Pretend I'm YoursA Single Dad Romance

by Vivian Wood

  “Uhhh, you know,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “A family and their farm. I’m trying to kind of do an Isabel Allende thing, to show three generations.”

  “I have no idea who that author is, but I’m sure she is great.” I smile.

  “Oh, so great! She writes these sweeping sort of epic dramas. She has an eye for details, and really knows how to weave them into the fabric of a story. She’s just…” She shivers and laughs. “Yeah, she’s definitely my idol.”

  “So… you are planning on moving to New York at some point, then?”

  “Yep. Once I get this house fixed up, I am out of here.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Assuming that I finish my book by then, of course.”

  “Sounds like you have your priorities in line.” She pushes the cart in my direction and I move out of the way.

  “It’s good to have direct, palpable goals set for yourself,” she says, picking up the next book and reading the title. “Something to dream about, something to work toward.”

  “Hmm,” is all I say. But inside, I have to wonder if I have goals or dreams. It seems like for the last two years, everything was derailed by Britta’s unexpected death.

  I feel a pang; thinking about Britta’s end is still fucking painful. But I can see a light at the end of the long tunnel that her death thrust me into… and consequently, I can look back and sort of see how fucking depressed I got.

  It was a dark, seemingly endless trudge uphill.

  Now, though? Now it doesn’t seem hopeless.

  I glance at Larkin, swallowing. There might be a reason that I feel hopeful again. She might be the reason, the light at the end of my tunnel.

  Even though I can’t admit it out loud, I have let Larkin get under my skin. That fact cannot be denied.

  I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I’m letting myself get distracted by her. What was my original line of thought?

  Ah. A goal. Because Larkin is right. If I’m alive and in command of my senses, I need a plan and a desired outcome.

  And just hanging around, thinking about what Larkin’s panties look like doesn’t count, even though it satisfies a very male part of me.

  Larkin moves the cart around the corner heading for the next aisle. I follow her like a lost puppy dog, because I don’t know what else to do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Larkin

  “Look what I’ve got!” I say, holding up my picnic basket as Charlie opens the door. He stares down at me comically, his hair messy. I notice that he isn’t wearing a shirt, just gray pajama bottoms.

  It takes a lot for me not to check out his chiseled pecs, count every single ab in his six pack, give his biceps a feel. I mean, I knew that he was swoon-worthy, but this…

  This has me tongue tied. He blinks at the sunlight, shading his eyes.

  “Uhhh… I don’t know, what?”

  He seems a little off-kilter. I yank my gaze up to his face, and promise myself that I won’t drool over the fact that he has a perfect ‘happy trail’. It snakes from below his belly button to disappear under his waistband.

  I feel hormonal, like I might just rip his pants off and have my way with him. Of course, I’m only five feet tall… it would probably be stupid to think I was going to rip his pants off without a fight.

  “A picnic,” I say, giving him a funny look. “Thus the picnic basket. It’s so nice outside, I thought that you and Sarah would really enjoy going down to the park. We can even spread out a blanket…”

  I hoist the blue blanket I brought. I catch my eyes wandering down again, and look up.

  He wrinkles his nose. “Rosa came to take Sarah to the Tillamook cheese factory. They’re both gone all day.”

  “Oh.” I put my basket down and make a disappointed face. “That’s a super bummer. I actually already prepared sandwiches and a bottle of wine and everything.”

  He looks at me for a long second. I can see some kind of calculations going on behind his vacant gaze. It’s more tempting than I can say to just drop the act, and ask him to bed.

  I blush at the mere thought though, so it’s unlikely to happen.

  “Uhh… I’ll still go,” he offers. “I mean, if you want.”

  My brows arch. “You want to?”

  “Yeah,” he says, turning to look behind himself. “Give me a couple minutes to get dressed, will you? Then we’ll go.”

  “Sure!” I say, more enthusiastically than is called for.

  He just shoots me a puzzled glance, closing the door.

  Good job, I tell myself, rolling my eyes. Definitely doing well trying to mask your attraction with enthusiasm.

