Single Dad’s Waitress

by Amelia Wilde

  But this is really about getting out of Lakewood. Ryder is just a means to an end. He’s just a way to have fun, to cleanse my palate, get all the vestiges of fucking Conrad out of my mouth and soul.

  For three days in a row, I wake up from intense dreams about that night in his yard and where it could have gone if only Mr. Finneman hadn’t shown up with Walter. All I can do is dive into my shifts at the Short Stack. I don’t dare knock on Ryder’s door before I go to work—if he so much as kissed me, I’d never make it to my shifts—and ever since that night, I’ve been so busy from open to close that I can’t keep my eyes open when I get home.

  Trust me, I’ve tried. Last night I fell asleep on the sofa in the front room wearing my sexiest shorts and a bra, two shirts in my hands.

  The sun has taken on an afternoon glow on Wednesday, and I’m still at the Short Stack. Sharon left when the last customer did after an extended pleading look in my direction. Yeah, she owns the place, but she had other plans. That’s how she put it when she asked me to stay and prep for tomorrow’s breakfast service.

  “Valentine,” she’d said in a low, serious voice, her eyes locked on mine. “Do something for me.”

  I’d given her a knowing smile. “You’re going to ask me to stay late.”

  “I am.” She gave me a solemn nod. “But only this once. And it’s only because I have other plans.”

  I waited.

  “Other...important plans.”

  “You know, Sharon,” I’d said, tapping my fingers against the notepad in my apron. “If you’re going on a date, you should just say so.”

  “Oh? Like you told me you went to the Mexican place with that sexy piece of—”

  “That was so not a date.”

  “It so was. The entire place saw your little lip-lock in there.” She clicked her tongue. “You thought that wouldn’t get back to me? In Lakewood?”

  I bit my lip. I wanted to give Sharon some snappy retort, some other line about how you can have a man’s tongue claiming your mouth and still not be dating him.

  I had nothing.

  Hot damn, I want him so badly. I want to lie in a sticky mess underneath his sheets—or my sheets, or any sheets, really, as long as his gorgeous body is underneath them with me. I want his number on my cell phone, so I can tell him this...and maybe, via text, it wouldn’t turn into some awkward scene. I almost laugh out loud thinking of Mr. Finneman’s face when he saw us, and cover it just in time.

  “Fine,” I admitted because I knew she wanted out, and a strange tension in my chest was making me wish we’d stop talking about it. “We went out. But it wasn’t a date. It’s not serious. It’s just—”

  “Deliciously hot?” Sharon’s eyes shine. “Look, if I were you—” She looks me up and down. “I wouldn’t take no for an answer with him.” She waves a hand in the air. “So what if he’s not the marrying kind?”

  It was a stab through my heart when she said it, but for the life of me, I don’t know why. Ryder isn’t the kind of man I ever imagined marrying. Yes, his body is what I would describe as epic, but he has a daughter...and plans to get out of Lakewood.

  And so do I.

  This is about fun. Sex and tacos. Not marriage. Jesus, Sharon.

  I’m still thinking about what she said as I stand near the front counter, rolling silverware into paper napkins. It’s the last thing I have to do before I head out. Sharon’s words roll around in my mind, but I can’t dwell on them for long. Ryder’s eyes glinting in the moonlight keep catching my attention. I should have given him some action in return.

  Why haven’t we crossed paths since then, anyway?

  My heart beats faster, a cold fear prickling in my gut. What if he’s done with me already? What if he’s avoiding me because I’m not his kind of woman? What if he wants nothing to do with a temporary small-town waitress? That’s probably why I don’t have his cell phone number. Once he’s out of town, it won’t be long before he finds an excuse to drop me like a hot potato.

  I should drop him before that happens.

  But those abs...that face...that voice...

