Flirting with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 9)

by Whitley Cox

  With gritted teeth, she exhaled through her nose and swallowed down the lump of ire building in her throat. “Even so, he’s half mine. I want him back.”

  Carlyle rolled his eyes again and leaned against the door, crossing his ankles, appearing bored. He glanced at Blaire and she nodded, leaving them and wandering back into the apartment.

  “Look, Tess,” Carlyle started. “You’re too busy with work and school to take care of a dog anyway. Blaire is a student, and yeah, she works a lot and is studying a lot, but she’s also here studying. And I’ve been working from home a bit as I wait to hear back about that new job. He’s just happier here. Don’t be selfish.”

  Selfish?

  Selfish!

  Sputtering, she took a step back. Forest went with her. “Selfish?” Her voice was squeaky high. “He’s my dog. I take him to work with me every single day. I walk him on my lunch breaks. I walk him after work. I gave that dog more of my precious free time than you ever did, and he loved me a million times more than you for it. He is never not by my side. How is that too busy?”

  “I’ve called the police,” Blaire said blandly, coming back around the corner, her phone in her hand. “You’re harassing us. You also let yourself into our building without an invitation, so technically you’re trespassing on private property. If you want the dog back, file a claim or obtain a lawyer. But you’re not leaving here with him today. You do, and I’ll have you arrested for theft, trespassing and harassment.”

  Holy shit. This was not how she saw this going at all. Yes, she had let herself into their building unannounced and without invitation, but with good reason. And it wasn’t like she broke in. She’d followed somebody else—likely a resident—because she figured if she buzzed Carlyle and Blaire, they wouldn’t let her up. But she honestly didn’t see them calling the cops on her.

  Boiling with a fury she couldn’t unleash, she ground her teeth and clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt. “I’m taking my dog.” She would not cry. She would not cry. Emotion clawed at her throat, and her eyes burned with tears demanding to be shed. She couldn’t let them see her break. It was two against one. She had to hold her own, stand her ground. She was fighting for Forest, fighting for the last soul alive that remembered her and loved her.

  Her fingers tightened around his collar.

  Carlyle made a noise in his throat, and Blaire stepped forward, gripping Forest’s collar and tugging. “Let go.”

  Tessa jerked Forest toward her. “He’s mine.”

  Forest began growl, and he snarled at Blaire. She released his collar, and he snapped at her. The hair on his back had lifted, his posture changed and he bared his teeth. “If he bites me, I’ll have him put down,” she said, triumph filling her eyes. “Let go of him.”

  Forest’s growl was deep in his chest. His head dipped low, his body in the pouncing stance. Realizing that she’d been defeated by Blaire witch and her empathy-free frat boy project, she sank back to her knees and shifted her body in front of Forest. His transformation was instant. His tongued lolled back out of his mouth, and his soulful, light-brown eyes turned soft. She pressed her forehead to his. “I’ll get you back, buddy. I promise. Just hang tight and don’t bite anybody, okay? Be a good boy. Play nice, and we’ll be together again soon.”

  A hot tear sprinted down her cheek, but before she could wipe it up, Forest licked it off for her, his front paw tapping her thigh repeatedly. He knew she was upset. He’d always been so in tune with her emotions. He began to whimper.

  “It’s okay, Forest. You be a good boy.” She stood up and ruffled the fur on the top of his head before turning back to face Blaire and Carlyle. “You two make me sick, you know that?”

  Blaire glanced behind them into the apartment. “Cop car just pulled up outside.”

  Holy crap, the bitch hadn’t been bluffing.

  Blaire’s phone began to ring in her hand. She answered it. “Hello?”

  She put it on speaker.

  “Seattle PD. We had a call about a domestic disturbance in your unit?”

  “Yes, officer. Come right up. She’s right here.” Blaire looked like a cat who’d just finished another cat’s entire bowl of cream, and she didn’t give a flying fuck about it.

  Tessa’s free hand fell to her chest. The rage and pain inside her was nearly too much to bear. She didn’t want to leave Forest, not now. Not after finally seeing him again. But she also didn’t want to make her chances of getting him back any worse.