  I sit on the steps on the front porch, spreading my olive green skirt wide and telling myself to chill out. True to his word, Charlie emerges in a few minutes, dressed in his usual head to toe black.

  He pulls the zipper up on his hoodie. “Ready?”

  “As I will ever be,” I reply in a singsong voice.

  He slides me a look. “You are strange today.”

  I bite my tongue. Because he is more than a little right… and it’s his fault. He answered the door without a shirt on, and now I’m either speechless or overeager.

  “Where were you planning on going?” he says, stepping off the porch.

  “I was actually thinking that since we don’t have Sarah with us, we should go out past the backyard,” I say, jerking a thumb in that direction. “It’s not a hike or anything, but I think Sarah is too young to go back there.”

  “Lead the way, your majesty,” he says, bowing his head.

  I lead him around the grand old house, into the too-long grass, and out back behind the property. I’m wearing an old pair of Converse, blood red; they are pretty distinctive against the rocky ground as I head into the low-lying shrubbery.

  “We’re not even going to go for five minutes,” I assure him. I look back, and find his gaze fixed on my ass. I turn pink.

  Maybe I’m not the only one who is tempted by the flesh.

  The picnic basket grows heavy on the crook of my arm as I go. I stop to switch arms, but Charlie has different ideas. He touches my arm and takes the basket away. I’m left tingling where he touched me, holding the blue blanket against myself like it’s a lifeline.

  “What did you pack in here?” he asks jokingly.

  “Just the essentials,” I assure him. “And bricks.”

  He grins at me, and I melt a little bit inside. He’s never smiled so much in my presence, that’s for sure.

  We go uphill a little ways, trees springing up around us. The sound of running water fills my senses; the air is filled with the scent of ozone, like just after it stops raining. Then suddenly the ground levels out, and we come out on a sun-dappled riverbank.

  “Wow,” Charlie says, looking at the beautiful mossy riverbank right before us. He moves forward, peering into the river. “Nice. It looks like a stream now, but I bet in late spring it’s bigger.”

  “That is exactly the case,” I say. I move forward and spread the blanket out, then sit cross-legged. The ground is hard, but the day is so nice that I’m willing to overlook it.

  Charlie looks around for a second.

  “This is nice. Must’ve been great growing up with this kind of a spot in your backyard.” He comes and sets the picnic basket down, then takes a seat beside me. We’re close enough that our knees touch.

  “Mmm, it would’ve been nice, if I had anyone else as a mother. I snuck out here once, when I was twelve, to meet a bunch of kids from school. My mother freaked out and called the cops when she realized I wasn’t in the house. I came back home to find the place bristling with police…” I shake my head. “And my mom used that excuse to ground me for three months.”

  “Three months? Jesus. That’s a lot.”

  I nod, reaching into the basket to start unpacking it. I pull out the sandwiches and apple slices first, laying them out.

  “She said I wasn’t going to be consorting under her roof.” I roll my eyes. �
�I didn’t get what she meant for years.”

  I produce a bottle of Oregon pinot noir and two plastic cups. I wiggle my eyebrows at Charlie, who chuckles and takes the bottle of wine. He peels off the wrapper, then uses the wine key I give him to uncork the bottle.

  “Alright,” he says, lining up the cups and pouring a little into each. “The first toast is to enjoying this spot, without repercussions. Take that, Big Ruth.”

  He hands me a cup, and we clink ours together. I take a sip; this wine is very fruity and fragrant, notes of cherry and blackberry practically jumping off my tongue.

  “Mmm,” I murmur. “A good Oregon pinot noir is always so refreshing.”

  He nods, sipping the wine. “It’s been forever since I’ve had red wine.”

  “But today is the perfect day for it, don’t you think?” I ask, leaning back on my elbows. “We have the sunlight, we have the greenery and the trees, we have the stream…”

  I take another sip, and a little of the wine dribbles down my chin. “Oops,” I say, embarrassed.