  I close my eyes, wrapping the silverware by feel, and picture his hands on me, sliding down to my hips, grasping firmly, and then one hand slipping between my legs, pressing right on my clit—

  Fuck, it felt so good. It felt so good, and I’m so beat, that I let myself fall headfirst into the memory. It’s like I’m watching from outside myself as my head tips back, eyes still closed, and I lick my lips, a low little moan escaping from between them.

  And it’s like I’m watching from outside myself as someone appears in the window, a wicked grin on his face, catching me full-on fantasizing about him.

  The knock on the doorframe brings me back to reality, heat barreling into my cheeks, into every part of me. It’s like I summoned him just by thinking about him. And he definitely saw me.

  I can’t look away from his eyes, his knock-me-out blue eyes. Another memory crashes into me—Don’t look away from me—and there he is, right outside the window. He came here for me.

  Ryder knocks again, that half-smile making my entire chest warm. “Valentine! Are you going to let me in?”

  “We’re closed,” I say lamely, gesturing to the sign on the door. I’m not supposed to let him in. I should just finish up the silverware, and then—

  What the hell am I thinking?

  “Make an exception,” he says through the glass. “I have to...talk to you.”

  The way he says it just about makes me burst into flames.

  24

  Ryder

  I wasn’t planning to burst into a closed restaurant and absolutely claim the waitress when I walked up to the Short Stack, but when I saw Valentine through the window—head back, lips parted, like she was moaning, like she did the other night—the rest of my resolve crumbled like a day-old pancake.

  I have to be near her again, have to touch her.

  She’s still bright red as she makes her way to the door of the Short Stack and unlocks it, pulling it quickly open.

  “Hey. I—”

  Valentine cuts me off, sticking her head out the door and looking both ways like we’re characters in a spy movie. Then she grabs me by the front of my shirt and yanks me inside, slamming the door behind us and locking it again with a quick twist of her wrist.

  “You weren’t followed, were you?” She says it like a joke, but I know she’s half-serious.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Pay better attention next time you try to get me to break the rules.”

  I have to crack a smile at that. “Oh? Are we not supposed to be in here?” I step a little closer. There are only inches between us now, and I can smell her shampoo over the sweet scent of syrup that’s settled into her clothes.

  “No,” says Valentine, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re definitely not. Sharon’s rules.”

  “Then why’d you let me in?”

  “You asked me to.”

  “I told you to.” I step forward, lean down. “I told you to, and you liked it.”

  Valentine shivers, but I see her smile out of the corner of my eye. “So what if I did?”

  “I’m sorry.” I’m so close that it would only take the tiniest movement to touch her, but I don’t. My entire body hums with it, a bright feeling running down into my fingertips. I used to play this kind of game in Afghanistan. Hold back from doing the thing I want to do—jerk off, eat an MRE, pick up a beat-up book—until the energy is practically pulsing out of me in waves.

  “For what?”

  “For interrupting you.”

  She blushes a deeper shade of pink, then shakes her head. “You saw that?”

  “I saw you thinking about something that turned you on.”

  Valentine turns her face away from me and bites her lip. “Well, maybe I was, and maybe I—”

  That’s it. It’s like a lightning strike to my core. I can’t wait any longer. I can’t do this any longer. I’ve been beaten a
t my own game because I’m at my limit when it comes to the teasing. It doesn’t seem possible—it’s only been a few days since we started this fling—but I need her now.

  She gasps when I take her in my arms, one arm around her waist, the other hand turning her face toward mine. The movement has just a hint of roughness in it, but in Valentine’s eyes, I see nothing but liquid heat. She fucking loves this.

  “I saw you,” I repeat. “You were thinking about us, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, then clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking about you for days. It’s stupid because one date shouldn’t—”

  I silence her by covering her mouth with mine and she leans into the kiss, our tongues dancing. Fuck me, I’ve never kissed anyone like Valentine. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more.

  Then I start backing her up, into the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking about us, too. All day, every day. I can’t stop, Valentine. I want you.” I growl the last three words into her ear, and the air in the room shifts, turns sultry and serious.

