Page 41 of Scouting the Single Dad

Ha.

Too late.

I don’t know what possesses me, but within seconds, I’m dropping her into one of those ridiculous, old-Hollywood dips you see in the movies.

Gasps pop around us like Bubble Wrap. A few teenagers cheer. Somewhere, a phone camera goes up, and Benny lets out an excited whoop.

I don’t go for her mouth. Not yet. I stop an inch away—close enough to smell apples on her breath, close enough for her to decide. Her eyes spark, equal parts scandalized and laughing.

“Fielder,” she whispers. “What the hell are you doing?”

Chapter 9

Layla

Is he out of his damn mind?

I have never ever been kissed in public—not even on the cheek—and today is not the day I planned to have it happen. Least of all in front of my skeezy ex-boyfriend and his glossy, probably expensive, definitely prettier-on-purpose girlfriend. Certainly not in front of a child!

Still, I’m being suspended above the ground in dramatic fashion, the grouchy, broody football player staring down at me as his strong arms lock me in like I’m weightless.

My headset falls off my head and onto the cold ground, but I ignore it. May it rest in pieces . . .

“Fielder,” I whisper-hiss, practically upside down. “What the hell are you doing?”

He grins, lips now near my ear. “Making that fucker jealous.”

Well.

I mean, what girl could possibly say no to that?

My fingers hook his jacket, and I tug, planting a flirty look on my face to replace the shocked expression.

Hayes’s full lips meet mine halfway.

Stubble brushes my cheeks. He kisses me like he means it—like we’ve been doing this forever and he’s just picking up where we left off. His mouth is warm, deliberate, not rushed. The kind of kiss that drags the rest of you along by the hair and has a girl getting . . .

Wet.

My knees forget what they’re for; good thing his arms don’t.

The festival noise blurs to white static.

I feel the low rumble in his chest before I hear it, a satisfied sound that vibrates against my sternum. I fist the collar of his jacket and pull, opening for him. He deepens the kiss, tilting me with effortless strength, showy as hell—putting on a show for his audience.

There are gasps. Someone wolf whistles.

“Dad! Holy crap!” Benny shouts, scandalized, from three feet away.

Hayes’s mouth curves into a satisfied smile against mine, pleased with the reaction. He takes one more slow sweep of my bottom lip, kissing me again. Sparks shoot down my spine and set up camp in my stomach.

“Dad, seriously.” Benny’s voice infiltrates the moment, both mortified and delighted in equal measure. “This is so public.”

He doesn’t let me go, grinning down at me. “Look away, kiddo.”

“I’m trying,” she says, not trying at all. “But, like—the drama.”

I smile against his mouth, breathless. Reckless. My ex is five feet away, frozen mid-sip with his drink in hand, eyes bugging.