The Match (It Happened in Charleston 1)

He chuckles like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve been saying. Like he thinks I’m cute for turning him down. I swear, if he pats my butt like he did last time he came to visit, I will tear his favorite limb right off his body.

“Tell you what. If you’re so worried about it, let me take you out. I’ll wine you and dine you, and if you're lucky, I might even—”

“If you finish that sentence, I promise you I will dump this drink all over that fancy suit of yours.”

His eyes widen like I’ve just threatened to shoot him. He relaxes back into his sleazy grin and tugs on his suit lapels. “Your parents want this, Eves, and so do I. So, don’t think that by me walking away right now, I’m giving up. I’ll find a way to show you that us being together is the right choice.” He tries to kiss my cheek as he passes by me, but I turn my head away. And whoa, someone should tell that man that a spritz is all it takes. He is a walking bottle of cologne.

“Oh, I hate him,” says Joanna once Tyler is out of earshot.

“Me and you both,” I say and then turn around just as Tyler makes it to the far end of the restaurant and is standing in line to order. I smile a big ol’ blinding smile and call out to him so the whole restaurant turns and looks. “Oh, Tyler! I forgot to say that the ointment you had me pick up for you is on your desk at work! The pharmacist said it should clear your rash right up but that sex is not advised for the first three weeks!”

I have the privilege of watching the scumbag’s mouth fall open, and the woman in line in front of him (who he had just been checking out relentlessly) turns her shoulder firmly away from him. Even from this far away, I can see his face turn beet red. And then, just as I had hoped, he steps out of line and leaves.

“That was too satisfying to watch,” says Jo with a high five.

I should feel satisfied, too, but I don’t. Because the only takeaway I have from this whole situation is that I have no idea what sort of relationship I have with Jake, and I really need to figure that out. Are we exclusive? Is he dating other people?

A minute ago, I was thrilled about my date with him. Now, I’m feeling nervous. I can feel a big fat DTR on the horizon, and if I know the male sex at all, Jake is not going to be excited about this conversation. But it needs to happen so I can know whether I should pocket the phone numbers from cute strangers in the future, or if I should put my blinders on and pretend that I no longer notice other males in the vicinity.

Chapter Twenty-One

JAKE

It’s Friday, aka a major day for me.

Not only is today the first time my daughter will spend the night away from home since being diagnosed with epilepsy, but tonight, I will have my first date with a woman other than Natalie in about eleven years.

As I’m searching through my closet for something to wear, I realize how out of touch I am. I think my mom got my birth certificate wrong, and I’m actually one hundred years old instead of thirty-three. Do I wear a T-shirt? Do I wear a tux? A tux is probably a little much.

Okay, breathe, Jake. You know you can’t wear a freakin’ tux.

My jeans are on, but I’m still naked from the hips up when I hear Sam scream from her bedroom. I drop the shirt I was contemplating wearing and run into her room, expecting to find her in a pool of blood on her floor.

Nope.

But I do find her in a pool of clothing. Her dark, wide eyes look up at me, and she says, “I have nothing to wear!” What?! How can we be having the same dilemma?

“What do you mean? I see lots of clothes.”

“Daddy!” She rolls her eyes and sounds way too exasperated at me for stating a fact. “These are all day-clothes. I don?

?t have any cute PJs! All of the girls are going to have the perfect slumber-party PJs, and I’m going to have to go in these old, stained, polka-dot pants that are way too small for me!”

This is catching me completely off guard. I had no idea that fashionable PJ attire was a must-have to attend an eleven-year-old’s slumber party.

Although…now I feel like I should have known this. I’ve seen the cheesy teen movies.

I sigh and look at my watch. “Okay. We have an hour until I have to have you at Jenna’s. Grab your stuff, and we’ll swing by the store on the way and get you some new PJs.”

“And a bra.”

“What?!” I’m going to have a full-on panic attack now.

“Daddy, I’m almost a teenager!” Hardly. “All the other girls that will be there have already been wearing them. It’ll be embarrassing if I’m not.”

My gut instinct is to pull the emergency lever and shut this whole thing down here and now, because honestly, I’m having trouble breathing. My daughter is almost a teenager, and she’s wanting to wear bras, and up next is the sex talk that I don’t feel at all ready to give her. But after I give myself a mental slap, I remember that I’ve been training for this very moment. A man doesn’t watch all nine seasons of Gilmore Girls for nothing. I know to stay calm. Don’t panic. Stop, drop, and roll. Basically, do anything besides make my not-so-little girl feel uncomfortable about her changing body.

Channel your inner Lorelei Gilmore. I will not be that single dad that sucks.