Gold?”
My hook-up arches an eyebrow. “Mr. Gold?”
“He’s our pet goldfish,” Hannah answers brightly, beaming up at her. “Do you want to meet him?”
“No,” I growl at the same time she says, “Maybe later.”
I scowl at her, but she ignores me and asks, “Do you have any other pets?”
“I wish. I want a cat. And a dog. And a hedgehog.” Hannah rolls her eyes. “But he won’t let me.”
“Pets are a big responsibility,” I say, even as I hate dragging out this conversation any longer. “Sweetie?—”
“What’s your name?” she asks, looking back up at our guest.
My hook-up hesitates a moment, darting a quick look in my direction. I shake my head. I don’t know what to tell her. We’d agreed on no real names. No real lives.
But that all went out the window the moment she appeared at my front door in her underwear.