  Heavy footsteps on the stairs to the right of her echoed through the building. Seconds later, the door swung open, and two tall, handsome, wide-shouldered policemen stepped into the hall.

  They both glanced at all of them, and a single eyebrow on each of their foreheads lifted.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the redheaded one asked.

  Tessa swallowed. “I’m going.” Her chin trembled, and she rolled her lips inward to keep them herself from tearing up. She would not let them see her cry.

  “Please escort her outside,” Blaire said. “She entered the property uninvited.” She stepped forward and reached for Forest’s collar again, wrapping pointy, black fake nails around it and tugging his reluctant bulk forward.

  Her dog knew how to throw on the brakes when he wanted do, and he was pulling the E-brake this time.

  “Looks like he doesn’t want to go inside,” the bald officer commented. “Whose dog is he?”

  “Mine!” Tessa practically yelled. “He’s mine.”

  “He’s ours,” Carlyle said, his tone that of a parent correcting the pronunciation of their child. “We’ve recently split, and I have the dog, and she refuses to accept that. Her text messages, emails and voicemails have been harassment enough, and now she shows up at my home and harasses me and my girlfriend here.” He shook his head. “Really, officers, it’s getting to be too much. I just want to live in peace with my dog, start my life over with someone new, without having my past constantly harassing me.”

  Tessa thought she might puke.

  The cops eyed her warily.

  “Is that true, ma’am?” the redhead asked. His badge said I. Fox.

  “I—I …I’m going.” She hung her head and turned her face to hide the flood of tears. She was down the stairs and out of the lobby as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew at least one of the cops was behind her, but she didn’t care. She’d never been so humiliated or felt so defeated and powerless in all her life.

  The heat of the sun on her back disappeared, and a big shadow appeared on the concrete in front of her. “How much of that was true?”

  She turned around to find the redheaded cop standing behind her. The other one must still be in the apartment getting Blaire and Carlyle’s outrageously inaccurate take on the whole situation. His hands rested on his hips, his eyes curious but not harsh. He was probably her age or a bit older, fit, tanned and handsome as hell.

  “Want to tell us what really happened?” he asked, his tone encouraging and friendly.

  She nodded and sniffled, wiping the back of her wrist beneath her nose. “How much time do you have?”

  “Well, that fucking sucks,” Officer Fox said, shaking his head and letting out a breath between his nice lips. “Couple of real pieces of work up there.” His blue eyes shifted toward the sundeck of Blaire and Carlyle’s apartment. All the blinds were drawn, but she suspected somewhere at least one of them was spying on her and the cops.

  “And you’ve filed a claim or obtained a lawyer?” the bald officer asked, having joined them halfway through her explanation. His name badge said F. Webster.

  She shook her head. “Not yet. But I’ve been given a few recommendations and done a few discovery calls. They’re a bit out of my price range though.”

  Both officers pursed their lips and hummed.

  “There isn’t really anything we can do,” Officer Fox said grimly. “It is a civil issue to be dealt with by the court. Unfortunately, Forest is property. Though, I’m like you, my dog is more
like a kid, more like family than a couch.”

  “I wasn’t harassing them,” she said, feeling the need to reexplain herself and her case again.

  “We know,” Officer Fox said, resting a big, meaty palm on her shoulder for a second. “We see that now. But we were called out and had to investigate. I wish now we could have grabbed the dog for you, strong-armed them a bit.” He shook his head. “Not that we do that or anything.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile.

  “I appreciate that. But Blaire is a first-year law student, so you know, she obviously knows everything about the law. Probably more than you guys and every judge on the Supreme Court.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, I definitely got a brainiac vibe from that one,” Officer Webster said, chuckling. “You going to be okay?”

  Tessa breathed out a long sigh. “No, but I’ll muddle through. Might need to hit the Rage Room on my way home.”

  Both cops laughed.

  “We love that place. Luna and Sarah are the best. The last Wednesday night of the month, they give all first responders a fifty-percent discount.” Officer Fox’s smile was big and toothy.