  Valentine’s back connects with a prep table and she sucks in her breath, grasping for the edge. “Ryder, I—”

  I bend down and do what I’ve wanted to do since she left my front yard the other night. I press my lips against the creamy skin of her neck, just above the collar of her shirt, and work my way up toward her earlobe, flicking it with my tongue when I get there.

  “Ryder—”

  “That’s right,” I say into her ear. “Say my name. I’m going to make you moan it, scream it—”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can, and I will.”

  Valentine is trembling in my hands, but her eyes are wide, bright with anticipation. “Sharon could walk back in at any moment.”

  “Let her.”

  “But I might—”

  “Get to come so hard you forget all about Sharon and everyone else?” I lift her onto the table, my hands on the perfect curves of her ass. Valentine’s arms automatically go around my neck.

  Her face is the fucking picture of desire, green eyes half-closed, lips half-open, and I take that as a resounding yes.

  The little black shorts she wears for her waitressing shifts come off in my hands, slipping down over her knees with a yank, dropping to the floor.

  “Here’s the thing, Valentine,” I say, spreading her knees apart with my hands and stepping between them. “We agreed that there was only one rule.”

  “Right,” she says, breathless. “It’s just a fling.”

  “So why...” My hands seek out the waistband of her panties. They’re pink and stretchy, some kind of performance fabric. “Do we keep...” I take them in my fists. “Dancing around this like we don’t want to fuck?” One yank and the panties tear away from her in my hands. I drop the remains to the floor alongside her shorts, and then I bend my head between her legs, spread her open a little wider, and lick the entire length of her pussy.

  Her unbelievable, gorgeous pussy. She’s waxed it bare, and the smoothness of her skin just about pushes me over the edge.

  “Oh, fuck.” Valentine braces her arms against the table and tilts her head back, just like she was doing before, only now she has a good reason. I lick her sweet slit, once, twice, three times, tasting her juices, and then I’m going for my own belt.

  When I stand up, Valentine reaches for me, her hands firm on my shoulders. For a split second, I think she’s trying to stop me, and a tiny part of me dies inside, but then she looks me straight in the eye. “Are we being honest?”

  It’s a strange question, but in this moment I don’t have time to think about what the fuck she means. I take it at face value. “Yes.”

  “Then I should say…” She sucks in another breath. “I want you to fuck me. Right here, on this table, right now.” Then she blows out that breath between rounded lips. “Please, Ryder. Please fuck me. I need it.”

  25

  Valentine

  I don’t know who I’ve become—a woman who begs for sex in the kitchen of the café she works in, apparently—but I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. My entire body is on fire for the man between my legs, but he’s not close enough. I want it to be even hotter. I don’t care if it’s so spicy it burns my mouth. I have to have him. Anyway, I’m not exactly begging, I’m just confirming that I want this, and I want it badly.

  Ryder’s shorts hit the floor with a soft thud, and I look down to the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen.

  He’s hung, and it’s flawless. No strange curves, just smooth skin. I don’t have to touch him to know that it must be painfully hard.

  I don’t have to touch him, but I do. I reach down and grip the length of him. His cock pulses in my hand. A low growl escapes Ryder’s mouth.

  I’m not the only one who’s going crazy waiting for this.

  All at once his hands are cupping my face, callused against my skin, and he’s tipping my face up toward his. I think it’s going to be another rough kiss, our mouths colliding like they did in the dark of his front yard, but instead, he kisses me so gently that tears come to my eyes.

  The moment kaleidoscopes out. My hand is still wrapped around him, but he’s kissing me like I’m a precious, fragile object, like we’ve been together for years, like we’re alone in our bedroom, the door locked behind us, and not about to screw like animals on a prep table in the Short Stack’s kitchen. It sends heat spiraling down between my legs. I’m wet for him. I’m wet for this. But there’s a strange ache in my chest. I want more than this. I want more, but there’s no way I can tell him.

