Single Dad

by Noelle Adams

  “I think now that you recognize what you were doing, you can make sure you don’t end up with a guy like that again.”

  I give him a wry, bittersweet smile. “I’m afraid that insisting on being with someone who values my needs and desires as much as his might limit my options a bit.”

  He chuckles and strokes my hair gently. “It definitely will. But better to be happy on your own than to be with someone who doesn’t think you’re just as important as he is.”

  “Yeah. Yeah that’s right.”

  We sit in silence for a minute before he asks, “Have you dated anyone since Ron?”

  “Not seriously. I used a dating app a friend of mine suggested for a few months and went out on some dates with guys I met that way. There was one I kind of liked, and I went out with him three times, but I could feel myself losing track again. Focusing on who he wanted me to be and not who I wanted to be, so I just stopped and decided to take a break.”

  “So you’ve just had two serious boyfriends then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not a lot. Don’t judge all of us by those two experiences. I bet you can be with the right man in a way that allows you to be exactly who you want to be.”

  I tilt my head up so I can see his face. He looks quiet, thoughtful. “I hope so. I do want that. But I don’t want to wait around for it anymore. I want to be who I want to be, with or without a man.”

  He leans down to nuzzle my hair in a sweet little gesture that makes my throat ache. “Then that’s exactly what you should do.”

  I wrap my arm around his waist and find the extra flesh on his side again. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “How many serious relationships have you had?”

  “Ah.” He shifts slightly. Not to pull away from me. Just to get more comfortable. “I had several girlfriends in high school and college, but none of them I’d consider serious. I dated a woman for six months the year after I graduated. She was my longest relationship up to that point in my life.”

  “Why did you break up?”

  “She got a different job in another state, and at that point in our lives, it didn’t seem worth it to try to make the relationship work long distance. I had a decent job and I’d just started my MFA, and neither one us wanted to give up our plans.”

  “That’s what Ron and I should have done—just decided not to pursue it. So what was your next relationship?”

  “I dated around for a year or two, but my next real relationship was Kelly—Freddie’s mom. I met her through mutual friends, and we fell in love. We got married pretty fast. I was twenty-four.”

  “You said she has a demanding job. What does she do?”

  “She’s in corporate finance. She was moving up the ladder when we got married, and now she’s CFO of the same company. I honestly don’t think she really wanted to have a child. I thought she did. She thought she did. And of course she loves Freddie. But a career has always been at the center of her life.”

  “Is that why you ended up getting divorced?”

  He doesn’t answer immediately, and I’m afraid I’ve pushed too far. But he’s asked me intensely personal questions, so it seems only fair that I ask him too.

  Finally he says, “In a way. It’s not that she’s focused on her career. That’s a part of her, and I always tried to support her as fully as I can. But it got to the point where Freddie and I were just afterthoughts in her life. That’s how it felt anyway. She refused to prioritize us. I wasn’t happy, and Freddie wasn’t happy, and I couldn’t let it go on indefinitely. So we ended it.”

  “You said it was painful?”

  “Any divorce is painful. But Kelly didn’t want it to happen. She didn’t understand how the unhappiness in our marriage was affecting Freddie. She was soaking it up. I needed her to be in a situation where she can be happy and secure. And honestly I wanted to be happy too. But Kelly never did understand. She just thought I wasn’t supporting her need for a career. Maybe I wasn’t. But I did try. I was always proud of who she was and what she’d accomplished. But I needed for Freddie and me to be just as important to her, and I never felt like we were.” He gives me a wry smile. “It was hard, but it all worked out. We’re all happier now. Even Kelly.”

  “And Freddie is doing better too?”

  “Yes. For sure. She sometimes complains that I overdo the quality time I spend with her, but I want her to know she’s the most important thing in my life and she always will be.”

  “I’m sure she knows that. She has to know it. I know it, and I’ve only known you for just over a month.” After a moment, I add, “So since your divorce, have all your relationships been disposable then?”

  “Yes, there’s been no one else serious. But don’t say it that way. It makes it sound cheap and meaningless, and you know you don’t feel that way to me.”

  “I know that.” I smile and put down my mug since it’s empty now. I crawl over on top of his reclined body. “But I don’t mind being in a disposable relationship with you. It’s kind of hot.”

  He chuckles and reaches up to tuck my hair back so it’s not falling over my face. “Is it?”

  “Yes. Definitely hot. So maybe we can have a little more fun now if you’ve had enough coffee.”

  He’s wearing nothing but his underwear, and I can feel him start to harden as I rub myself against his groin. “I’ve had enough coffee.”

  I lean down to kiss him. He responds, taking control of the kiss and stroking my body slow and attentive over my little gown.

  We kiss and caress for a long time, and eventually I start to kiss my way down his body since I love how it feels beneath my hands, my mouth. He’s fully aroused now, the shape of his erection clear beneath the cotton of his underwear. I grin and strip him naked, and then I take his hard shaft in my mouth.

