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“Yeah, Princess. She’ll be right in to see you. Want a treat from The Brew?” I knew treats would make her happy.
“Please?” Her eyes always got bigger at the mention of treats. A love of sweets was one trait she got from me. Our sweet tooth ran deep. Nothing about her appearance hinted that I could be her father, but I couldn’t have cared less. My skin free of ink was as pale as it gets, a tribute to my English heritage, where hers was more like caramel. Her eyes were a warm brown to my ice blue. She did have my height and the same jawline, but people never saw past the skin tone difference to see any other similarities, though. Hell, even if the DNA test had come back negative, I would have fought for her. I had no desire to settle down much less have kids, but I loved my little girl with my whole heart as soon as I laid eyes on her. Nothing would take her from me.
My first piece of the day was a butterfly tramp stamp. Sometimes my job sucked. The girl was pretty enough with a short blond ponytail and tons of curves, but she seemed a little more interested in Hattie than she was me. It was funny as hell to watch Hattie strut by at least a hundred times for no reason, making trips to the back when there was nothing back there she needed. My client’s head would tilt to follow Hattie’s swaying ass every time. I could only shake my head.
Mom picked up Celia, I did a few more generic tattoos, then stood outside the piercing room listening to a man cry like a bitch over getting his nipples pierced. Even Hattie made fun of that guy. She was usually all sweet when someone couldn’t handle the pain, but the poor guy got no mercy. When he walked out in his leather biker cut, I understood why Hattie was giving him shit. No guy who looked as badass as him should cry over nipple piercings.
At home, I surfed the web, looking for a dance studio to sign my princess up at. Lucky for me, I found one a couple of miles up the road with great reviews and a class for her age. I filled out the form, paid with my card, and wrote her first dance lesson down on the kitchen calendar. I had no intention of forgetting it, and knew Celia wouldn’t, either, but it looked better during home visits to have cute family shit up.
For what felt like the millionth night in a row, I sat up trying to remember Celia’s mother. The snapshot was in the drawer in Celia’s room, I had stared at it for hours after Celia showed up, but I couldn’t place the woman. The thought made my stomach sour. She may have been a druggie, but she wasn’t a whore. A pro wouldn’t have known who her baby belonged to. Trina knew. Hell, she filled in the birth certificate and signed my name where the father went. I was always so damn careful, but somehow, I had messed up. I missed the first five years of my daughter’s life. Had I known, I could have saved my little girl from the trauma her mother caused, but I had no idea.
I went to sleep the same way I had every night for four months—alone, and pissed.
* * *
The windowon the wooden door gave me a clear view of the other parents in the room. Well, it wasn’t parents, it was moms. Six, to be exact. There were at least twenty folding chairs, but the group was very segregated. On one end was a group of five women all looking like they just came from doing yoga or some shit. The other end was a single woman with her brown hair in a ponytail, wearing all black. Her arms and legs were both crossed, but not defensively. Even from behind, she was hot as hell. While the other women were engrossed in conversation, the one in black watched the girls through the glass intently. From the diversity in the room, it was clear who the little girl in the black outfit belonged to. Through the glass, I watched the six little girls stretch and giggle— five in pink, one in black. I watched a second longer, suddenly realizing I would be trapped in a room with those women for half an hour.
I owned my appearance. I knew years ago the ink would get me stares, but the thought of Celia being judged by my appearance was sickening. Truth be told, I looked like a badass motherfucker, not a dad at dance class. I was doing the damn dance class for her and was going to have to defend my parenting from day one by the looks of things. With one more scan of the room, I pulled the door open, shoving down my fear of six women I didn’t know.
THREE
Cori
My little gothic princess bounced into the group of five other girls like she owned the place, probably because she thought she did. Ax was under the impression that she owned everything. Her black outfit stuck out in the pale pink group, but she rose to the occasion, rocking her unconventional leotard. I took my seat in the folding chair furthest from the judgmental faces at the other end. I had as much right to be there as they did, but their cold shoulder made it very clear I was not one of them. I was about a decade younger for one, but I was also not quite the suburban desperate housewife type. I watched from behind the one-way glass, just like they did, but they were all chatty and whispering where I was quiet, alone. It wasn’t the alone part bothering me, or them talking about me without trying to hide it. It was all of them acting like my daughter had less of a right to be there than theirs did. I ignored them, smiling to myself as my little rebel turned her attentive face to Miss Beniot, the instructor. She may have had a black leotard with matching nails, but my girl had more talent than their spoiled little terrors. It ate them up, but I loved it.
