Page 68 of Scouting the Single Dad

“Fine. You’re right, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” His body is perfect. His pecs and abs and . . . I can’t stop thinking about how hot his skin felt beneath my roaming palms.

“I knew it.” She sounds smug enough to bottle. “Am I allowed to alert the group chat?”

I shake my head, though she can’t see it. “Not yet. I don’t need everyone talking about it, only to me returning home and being embarrassed it was just a short fling.” I am horrified at the thought. “Swear to me you’ll keep this between us until I say otherwise.”

She sighs, long suffering. “Ugh, fine. I’ll put my megaphone away. But for the record, I expect highlights later. Moaning, how hard you came, what his morning voice sounds like.”

I roll my eyes. “Uh, I think we’re forgetting there is a child in this house?”

Faith scoffs. “Big deal. My sister has four kids, and she and Dan are constantly going at it—you get creative, trust me.”

“He did not invite me here to have sex with him.” The kisses in the kitchen were a fluke. The kisses in the pool were flirting—nothing more.

“Tomorrow night, if you call me instead of riding him like a mechanical bull, we’re fighting.”

I do not need that visual in my mind before I try to rest my eyes. “Noted.”

“Also—don’t pretend the kid factor is the reason you’re not in his room right now letting him go down on you. You’re nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous!” I admit in a whisper hiss. “He’s . . . Hayes Fielder is . . .” I search for the right words and land on the true one. “A lot. I don’t want to treat it like a notch.”

Faith softens. “Aww, there she is. My sentimental little bestie.”

“He scares the shit out of me,” I say quietly. “You should see his body, Faith. It’s . . .” Carved out of marble. Perfect. Sexy. Firm and taut and solid.

I’m soft and have flab and dimples in my ass, and my stomach isn’t flat, and—

“Hey.” Faith’s voice interrupts my musing, and she’s using the soft one she saves for when I’m spiraling. “We are not doing this tonight.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re lying there going over your mental checklist of imperfections.” She lets that sit. “Your body is beautiful. It’s the place you live. It laughs loud, floats in pools, dances in kitchens, and tonight it made a very large man lose his mind on a countertop and blow his load inside his pants.”

A startled laugh escapes me. She’s not wrong.

My eyes burn. “What if I like him more than he likes me?”

“Let’s not borrow a heartbreak you haven’t earned. Let him show you who he is. And let you show up as you are. You’re not dating him, hmm? You’re having fun.”

True. So true.

I’m not dating him.

The subject of relationships hasn’t even come up. I have no idea what his thoughts are on marriage or more kids or what he’s looking for in a partner.

“You are thoughtful and funny and loyal and brave enough to fly to Arizona on a feeling.” Her smile is in her voice. “If you want this, take it one honest step at a time. We already know his body is attracted to you.”

“Would you please stop making logical sense?”

Silence hums between us, warm as a blanket. Somewhere down the hall a floorboard pops, and I imagine him turning off a light, doing one last check of the house before going to his own room.

“I can’t. It’s my literal job as your friend.” She sniffs. “Now say three nice things about yourself, or I’m hanging up.”

She is so ridiculous. “Faith—”

“Aht! Do it.”

I swallow. “I’m fun. I’m good with kids. And I have great boobs.”