  He grunts and gives a helpless little thrust up that thrills me. I love how tense his muscles are. How he’s fumbling for purchase on the sheets. How his head moves back and forth on the pillow as he stares down at me hotly.

  I suck him a few times and play with his balls before I let him slip out of my mouth.

  Then I pull my gown off over my head. He stares hungrily as I roll on the condom and then position myself astride him.

  “You’re the hottest little thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters, moving one hand to hold his erection in position as I carefully ease him inside me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yeah.” He rolls his hips like they’re out of his control. “Oh fuck. You drive me crazy.”

  I feel kind of crazy too. I brace myself on his chest and start to ride him. I’m usually self-conscious in this position, but I’m too turned on to be anything but excited right now. I start slowly, and he rocks his hips up with my rhythm.

  But when the pressure of orgasm tightens inside me, I can’t keep my motion slow and steady. I accelerate, bouncing on top of him, jiggling my hair and my breasts.

  He’s muttering out sexy encouragement, telling me how gorgeous I am, how hot I am, how good I am, how I’m going to come so hard.

  I know it’s true, and I chase it eagerly, huffing out loud sounds as I get closer.

  When I come, the pleasure rushes through me and I arch my spine and drop my head, my mouth wide open in a silent scream of completion.

  As soon as my muscles clamp down around him, his control breaks. He fucks me from below with a series of primitive grunts until he’s coming too, shaking through his climax as his fingers dig into the flesh of my bottom.

  He pulls me down into a slow kiss as we gasp and relax afterward, and I’d like to hold the position longer, but he’s starting to soften inside me. So I do an awkward dismount, and he takes care of the condom, and then we both collapse into the bed together, tangled in a loose embrace.

  We don’t move for a long time. I actually doze off for fifteen minutes.

  When I wake up, he’s still holding me. Still stroking my messy hair.

  WE SPEN
D THE WHOLE weekend together. And then we keep getting together every other weekend for two months—every time Freddie is with her mother.

  I don’t see him much otherwise, especially after the semester ends and his Tuesday evening class is over. But he texts me a lot and calls me regularly, so I know that I’m on his mind sometimes in between our weekends together.

  He’s on my mind a lot.

  I do a good job keeping it in perspective, however. I’m having a good time. I get an A in my graduate course, and I start a new class for the summer term. I hang out a lot with May since she’s my only local friend who isn’t yet coupled up. I start looking at houses for rent.

  I’m not backsliding into my old habits. I’m being who I want to be. And I’m also having really great sex every other weekend.

  There’s nothing in the world wrong with that.

  On a Saturday evening at the end of June, I’m more than halfway through my weekend with Max, and I’m at the point where I realize we only have one more night and morning together, and I hate the thought of it being over so soon.

  I try not to think that way. I try to just enjoy the time we spend together. But I’ve got that little twist in my gut of reluctance about the weekend being over soon.

  Maybe it’s a warning sign, but it’s not enough of one for me to take any action.

  At the moment, we’re fixing dinner together, so I push the silly thought from my mind.

  He spent the night with me last night, and we had a leisurely morning, eating breakfast in bed and then taking a long walk together. We went grocery shopping in the afternoon because I needed food for next week, so we picked out dinner for tonight while we were there. He’s making parmesan risotto and roasting shrimp in the oven, and I’m making a little salad for the side.

  We’ve already opened a bottle of pinot grigio, and I’m excited for the food. It already smells delicious.

  “You didn’t tell me you were a good cook,” I say as I chop up a cucumber. I’m tempted to speed up my chopping so I look like I know what I’m doing, but the thought of accidentally cutting off my finger is enough for me to resist the impulse.

  “I’m not that good.” He’s wearing a blue T-shirt with a corporate logo on the back and a pair of worn khakis. He’s barefoot, and his hair is kind of wild since it air-dried after his shower this morning.

  He’s utterly irresistible. I have to make myself focus on my cucumber and not go over and squeeze him hard.

  “That risotto looks pretty good to me. I’d have to find a recipe and follow it step by step.”

  He laughs and stirs his pot. “That’s what I did at first. I don’t have any particular flair for cooking, but I always did most of the cooking, even when I was married, so I had to figure things out. And besides, every man who’s been single for any length of time needs to have at least a couple of recipes he can make for a date he wants to impress.”

  I laugh at that and put down my knife so I can go over and wrap my arms around him from behind. I peer at his pot of creamy goodness from around his shoulder. “Are you trying to impress me, Max?”

  “Of course I am.” He turns his head to give me an intimate little smile over his shoulder. “How am I doing?”

