Page 140 of Scouting the Single Dad

I take his face in my hands and go up on my tiptoes to kiss him. “There is no but.”

For half a heartbeat he’s surprised; the paper bag crinkles as his fingers tighten. The drizzle beads at the corner of his lips, and I taste rain.

Salt. Sweet.

Relief.

Except it isn’t relief. Not really. It’s the high of choosing the easy thing for one second.

I press closer like I can make the last ten minutes disappear. If I keep kissing him, maybe my mind will be made up and we can all go home with our hearts intact.

His hands come up, not to hold me, but to cover mine and gently lower them from his cheeks. He keeps our foreheads close so I can’t mistake his tone for anything but kind. “Not gonna lie, that sort of sucked. It was a gut punch seeing that dude holding a coffee for you. I’ve never had that happen before.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ve never felt attracted to another man before either,” he says, deadpan, then huffs a laugh. “He’s so good looking in person.”

A startled bark of laughter bursts out of me. “Stop.”

“I’m serious. That jawline? Are you fucking serious?” This is the first time I’ve heard Grady curse. “I almost asked him to date me instead.”

He isn’t punishing me; he’s telling me the truth and then handing me an exit ramp.

“I hate that you had to see that,” I say. “I hate that I did that to you.”

“You didn’t do anything to me,” he says. “It happened, and I felt a certain way about it. That’s all.”

As if it were that easy . . .

He sobers. “Look, I like you, Layla. I find you very sexy and enjoy your company. I want the chance to see where this goes without pretending there isn’t history lurking in the background showing up to screw with your head.”

History isn’t even history; it’s a half-written paragraph waving its arms from page one.

End scene.

“You’re being so sensible about this.”

“I’m actually not,” he says, mouth quirking. “This is messier than I’d prefer, but at least we’re being honest.”

The word lands like a pebble in water—then ripples. I take a breath big enough to sting. “Full disclosure? He gave me a room number and wants to talk at the hotel.”

Grady clears his throat. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

“What do you want me to say, Layla?” His voice is even, not unkind. “I’m not auditioning for the jealous boyfriend role.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”

The brown paper bag crinkles when he moves his arm. “Here’s my boundary: I don’t do triangles. If you go see him, I’ll consider myself the backup plan. If you don’t, come over later, and I’ll cook you dinner and fuck you for dessert.”

Fuck me for dessert.

We still haven’t had sex, and now he knows the reason why.

It’s like a big, glaring exclamation point at the end of his sentence. Unspoken words he’s translated all by himself.

I’m mortified and impressed at the same time. “Why does that sound like an ultimatum?”