  “I’ve already used up like four of her ten punch passes,” Officer Webster said the evening sun glinting off his shiny hairless head. “And I don’t even consider myself that angry of a guy. I really just love smashing shit.”

  Tessa laughed. She was glad the cops were on her side now. Even though they couldn’t do anything to help her get Forest back, it was nice to talk it all out with somebody and know that they had her back—as long as she stayed within the confines of the law.

  “Tell Luna Isaac and Finn say hi if you see her,” Officer Fox said, the two of them heading back toward their patrol car. “And Tessa … ”

  “Yeah?”

  “We really hope you get Forest back and those two assholes upstairs get like crabs or something.”

  “May the fleas of a thousand camels infest the crotches of the persons who steal your dog,” she said, heading down the sidewalk toward her car.

  Both cops chuckled.

  “I like that,” Officer Webster said before he opened his car door. “Take care, Tessa.”

  She thanked them both and then swung behind the wheel of her car.

  Now what?

  Now? Now you need to head to the Rage Room, kick the shit out of a bunch of stuff and figure out how you’re going to get Forest back. Starting with calling one of those lawyers David recommended.

  The lump in her throat felt more like a sticky wad of peanut butter. But she did her best to swallow it down, turned the ignition and pulled out into traffic. There was no use wallowing in her grief or self-pity. That didn’t do anybody any good. Forest needed her, and she needed him. Now all she had to do was come up with a way to get him back.

  She’d call David tonight. Maybe between the two of them, they could figure something out. Two heads were better than one, even if she’d never met David or seen his head.

  10

  Atlas’s hand shot out, and he grabbed Cecily’s foot as she tried to crawl away from him, still naked and damp from her bath. “Get back here, you little beast,” he said, dragging a giggling baby across the soft carpet in her room. Her arms and legs flew out from under her, and he hauled her back in front of him and spun her to her back. “You need a diaper before you start wandering around. We can’t have another carpet puddle like last week.”

  It was Tuesday evening, and he’d just finished bathing the girls. Separately, of course, because Aria still wanted nothing to do with Cecily, and God forbid he bathe the girls together. His daughter might drown her cousin. He’d asked Aria to go and pick out her pajamas in her room while he dressed Cecily in hers, but his daughter had been gone an inordinate amount of time and been awfully quiet while gone.

  Securing Cecily’s diaper, then tucking her into a light cotton, footless sleeper with little pink and green turtles on it, he scooped the smiling baby up into his arms and went off in search of his mischievous threenager.

  “Aria?” he called, heading down the hallway from Cecily’s room toward Aria’s. “Aria, honey, I thought you were going to grab your pajamas and then come back so I could help you get them on. Where are you?” He poked his head into her room, but she was nowhere to be found. A tickle of dread began to itch behind his ears and at the base of his skull.

  They didn’t say a quiet toddler was a dangerous toddler for no reason.

  “Aria! Where are you?” He and Cecily continued on into the kitchen. He swatted Cecily’s hand away gently as she tried to shove a little finger up his nose. “No, baby. No. Aria?” Rounding the corner, he had to tighten his grip on Cecily. Otherwise, he would have dropped her.

  Holy mother of fucking hell.

  There stood his three-and-a-half-year-old on a kitchen chair, naked and covered in black, blue and red Sharpie marker. Arms, legs, chest, belly, face. Covered.

  “Aria!” He had to set Cecily down on the floor, otherwise he might keel over and take the baby with him. “What are you doing?”

  “What Tessa told me to do. Using art to show my feelings. And I do not feel like wearing pajamas. I’m too hot. So I drew them on.” Her hazel eyes shone proudly, and her smile—through the Sharpie on her face—was big and triumphant.

  What Tessa told me to do.

  Shaking his head and bunching his fists, he approached his toddler slowly. He needed to remain calm. He didn’t want to lose his child, didn’t want her to think he had no time for her, but holy fucking fuck.

  Sharpie.

  Goddamn permanent fucking marker.

