Single Dad Seeks Juliet

by Max Monroe

  Frankly, it’s kind of a crime that this guy has been single for as long as he has. It makes no sense with nature and physics and science in general.

  Still, I can tell by the way he holds himself that just because he’s been single doesn’t mean he’s been celibate. Jake Brent looks like the type of guy who knows what he’s doing—and knows it so well, that it’s as if he were born with the talent. He doesn’t have to try too hard or overcompensate with overzealous remarks about his dick size or tongue talent. He just has it. Both of them, if I had to guess.

  The neon lights of the Boogie’s sign shine in the darkening sky as we approach, and I take the last few moments in the truck to gather myself. It’s been a hell of a day—one that’s made me like Jake Brent a whole lot more than I expected.

  He’s patient and kind and really knows how to loosen up enough to have fun during all the monotony.

  Still, something about going to dinner with him and his daughter makes my stomach flip over on itself. I already spent a little time with them at spaghetti dinner the other night, watching their dynamic play out, and I know the way seeing them together makes me feel. Nostalgic. Squishy. Far too invested.

  I don’t even want to know how much another night spent with the two of them is bound to compound those feelings.

  I shiver at the thought, and Jake apparently notices. “Cold?”

  I shake my head with the truth, but my mouth is at least smart enough to cover for me a little bit. “Kind of.”

  He pulls into a spot, throws the truck into park, and twists his torso to reach into the back seat of the truck. “I bet I have a sweatshirt or something back here you can put on.”

  A quick trip to Imagination Town paints a pretty scary picture of how it would feel to be that enveloped by his delicious aroma—to swim luxuriously in an item of his clothing.

  Yikes.

  I cut off that possibility directly at the pass.

  “Uh, no. That’s okay. I’ll be fine without it. I’m probably just a little tired. Once I have something to eat, I’ll warm up.”

  “You get cold when you get tired?”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve never noticed.”

  I have to laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s because I’m pretty sure you don’t get tired. Ever. It’s not part of your chemical makeup. You’re like a vampire. You never sleep.”

  He raises one amused brow. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Uh, hello? This whole day? Dude, if you followed me around for a day and I had as much to do as you do, you can bet your booty I’d also have a built-in nap time.”

  His mouth curves up into a smile.

  “I didn’t even do the motocrossing. I just watched! And I could so go for a catnap right now. How do you do it?”

  “Years of practice, I guess. I haven’t really slept a traditional amount since before BUD/S.” He shrugs, but when he searches my eyes, he offers an additional explanation. “BUD/S is the equivalent of basic training but for Navy SEALs.”

  “Gotcha.” I nod. “And, see? You’re basically a vampire.”

  His responding smirk is sly. “Maybe I’m a vampire, but you shouldn’t discount what you did at the track. Word gets around, you know, and I hear you were a wild woman in the stands.”

  I blush as he pulls the door handle to get down out of the truck. I do the same, but I have to admit a thrill runs through me as I wait for him to come around and help me down. I’m really not sure I’m going to be able to go back to just getting in and out of regular cars myself. It’s not going to feel right.

  My body slides down his like a whisper, and I look up into the moonlit pools of his eyes. He watches me closely.

  Almost immediately, awkwardness at his scrutiny seeps into my pores.

  “We should get inside,” I babble, just to fill the silence with something. “Chloe’s probably here already,” I continue when he doesn’t move away. “What car does she drive? Maybe we can spot it in the parking lot,” I keep going.

  Finally shaken from whatever momentary spell he was under, he gathers himself and glances to the car behind him—the one parked right beside us. It’s a dark-green Mini Cooper. “This is hers.”

  “Oh,” I whisper. “See? I was right. She’s already inside.”

  Jake nods silently.

  I watch, unwilling to move my eyes from his. It’s like my brain refuses to understand that I can be the one to break contact.

  Finally, he looks away from me and back at Chloe’s car before giving me the space to get out of the doorjamb. I comply, and he shuts the door to the truck behind me.

