Page 87 of Scouting the Single Dad

This was a mistake—a stupid, misguided mistake. I could be in my own apartment, in my own bed, not smelling his detergent, not daydreaming about holding his hand or kissing him or him coming back to Star Lake to visit me.

I should leave. Book an earlier flight. I could be—

A floorboard creaks outside the door.

A soft knock.

“Layla?” His voice is low, wrecked around the corners. “Can I—” A pause. “Can I talk to you?”

I stare toward the ceiling one more second, then throw back the sheets and sit up. Carpet under my feet. I cross the room and crack open the door.

“I handled that all wrong.” He wastes no time getting to the point. “All of it. I feel like a fucking asshole.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

The words seep into the cracks of my exterior and begin to work their magic, thawing me.

Technically, he has every right to feel the way he’s feeling: Confused. Panicked. Unnerved. Not that I want to assign emotions to him, but you get my point.

Far be it from me to judge.

“You dad so hard,” I hear myself say. So hard he leaves no room for himself. “I can’t change that—nor do I want to.”

It is what it is.

Perhaps dating a single dad is harder than it looks.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I step back. Yes.

In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve begun longing for him. Longed for his hands on me . . . And my skin.

“I used the word ‘friends’ as a shield,” he says, stepping over the threshold of the guest room and crossing to the overstuffed chair in the corner. “It’s not true. I don’t just see you as a friend—I like you. A lot.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Say more.”

“When Skylar told me Benny said you were going to be her mom, and I heard the two of you upstairs during bedtime, the thing I felt most was guilt. As if I’ve been depriving my daughter of normalcy her entire life by keeping women at a distance.”

That makes so much sense. I nod. “I get that.”

“I have no idea what I’m fucking doing.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms.

In the dark, with only the hall light to guide me, I close the distance between us, cupping his jaw in my hands.

“You’re protecting her,” I enthuse. “That’s not a crime. But you don’t have to starve yourself to feed her.”

His lips twitch.

I frown. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not starving myself, remember? I’ve eaten a few times today, including eating out your—”

My eye roll stops him from finishing his sentence. “Can you not bring up going down on me? This is a serious conversation.”

Jeez, what is wrong with men? Giant Perverts.

“Yes, serious.” Hayes clears his throat, chin nuzzling my hands. “Message received.”