  And it’s not like he didn’t notice or anything; his eyes are on my mouth. I start to wipe the wine away with the back of my hand.

  He stops me, grabbing my hand. There is a moment where our eyes meet, brown clashing with green. His gaze is intense, full of desire and longing, and a million other emotions I cannot name.

  Then he lowers his head to mine. My mouth parts as I anticipate the kiss. I can feel his breath fan over my lips, his body tightening.

  He presses his warm, full lips to my mouth. I sigh into the kiss, opening my mouth, letting him in. Our tongues meet coyly, dancing in a way that feels at once familiar and wholly new.

  Our lips and tongues and teeth search and seek. He takes control, sweeping his arm around me, pulling me closer. I reach out and grab a fistful of his hoodie, leveraging myself.

  Charlie nips my lower lip with his teeth, and I groan. Every nerve is suddenly more alive than before. It’s like my senses are attuned to him. He cups my chin, turning my head, and trails his lips down the column of my throat. His kisses burn like brands.

  That’s how I feel, being touched by him — like I am being branded forever, marked as his. I slip my fingers up, feeling his stubbled jaw, and the short spiky hair at his nape. I kiss his cheek, his jaw, his earlobe.

  Only then does he make a low sound, a rumbling deep in his chest. He surprises me by moving away, but he just takes his hoodie off. Caught up in the moment, I take my cardigan off too. His biceps muscles bulge; I realize that he has a tattoo on the inside of his arm, but his shirt is in the way. I can only see the outline of some leaves.

  I want to see him shirtless again. The idea of seeing his arms and abs again makes me salivate a little. Hell, I want to see him naked.

  I bite my lip and blush at the idea, but it’s not so far-fetched. After all, we are kissing right now.

  He pulls me onto his lap. I turn and face him, pushing him backward to straddle him. It feels incredibly good, parting my skirts and pressing my pussy against him through my panties and the denim of his jeans.

  I can feel his cock, long and hard. The size of it makes me moan aloud, imagining how it would feel to have him inside me. He leans up and captures my mouth with his, bucking slightly. That motion sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my very core.

  I feel the trickle of my juices beginning to dampen my panties.

  “Ahhh,” I cry. “Oh god, that feels good.”

  I start rocking back and forth, kissing him and feeling the friction between our bodies. Charlie groans softly, pulling my shirt free from the waistband of my skirt. He pulls it up and over my head slowly, baring my pink lace bra to his view.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, burying his face between my breasts.

  He kisses his way down to my collarbone, then teases each of my breasts, laving his tongue over my skin just shy of where my bra lies.

  I moan, needing more than that. He pulls back, looking me in the eye as he slowly pulls down my bra straps. I reach behind myself and unhook my bra, eager to feel his tongue on every inch of available skin.

  “Fuck,” he says again, his brow furrowing. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful, Larkin.”

  Slowly, with passion and intensity, he takes my nipple in his mouth. I gasp. He bites it, then kisses it, then pulls a big mouthful of my breast into his mouth, suckling.

  I start rocking again, and he puts one hand on the small of my back, encouraging me. My pussy is slick with want, ready for him.

  I’ve never wanted anything so bad as I want Charlie right now.

  My hands come up to the hem of his tee shirt, tugging it up, exposing his abs. He pulls off his shirt readily, giving me access to his smooth skin, his perfectly shaped muscles. My eyes widen as my fingers explore the valleys and grooves of his chiseled body.

  “Jesus,” I wonder aloud.

  He kisses my shoulder and my collarbone. I feel naughty when I reach for the zipper on his pants, unbuttoning his fly and showing the black boxer briefs underneath. Charlie groans when I gently shape his long, glorious cock through his underwear.

  I find myself wondering if it will even fit in my core. There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

  As I start to peel the boxer briefs away, a loud crashing sound comes from behind me. Without a moment’s hesitation, Charlie’s arms come up around me, shielding me.

  Three middle school boys come galloping down the trail, running into each other in their haste to stop when they spot us. I recognize them, though I don’t know their names.