  “You are doing amazingly well.” I kiss the back of his neck. I don’t want to distract him from his cooking since I’m hungry, so I don’t do any more than that. As I pull back, I get a look at the back of his T-shirt. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He looks back at me again with a different expression. For just a moment it almost looks wary. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up.” Maybe he thinks I’m about to ask him something inappropriate or put him on the spot about our relationship, but there’s no way in the world I’m going to do that. The past two months have been way too good to give up yet. “I was just wondering why you’re wearing a T-shirt for a plumber.”

  He laughs in a quick burst, which makes me think he’s surprised and relieved. He leaves the wooden spoon propped in the pot and turns around to face me. “Because I designed the logo for this particular plumber.”

  “You did?” I feel and sound delighted by this unexpected piece of information. I turn him around so I can look at the back of his shirt again. The graphic is a step above what I might expect for a small business like that, so he’s obviously really good at his job. “I really like it. You need to show me more of your work.”

  “I can show you any time you want. I’ve got my laptop in the trunk of my car. I can go get it after we eat if you want.” He’s back to stirring his risotto.

  “Yes. Let’s do that. I can’t believe you haven’t showed me your work before.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be interested.”

  “Well, I am. I’ve been assuming that you’re good, but it will be nice to have evidence as proof.”

  That makes him chuckle, but there’s a particular look on his face that makes me think he’s pleased with my request. He talks about his work fairly often—just like I do—but it’s usually about clients he’s working with or things he’s doing rather than the actual work he produces.

  He still paints occasionally just for fun. Maybe one day he’ll show me his paintings too.

  Max has his timing on this meal exactly right. The seasoned shrimp come out of the oven exactly as the risotto is done. I’m getting plates out of the cupboard and he’s topping off the wine in our glasses when a phone rings.

  He freezes for a moment as he listens. Then he puts the bottle of the wine on the counter. “That’s Freddie’s ringtone. I’m sorry. I need to get it.”

  “Of course. Go right ahead.”

  I stand with two plates in my hand as he goes into the living room to connect the call.

  He’s in a different room, but my place is very small. I can hear him easily.

  “Hey, angel. Is everything okay?”

  There’s a long pause, during which Freddie must be explaining something lengthy to him.

  “Hold on,” he says eventually. “Hold on. She left you? For how long?”

  Shit. His tone sounds urgent. This isn’t going to be good.

  I have a sinking feeling that our lovely, intimate meal is not actually going to happen. I was about to plate up the food, but I don’t do it now as I keep listening.

  “Okay. It’s okay, angel. You want me to come up there and get you?”

  Yes, this is going exactly how I knew it would.

  He’s talking again in a low, soothing tone. “Okay, good. If that’s what she said, then she’ll probably be back later tonight and you two can do something tomorrow morning. You want me to come up and hang out with you this evening?” He pauses briefly. “It’s not that long a drive. And I’m not doing anything important.”

  My stomach twists even more. I put the plates I’m holding down on the counter.

  Freddie must have tried one more objection, because then Max says, “Angel, I’d rather be with you than with anyone else. It doesn’t have to be an emergency. You’re by yourself, and you’re upset. I’m going to leave right away. I’ll see you soon.”

  I’m giving the risotto a slow turn when he comes into the kitchen again.

  “She’s left all by herself?” I ask before he can give me some sort of sympathetic apology.

  “Yeah. Her mom had a work emergency.”

  “And she just left Freddie alone?”

  “Oh, it’s not that. Freddie is almost fourteen. She’s plenty old to be alone. But she’s upset about being left since she doesn’t have much time with her mom as it is. She didn’t call to ask me to go up there, but I could tell she’s upset.”

  “It’s fine. You can’t leave her there on her own upset. You better get going.” I try very hard to keep any disappointment out of my face and voice.

  I think I’ve succeeded, but maybe I haven’t because his face twists. “I’m really sorry, Katrina. You’ll have to eat the shrimp and risotto without me.”

  I’m not even hungry now, so I’m not
sure how much I’ll be eating. But I smile and tell him, “You don’t have to worry about me. Just get going so she’s not waiting too long.”

  He cups my face with both hands and then leans down to kiss me softly. “I really am sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be. It’s not any problem at all. You’re the one who won’t get to eat your yummy food.”

  “Promise me you’ll eat it without me.”

  “I can’t eat all of this!”

  “Well, eat as much as you can, and then save the rest for leftovers.”

  “I will. Drive safe.”

  I wait as he takes a few steps toward the door, but then he turns around and comes back to me. Kisses me again.

  I pull away since his sweetness is making my throat ache. My eyes burn. I don’t have any idea what’s wrong with me, but I might cry at any moment, and I can’t possibly let him know. “Max, I told you to get going.”

  “I know you did. You’re being great, but I feel like I’m treating you like an asshole.”

  “You’re not. Your daughter is your priority. I’ve always been perfectly clear on that. That’s what I signed up for. Your daughter comes first for you, and living the life I want comes first with me. That’s our deal. You don’t have to feel bad.”