Single Dad's Club

Too loud.

Too clingy.

Too much make-up. 

I could go on and on. The other guys in the Single Dad’s Club would say I’m obsessed with finding them. But none of their kid’s mothers is the epic fail that my daughter’s is, so their opinions mean shit.

Caterina Santora has her own list of red flags…

She’s too young.

She’s my client’s daughter.

She’s my five-year old’s camp counselor.

The fact that she doesn’t remember me from six years before grates on me until I don’t have it in me to leave her alone any longer. I have to have her. But our lives are opposites in every way. In no way compatible.

When we’re together all the complications fade away and I have to keep reminding myself, even if I can have her— I can’t keep her.

Party girls.

Platinum blondes.

Zero expectations.

I used to think that if you could combine all three into one female, you’d have the perfect woman.

Then why the hell does Ava Pearson—an outdoorsy girl, a brunette, and a woman who screams stability and responsibility—seem to be the only woman on my mind lately? 

I’ve got enough obligations without adding any complications to the mix—my son, my bar…well, that’s about it. But that’s enough for a guy like me.

It’s the cupcakes. It’s gotta be the cupcakes she bakes that keep me coming back for more. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right? Apparently, it’s a direct target to his junk, too.

Did I forget to mention that she’s my buddy’s daughter… another member of the Single Dads Club’s daughter?

Ava might say she can handle being friends-with-benefits, but I’m not sure she can. Unfortunately for her, I’m too selfish of a prick to care—until I do. 

Time to get a life.

Time to start over.

Time to move beyond the past.

The guys in the Single Dads Club would tell you it was time years ago, but until recently, the risk of hurting my little girl outweighed the benefit of getting a piece of ass.

Now that I have a tween daughter on my hands? It’s becoming more apparent with every poster hung on the wall, every fight over make-up and every uncomfortable conversation about puberty, that at least one of us needs a female touch in our lives.

Jesus. I can’t even think the words ‘female touch’ without thinking of her.

Charlotte Rose. Charlie.

She’s everything I shouldn’t want, but someone needs to tell that to my damn libido because every time she’s around I have a constant case of blue balls.

There’s a list of reasons why I shouldn’t give into what I feel—she’s my best friend’s little sister, she’s seen me at my most vulnerable, and the biggest one—she’s the first person in eleven years who has the potential to break me.