  She knew better. She damn well knew better. There was a reason he kept the fucking permanent markers way up on the kitchen counter in a mason jar with the rest of the pens and pencils. So short-ass people with not fully developed frontal lobes and cognitive reasoning couldn’t get their jammy hands on them. Fuck. Now what was he supposed to do? Scrub his child raw until the layer of skin coated in permanent ink sloughed off?

  He felt like screaming. Yelling and hammering his fists into something. But he couldn’t, not in front of the kids. Not in front of his already emotionally damaged Aria, who didn’t think he had any time for her anymore.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  FUCK!

  “Aria … ” he started softly, taking the black pen away from her. “You know better than to touch these markers. These markers don’t come off with soap and water. You know that. We’ve had this talk before.” With his hands under her arms, he helped her off the chair. She looked like a mess.

  “I know. But now I’ll always have pajamas on. Even under my clothes.” Her eyes lasered in on Cecily, who was sitting contently on the kitchen floor, gnawing on … oh fuck. But Aria got there before he did, and she snatched the small plastic toy out of Cecily’s hand and then whacked her over the head with it.

  “No, baby. My train.”

  It was a little magnetised train piece, meant for a wooden train track, and no bigger than a harmonica, but it could have been a bag of feathers his child wielded and it wouldn’t have mattered. Aria had once again, gone after Cecily with the intention of hurting her.

  And of course, because she was still a baby, Cecily started to cry.

  “My toy, baby. You know that. My toy!” Aria screamed, stomping her foot.

  “Aria Elaina, get to your room,” Atlas demanded, raising his voice to authoritative father level. “We do not hit in this house.”

  Aria let out a wail and stomped her foot again. “I hate her!” She took off down the hallway and slammed her bedroom door, continuing to scream on the other side.

  Atlas scooped up a bawling Cecily into his arms and kissed her forehead, cradling her against his chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay. You’re a good baby. You’re a good girl.” He kissed her again, rubbing her back and whispering shushing sounds to calm her. Luckily, unlike his volatile threenager, Cecily was easy to settle and calmed down within a minute
. Big, fat tears rolled down her round rosy cheeks, and her long lashes were spiked as she blinked curiously at him. He checked out where Aria had hit her, and sure enough there was a small bump. Poor kid didn’t have a ton of hair to begin with. That lump was going to show.

  Shit. When it rained, it fucking poured.

  Aria was now crying in her room, but he was too upset with her to go and even look at her, let alone try and reason with her to scrub off the Sharpie. He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and brought up Kimmy’s number. Maybe the babysitter knew how to get Sharpie off a toddler? At least he fucking hoped she did.

  Still fuming mad, with nowhere else to think of to go, Atlas climbed out of his Land Cruiser and hit the fob to lock it. Her website said she worked late on Tuesdays, until nine. It was eight-fifty, so unless she’d gone home early, she should be there. Walking toward the front door, he spotted her Ducati in the motorcycle parking spot. She was still there.

  He didn’t know why the hell he’d driven all the way downtown, but he just knew this was where he had to be. She was the reason his child was acting this way. She was the reason his daughter had taken a fucking Sharpie to her skin and drawn on a pair of goddamn long-sleeved pajamas. Her and her art therapy. Showing her feelings through art. Fucking bullshit. Fuck-ing BULLSHIT!

  He took the stairs two at a time and was down the hallway, heading toward her studio in record time, his anger fueling him. His heart hammered in his chest when he reached her door. It was closed, but he heard music playing softly on the other side. There were no voices, only a gentle humming.

  He knocked—well, more like pounded vigorously on the door, his leg jiggling and his foot tapping as he waited for her to open it.

  Footsteps approached on the other side, and the door swung open. Her blue eyes flashed open in surprise. “Atlas!”

  He pushed inside. “You!”

  She took a step back, worry and perhaps even a touch of fear on her face. “Me? Me what?” She was wearing one of those long, flowy skirt things again that made her look like some leader of a commune. She said she didn’t wear those when she rode her bike. What the fuck? “What are you doing here, Atlas?” The fear in her eyes was already gone, replaced with an irritation he felt tenfold in his own heart.