  “I guess we should get inside, huh?”

  I nod, without mentioning that I’ve been saying that for the last five minutes. It feels like our weird little exchange is Fight Club, and neither of us is allowed to talk about it.

  Which, personally, I’m okay with. I don’t have the slightest idea what I would even say—what I would be willing to admit.

  That maybe you’re kind of, sort of, forgetting the whole reason you’re with him is because he’s Mr. Bachelor Anonymous…? my mind questions. And maybe, you’re getting a little too lost in a guy who should be one-hundred-percent off-limits?

  Yeah, now is not the time to think about all that insanity.

  Not the time. At all.

  Jake

  Hand to Holley’s back, I guide her into Boogie’s with a million things running through my mind. It feels like a jumbled mess, to be honest, and I’m pretty sure a part of me is still back there in the damn parking lot, standing in the door of my truck, staring down at her.

  The way she was looking at me felt electrifying—entrancing—and I couldn’t seem to look away, no matter how hard I tried or how many times she reminded me that my daughter was inside waiting for us.

  I can’t be sure, but I think it had something to do with the feel of her skin as I lifted her down from the truck. Warm and supple, and I hadn’t expected it when I’d reached up to pull her down.

  Because for as cold as she claimed to be, I’ve never felt anything warmer.

  The door swings closed behind us, and the hostess greets us with a smile. “Hey there! Table for two?”

  I shake my head, but before I can open my mouth, Holley is already answering. “Thanks, but we’re meeting someone.” She spots Chloe over the woman’s shoulder and points. “And, actually, I see her right there.”

  The woman glances back to the booth and then to Holley and me. “Enjoy dinner with your daughter.”

  Holley’s mouth gulps like a fish out of water, stumbling over herself to try to explain, but I talk over her, putting my hand to her back and giving her a gentle push again. “Thanks. We will.”

  Holley’s eyes bug out as she looks back at me, but I ignore it and head for Chloe. She has her head down, looking at her phone, but as soon as she spots us, she sets it on the table and forgets it.

  I lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek while Holley slides into the seat across from her.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Chloe greets sweetly, scooting over to make room for me.

  I smile in response and take my seat next to my daughter, stretching an arm across the booth behind her.

  “So, Chlo, how was your wild day of shopping?”

  Instantly, her shoulders sag, and a heavy sigh doubles the air around us.

  “That bad?” I ask, and she offers a lazy shrug of her shoulders.

  “I mean, for the most part, it was good. I even managed to get Sarah a few things she really wanted.” She rests her elbows on the table and blows out a breath. “But you know how Miss Bethanny can be.”

  I definitely know how Garrett’s she-witch of a wife can be. As a responsible adult, however, I don’t put a voice to any of the nasty comments that come to mind.

  “Anyway, she was really hard on her,” Chloe explains. “Hayden is easy, you know? He doesn’t care what he wears, so he’s kind of like her little puppet. But that just makes it worse on Sarah
when she wants to have an opinion of her own.”

  Holley looks on as we talk, her eyebrows squished together as she tries to crack the code on our conversation.

  I smile and clarify a little for her benefit. “My good friend Garrett is a San Diego firefighter, so his schedule is pretty wacky. Lots of twenty-four-hour shifts and sometimes longer stints when we’re having wildfires like we are now.”

  “Oh, okay,” she responds, but I know for a fact that I’ve just confused her even more.

  My smile deepens as I continue. “He’s married to Bethanny, and they have eleven-year-old twins, Sarah and Hayden.”

  Light starts to dawn, and Holley nods in actual understanding.

  “Anyway, Bethanny is…” I pause, trying to come up with an appropriate word, and Chloe fills in the gap.

  “Satan’s mistress.”

  “Chlo.” I try not to laugh as I shake my daughter’s shoulder in warning.

  “What?” she questions. “She is. She’s really rotten to Sarah mostly, but she’s not exactly great to Hayden and Uncle Garrett either. Still, she’s an adult, so I won’t say anything else.”