  Then he pulls back and looks into my eyes, a breath caught in his throat. I can’t read his expression, and for a long moment, we’re frozen.

  I can’t take it. What is this, even? It doesn’t feel like a hot summer fling. It doesn’t feel like something you can just discard at the end of August like an old bathing suit.

  It’s up to me to end it.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper, the words harsh against the tenderness of his kiss.

  Okay. Now I’m begging.

  It snaps him out of whatever that fantasy was, and it could be anything—the two of us in a house with a white picket fence, some vacation in Las Vegas, I have no idea—but his eyes narrow and that sexy grin reappears. “I won’t make you ask twice,” he says, and then he comes back for more.

  This time, he doesn’t hold back.

  And God, do I love it.

  I let myself go under the force of his kiss, raw and powerful. I let go of his cock and hang on for dear life, the muscles of his arms flexing under my hands.

  Then his hands are on my waist, on my hips, pulling me to the edge of the table. Then he’s lining himself up, the thick head of his cock at my opening. I’m soaking wet, I’ve never been more ready in my life, I need him to take me, I need him to erase every last place that Conrad ever was and free me from this nagging feeling that I’ll never get out of Lakewood again, fuck me, fuck me. I beg silently, biting my lip, tilting my hips toward him.

  He enters me in one long thrust.

  Ryder takes up every inch of space, claiming my body for his own, but it’s such a delicious stretch that I can hardly stay on the table. I want to throw myself forward, tackling him to the ground, and ride him, but I know for a fact that Gerald would have a fit if he ever found out I’d been screwing a man on his pristinely mopped floor.

  The table will be easier to clean. And we’ll have to clean it because I’m pretty sure it’s already pretty wet.

  My nipples are hard. I wonder if Ryder can feel them through my bra, through the two shirts between us, because I can’t let go. I’m wrapped around him tightly, and the sensation of being filled by him is so damn perfect that I don’t want him to pull back for another thrust.

  Only I do.

  Ryder makes the decision for both of us, rocking back for another powerful thrust, his hands firm on my hips. He’s so tightly muscular that I can hardly stand it. There’s not an ounce of fat on him. He gets i
nto a rhythm with a growl that he lets out through clenched teeth.

  “You’re too good for this.”

  The words don’t make sense at first, and then they do. “No. I’m just bad enough.” Even through the haze of pleasure wrapping itself around all of my senses, I’m pretty pleased with that line. For once in my life, something unbelievably fucking hot is happening, and I’m enjoying the hell out of it. It feels good to be just a little bit reckless, just a little bit out of control.

  I open my mouth to tell Ryder to fuck me harder, fuck me faster, to give myself over to this with total abandon. “Yes.” It’s one breathless word, and then I find my voice. “Harder. Please, harder—”

  A loud pounding on the door stops my heart mid-beat and turns the words into a shriek.

  At the sound of someone’s fist making contact with the metal storm door on the side of the Short Stack, I just react. So much for being sexy and reckless. Instead, I shove Ryder backward with all my strength and leap off the table. Only my panties are a shredded pile of cloth on the floor.

  “My panties!” I cry, forgetting to keep my voice down. I don’t want to put my shorts on without them because the shorts are tight, and I’m soaked. “How am I supposed to wear my shorts?” I sweep the shorts off the floor and thrust them at Ryder like he can help me.

  He laughs and bends for his shorts.

  Fine. I’ll wear the damn shorts. It’s an effort to pull them up, and the fabric sticks between my legs.

  Very sexy.

  “Hello?” The knock comes again, along with a muffled greeting from outside.

  My mind goes into overdrive. How much did this guy hear? What is he going to do? Maybe he’ll just leave.

  But he doesn’t leave. He knocks again as Ryder zips up his shorts and does his belt.

  “I swear to God, Valentine, every time we—”

  “Shhh.” I hiss at him, shooting him a look.

  He laughs again. “Are you going to get that?”