  But they know me on sight. They gawp at me, while Charlie scrambles to find his hoodie and put it around my shoulders. I turn ten shades of red, each more humiliating than the last.

  “Ms. Lake?” one of the boys asks.

  “We gotta get out of here,” another boy says, hitting the others in the arms.

  “But—” the first boy says.

  “Get out of here!” Charlie thunders at them.

  They turn and bolt, already giggling amongst themselves.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper, pulling my shirt on. I disentangle myself from Charlie and grab my clothes. “Oh my god, what was I thinking?”

  I’m in a tailspin, thinking about what will happen when those boys tell their parents. How could I have been so stupid? I’m concerned about myself, about my career.

  It’s only when I’m fully dressed that I catch sight of Charlie, who looks completely destroyed.

  “Oh, Charlie, I didn’t mean—” I start, but he stops me with a shake of his head.

  “No, you’re right,” he says. The look in his eyes is determined. “It was a mistake.”

  “Charlie, I don’t think that’s true,” I argue, picking up the sandwiches and apple slices.

  “I don’t care what you think,” he says, looking irate. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  He looks at me, his green eyes pinning me in place. The fine hairs on my neck begin to rise. I can’t say anything to him in that moment, knowing he thinks that touching me, kissing me, was a mistake.

  How many times will I make the same error? I wonder.

  “Fine,” I say at last. “Whatever you say.”

  He turns and stalks out of the clearing, leaving me to clean up the mess we’ve made… physically and emotionally.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlie

  I have to apologize to Larkin for being so harsh, I think.

  Idly, I twirl a pen between my fingers, rocking back in my desk chair. The house is silent, because Sarah is still napping. I’ve been sitting at my Ikea desk, trying to concentrate, but I can’t.

  No, I can only think of Larkin. Of her smile, sometimes timid and sometimes radiant. Of her hair, the way she braids it so neatly, the way it lays on her shoulder just so. Of the way her eyes widened when I spewed bile at her in the clearing before I stormed off.

  I sigh.

  I have to apologize to her for starting something I knew I couldn’t fi
nish. No matter how damn bad I wanted it.

  And I can admit to myself, at least — I wanted her so goddamn bad.

  I gave her two days to cool off, which was probably not the right thing to do. If I had done what I really wanted, I would have kicked down her door and made love to her right then and there.

  But a part of me knew better. A part of me knew that I am an emotional disaster, a hurricane and a tornado wrapped up in my own bullshit and gloom.

  I can’t inflict that on her. I won’t. She deserves so much better than me, a shell of a human being.

  But I still want her in my life. I know it’s selfish of me to want that, to hope that I’ll be forgiven yet again. That’s just where I’m at today.

  “Daddy?” I hear faintly.

  I guess Sarah is up. I get up and go upstairs, finding her standing up in her pack and play. She still looks sleepy, her dark hair a total mess.

  “Hey, you.” I go to pick her up. I realize that she’s almost too big for the pack and play. I’ll have to get her a bigger bed soon. I hold her for a second, a little sad that the last two years have gone by in such a blur.

  “Pie?” she asks, laying her head on my shoulder.

  “Are you hungry for a snack?” I ask her.

  Sarah just nods, super worn out. I carry her downstairs, uncertain what we have in the fridge. I go into the kitchen and sit her down on the kitchen counter, opening the fridge.

  “It’s a ghost town in here,” I say, examining the bare white shelves. “Only condiments. You don’t happen to want mustard and mayonnaise, do you?”

  I glance at Sarah. She shakes her head, extremely serious.

  “Alright. We gotta go to Dot’s Diner, then,” I say. “First we fuel up, then we hit the grocery store.”

  After getting us both dressed to go out, I head outside. I see Larkin’s car; I guess that she must be home. Heading down the front steps, I turn toward her front door.

  Now would be the perfect time to apologize, because Larkin can’t be very mad at me in front of Sarah. Well, she can be as mad as she wants, but she would never act out in front of Sarah.