  Chloe flashes a knowing look in my direction, and I relent a little, elucidating, “Bethanny is, well, very…self-centered. Garrett and the kids are not.” I shrug. “But he’s tried really hard to make it work for a whole number of reasons.”

  “He’s tried to make it work because no doubt her tantrums will be worse if he divorces her,” Chloe expands.

  I shake my head, but not in denial. She’s right. I imagine that’s exactly why Garrett has put up with Bethanny for so long. Hell, it’s bad now—nearly intolerable, to be honest—and if he would divorce her, he’d still have to deal with all of her ungrateful bullshit, but undoubtedly worse.

  For me, though, I wouldn’t even be able to stand putting my dick inside her at this point. I don’t know how he does it.

  “Anyway, enough about her,” Chloe says, punctuating the last word with certified teenage attitude, and I shake her shoulder again. She ignores me. “I went shopping with them today for back-to-school stuff. Sarah has the best style. Seriously, she is chic in girl form. I can’t even explain how snatched she is.”

  “How what?” I ask, just as Holley bursts into a half laugh, half cough, spewing some of her water onto the table.

  “Snatched,” Chloe repeats, and full-blown hilarity fills my lungs and blocks any ability to form words.

  Thankfully, Holley gathers herself enough and asks for the both of us. “Snatched? What does that mean exactly?”

  “Like, fashionable,” Chloe responds, glancing between Holley and me like we’ve grown three heads. “Stylish? On-trend?”

  “Ohh,” Holley hums, widening her eyes at me comically, and I return the gesture.

  “In my day, that is not what the word snatch meant,” I mutter.

  Chloe shakes her head, correcting, “It’s snatched…with the e-d. It’s not snatch, Dad. Geez.”

  “Dance Hall Days” by Wang Chung starts to play, and I don’t hesitate.

  I reach over and grab Chloe’s hand to slide her out of the booth. She comes willingly, laughing and already bobbing her head back and forth to the music. We’ve danced to this song since she was a little girl, and I imagine, one day, we’ll dance to it at her wedding.

  She swings wide to the side, shaking her head at Holley, and then crooking a finger at her.

  Holley refuses—a routine occurrence, I’m starting to notice—but just like me, Chloe isn’t good at taking no for an answer. She grabs Holley by the hand and pulls her out of the booth and shoves her toward me. I catch her on a spin, swinging her around the floor and then tucking her in as we shuffle from one side to another.

  The song fades out pretty quickly, and “Faithfully” by Journey fades in. I expect Holley to pull away, but when she doesn’t, I tuck her into my arms and sway us around the floor. Her head rests on my shoulder, and for a brief second, I almost can’t even form a thought.

  Damn, she feels good in my arms.

  I glance over to Chloe, who looks on from our booth with a smile on her face. It’s such a foreign feeling. In fact, I haven’t felt like this in so long, I’m not sure I even recognize what this is.

  Holley’s hair smells like lavender as we spin and step to the beat, and a weird memory of Chloe as a toddler flashes in my mind. It was always part of her bedtime routine to put on lavender-scented lotion to soothe her into sleep. As a result, it was always a calming smell to me too. Probably because it signified that I’d survived another day as a dad—that I’d managed to keep my kid happy and healthy and alive.

  As a result, smelling it now, in Holley’s hair…it feels overwhelming. Calming. Like having her here in my arms at the end of the long day is the peaceful transition I didn’t even know I needed.

  The thoughts are insane—a seriously big jump to make without any kind of evidence—so I shut them down before they can run away too far.

  I don’t know what it is about opening myself up that feels so scary, but I can’t imagine it will go well if I take anything quicker than one step at a time.

  Starting next week, I’m going to be dating several women after years of not dating any at all. I’m going to have enough on my plate.

  The song comes to an end, and I spin Holley out and away from my body to bring our time in each other’s arms to a close.

  Her laughter is soft and smooth, but her smile is loud and bold. She doesn’t look lost in the complicated thoughts that I am. She looks like that dance was the escape she needed for a few minutes before her meal.

