Page 40 of Scouting the Single Dad

“Caribbean,” he adds, giving Paige’s waist a squeeze. “Or maybe Mediterranean. You know, somewhere not here.” He winks.

I want to smack him in his arrogant face.

Paige, for her part, smiles the way people do when they’re performing good manners and tolerating the conversation, at the same time ogling me and calculating what the relationship between Layla and I is, eyes scanning over Layla’s shoulder for someone more interesting than us to speak to.

I cannot wait to get the story behind this interaction. Until:

“Caribbean,” I repeat, bored. “Sounds wet.”

Blake blinks. Remembers himself. “Hi, I’m Blake.” He thrusts his hand in my direction, and when I take it, I squeeze good and hard, enjoying the satisfaction of watching him wince.

He pulls his palm back, shaking the nerve ending alive behind his back.

“Hayes Fielder.”

“Right! That’s the name I was looking for.” He snaps his fingers. “I knew you looked familiar. Hired help today, eh? The NFL let you off the leash with Layla here as your handler?”

Handler?

Fuck you, asshole . . .

“Not at all.” I take Layla by the hand and pull her into me, the same way Douche is doing with his date. “I came to Star Lake because I missed her so much. Haven’t seen her in two weeks, she’s been so busy with festival planning and shit.”

I kiss the top of her head for added effect.

Layla doesn’t miss a beat. Relief flashes so quick I almost doubt it, then she slides her palm over my chest, patting me over the heart.

“He’s hopeless,” she tells Blake, all airy patience. “Can’t resist kettle corn and quality time.”

Benny—not to be left out, rolls her eyes. “These two can’t keep their hands off each other, I swear.” She gags.

Blake’s smile goes brittle. “Wow. Congrats.” He clears his throat. “I had no idea.”

Layla forces out a laugh that sounds so unlike all her others. “How could you? I’ve been busy flying back and forth to Arizona under the radar—we haven’t told a soul. If you know anything about Hayes Fielder, you know he likes to keep things private. Guess the cat is out of the bag.” She presses a forefinger to her lips. “Shh, no telling.”

I wink at Paige and receive a calculating gleam in return.

“Actually,” Benny pipes up. “Layla is flying home with us tomorrow to watch my volleyball tournament on Tuesday, then they’re going on a romantic date night.”

That little shit . . . Her nuclear-level improvisation strikes again.

“Shopping for an outfit and then a hot date.” I wink again. Like, who am I? Fucking winking so often someone might think I had a chunk in my eye.

Paige’s brows climb. Blake’s jaw works as if he’s trying to unlock it.

My arm only slides tighter around Layla’s shoulders. “One man’s loss is another man’s gain, right, babe?”

Babe.

The endearment slips out of my mouth. It’s a word I’ve never called any woman in my life, ever—haven’t had one around who I loved or cared about, if you don’t count Benny or my mother.

Layla nods at me as her dipshit ex stares at us. Blake pretends he didn’t hear. Paige very much did.

“We should—” Blake starts.

“Celebrate our love?” I offer. “Great idea.” Before he can pivot and walk away, I turn to Layla. “Should we make out here on Main Street as an informal announcement, or wait so my high-powered sports agent can announce it to the entire world?”

She laughs. “Don’t you dare kiss me on Main Street.”