Page 53 of Scouting the Single Dad

Great. Just fucking great.

“Do you want one of my T-shirts?”

She looks me up and down. “I would drown in it.”

It’s just Layla and me in the echo of her apology.

“Well, don’t worry about it, then. Benny won’t think anything of your suit.”

Her smile tells me she isn’t quite sure she should believe me but doesn’t have the energy to argue, and we both disappear into our rooms to change.

I change fast—black trunks, T-shirt—then step onto the patio with the sky throwing gold and coral across the tops of the palm trees. The pool filter is humming, the desert air is warm; the stone under my feet holds the day’s heat but doesn’t burn as it would were it earlier in the day.

Benny explodes through the sliding kitchen door in a rainbow suit. “Towels are by the chairs! Grabbing floaties and foam noodles! Oh! Bluetooth speaker!” She is buzzing.

“Quiet songs only,” I warn. “I’m not in the mood for a ton of noise.”

She groans like I’ve ruined her entire evening. “Fiiiine.” Then she cannonballs so hard the splash hits my calves. I can’t help it—I laugh.

The guest room door opens.

I make the mistake of looking.

Layla steps tentatively onto the patio, undecided about dashing back inside.

Bikini. Classic triangle top, tiny as a postage stamp, tied in bows that look one tug from surrender. Tie-side bottoms riding high on her hips, long legs going for days, the kind of high cut that makes rational thought go straight down the fucking gutter.

She still has her hair down, glossy and messy from her fingers, oversize sunglasses pushed on top of her head, lip gloss catching the last flare of the sunset.

Never would have thought a body like that would have been under that Fall Fest puffer coat.

“Whoa!” Benny shouts, rounding the corner, dragging a blow-up unicorn. “Layla, you look like one of those girls in Vegas!”

I have no idea what that means, exactly, or how she knows about sexy girls in Vegas.

Layla forces out a laugh and tries to cover herself by wrapping a towel around her waist but only succeeds in framing everything like it’s meant for me to stare at.

Tits.

Such beautiful tits . . .

She lifts a hand, the tiniest smile tugging at her lip. “Do I look ridiculous? I feel ridiculous.”

“No,” I say too fast. Too honest. “You look—” My jaw tics. “I like your suit.”

A lot.

My dick does too.

A lot.

“Thanks.” Another laugh.

She slips into the water with a hiss, arching her back as the cool blue hits her warm skin; my pulse trips over itself. Benny’s already paddling figure eights around the unicorn, humming into the evening. I follow, dropping into the deep end, and the world goes hushed except for the soft lap of water.

Blub, blub . . . blub.

Benny splashes her with zero remorse. “Teams!” she shouts. “Adults versus me!”