  I gesture for her to lead the way to the table, and she does. Chloe is smiling so big it almost makes my cheeks hurt when we take our seats with her again.

  “What?” I ask, bumping my shoulder gently into my daughter’s.

  “Nothing,” she says with a giggle. “Just having a good time.”

  It seems suspicious that she’s having the time of her life tonight while she just sits there—not staring at her phone—but I don’t question it.

  “Did the waitress come for our order?” I ask instead.

  Chloe shakes her head. “Not yet.”

  I look over at Holley, who’s started bopping her head to the new song, wistfulness making the dimples in her cheeks appear.

  Chloe follows my line of sight to the beautiful woman sitting across from us, adding, “Don’t worry, though. I know what you want. I can order for you and Holley if you want to go dance again.”

  I can hear the smile in her voice—and I know her well enough to know I should investigate it—but I can’t seem to take my eyes off Holley as she mouths the words to a song I can’t quite place. I know it’s an eighties classic, but I’m not sure of the title.

  “Do you know what you want to eat, Holley?” Chloe asks, trying even harder to facilitate our exit from the table.

  “Oh,” Holley says, snapping out of the music briefly to smile at my daughter. “I’ll have the grilled chicken sandwich with fries.”

  Chloe nods, nudging me with her shoulder. “Go on, Dad. I’ll order.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t take orders from my daughter—especially when she seems to be up to something I’ve yet to nail down—but Holley’s face as she listens to a song I can tell she loves pushes me forward.

  “Come on, Holley,” I say, holding out a hand. “One more dance?”

  I don’t wait for her answer before grabbing her hand and pulling her back out onto the floor with me. We find our positions easier this time, having done it before, and I loop an arm around her back and pull her in close.

  The music is a soft, sweet kind of beat, and we fall into a slow rhythm to match.

  “What song is this?” I ask her quietly, and she glances up to meet my eyes.

  “I Want to Know What Love Is,” she answers. “By Foreigner.”

  “I knew it was an eighties classic,” I comment. “But I couldn’t place it.”

  “You like eighties music, Jake?” she
asks, quirking a brow.

  “What can I say? I guess I’m a little bit old-school.”

  “Me too,” she whispers conspiratorially, as if it’s a sin to be a fan.

  I simply smile down at her, and once again, the scent of her hair is overwhelming as she tucks her head back into my shoulder and sways. Her body is engaged with the lyrics, so in tune that it feels like a current is running from her skin to mine.

  There’s something there—a story—that she’s yet to share. Real heartache and pain and hurt. So much so that, no matter the time that’s passed, I can feel it rolling off her in waves.

  I pull her tighter into me to try to absorb some of it, to leach off some of the pain, and she doesn’t fight me.

  The song builds into the chorus, and so does the beat of my heart. Her head comes up off my shoulder slowly to look me in the eyes, and I don’t squander the gift.

  There’s life and light and happiness there in the soft green, but there’s also so much more. Everything dark and missing and hurtful—it stands out in a forest-green ring around her pupils.

  As the song starts to fade, the longing in her eyes, the fight to get rid of all of the pain, only grows.

  I don’t think about it. I don’t pause. I don’t plan. But between one moment and the next, my head moves, closer to her—so close I can feel the heat of her breath. It feels ragged against my skin, perfectly pure in emotion, and I need to feel what it’s like to touch her.

  She turns her head slightly, expecting me to whisper words in her ear, but I have plans of my own—different plans—my lips landing softly on the tiny, perfectly formed corner of her mouth.

  She freezes, startled by the touch, but I don’t linger; I don’t push it further. Instead, I bring myself out of the fog that’s been induced by her striking emerald eyes and this poignant song and back into the reality of the room.

  “Thanks for the dance,” I whisper to the space between us and step out of our quiet embrace.

  Holley just looks up at me with those big green eyes of hers, and it takes all the mental strength I have not to fall back into the entrancing mist, not to reach out and pull her back toward me for an actual kiss. A real kiss.