Just as Miss Beniot, aka Charli, started class, a seventh girl walked in slowly, timidly. She was new and so adorable. Her dark cloud of curls framed her face and her black almond eyes were brimming with excitement, but also fear. The fear it faded when Ax walked straight up to her to give her a hug. The new girl hugged her back then let my munchkin pull her over to the barre. My daughter had my rebellious streak but was the kindest child you would ever meet. I couldn’t have been prouder. Then the door behind us opened to reveal something even more unexpected.
The man was tall, broad, with a tight black shirt. Herculean arm muscles were covered wrist to sleeve with tattoos. His dark wash jeans were just tight enough and slung low on his hips. Then I got to his face. A scruffy five o’clock shadow covered his chiseled jaw and his dark hair contrasted the pale blue of his irises.Holy hell.Tall, ripped, and sexy looked from the cluster of yoga pants and screw-me stares, down the empty expanse of chairs to me, smirking. His eyes moved to the glass where Charli was pointing at us, undoubtedly telling the girl Daddy was in there, then she led the girl to the barre. My munchkin immediately showed the new classmate how to stretch, hugging her again first. While I was watching the kids, he settled himself down next to me, slouching in the seat. The sexy beast his legs out until his biker boots touched the wall in front of us. Every mouth in the room was watering, even mine, but when his smell invaded me, I shifted in my seat. It was clean, masculine, and sexy; like the guy needed help with being sexy.Am I dreaming?
Class started, and I trained my gaze on the glass, not even risking a peek at the absolutely delicious man next to me. He oozed dominance and sexual energy, but I was doing a damn good job of ignoring him. Until he spoke.
“They fit an awful lot of pious in one dance studio.”
His voice was like a rumble of distant thunder, warning of oncoming storm. I stopped breathing for a second.What is wrong with me?
I slid my eyes to him in time to see him tip his head discreetly at the five women across the room and nodded. “Stick around, it only gets better,” I whispered, smiling and biting my lip.
“I paid for six months, so I’m sure I’ll learn all about it.” Then he stuck his hand out. “Griffin Steele.” Even his hands were tattooed.Holy shit, the man is gorgeous.
I shook his hand, breathing out an awkward laugh. “Cori Sharpe. Your name sounds like the hero in a romance novel.” His laugh joined mine and the room melted away when his eyes caught mine. Griffin was yummy. His laugh was beyond sexy. There was a, a small one, just on the edge of his mouth and when he shifted, I noticed the tattoo peeking from under the collar of his shirt. He was covered in them and it suited him. It suited me too. I was more a fan of the straight-laced kind of men, but my type went out the window when Griffin filled up the doorway. I knew I was losing my mind when I started searching for a wedding band.Get a fricking grip, woman.
“I take it yours is the one in black?” He slid his calloused hand from mine and I nodded, peeking at his ring-less left hand. “How old is she?”
“Five in a couple of weeks.” I glanced behind him at the women watching us. “You’ve caused quite the stir.” Griffin flashed a smile at the women then turned back to me, I could almost hear the panties dropping at the gesture. “Congratulations, tonight you will be at the forefront of five women’s self-induced orgasms.” Then his smile turned devilish.
“Only five?” He arched an eyebrow at me, making me giggle. I even blushed like a schoolgirl.
I had to clear my throat before answering, “Only five.” A big flashing sign in my head went off, horn blaring, and declaringliarin all caps. “How old is your daughter?”
His smile didn’t fade, like he was reading my mind and enjoying all the dirty things my mind was doing to him. “Five last month. Why are you not over there cackling with the other hens?” I chuckled at his reference, shaking my head.Had the perfect man just strutted in and parked his hunky self next to me?It was all very unfair considering I was in no condition to do a damn thing about it.
“I’m not quite their type.” I moved my focus back to the girls. If I hadn’t I would have started mentally undressing him, just like the other women were, and I was better than them. Despite his masculine smell, proximity, and crazy hot body, I was keeping my cool. “I don’t have a six-figure husband, or a cute SUV, or a standing appointment with my yoga instructor.” I rolled my eyes. I was not bitter about working, or my eleven-year-old Jeep, or lack of yoga. I was bitter about single parenting, at least a little.
“Wow, whole list of downfalls there.” His sarcasm made me laugh. “How are you surviving without yoga? Whatdoyou even have?”Uh, I have the urge to climb you like a tree.
“Well” —I brought my gaze back to him, focusing on his gorgeous eyes— “I have an amazing little girl, a reliable car, a good job that supports us. Oh, and enough self-respect to not act like they do,” My list was good, right? Stability without a man. I also made it clear I wasn’t treating him like a piece of meat. “What do you have?”
Griffin smiled.Holy shit, I’m flirting with the guy and doing a good job.
