Don't Call Me Daddy

I’ve tried dating guys my own age. The attraction and chemistry isn’t there, and it always feels like something is missing. A couple of guys at the restaurant have hit on me when I stop by their table, but if they aren’t wearing a wedding band, I can see the outline where it should be. I draw my line at homewrecking; I’d rather stay single.

“Still doing okay over here?” The bartender glances in my direction as he’s making a drink for someone else.

“Yep! Thanks!” I smile and take another sip of my Cosmopolitan.

I continue looking around the crowd and am somewhat thankful that nobody is paying attention to me. It will be a lot harder to put a face to who is responsible for trashing the office if I’m just one of many in the crowd. Sarah seems to be mingling pretty effectively on her own; she’s talking to a group of people who apparently have no idea she’s a party crasher.

I take another sip of my drink, and when I put it down, my attention is drawn to a man who is walking toward the bar. He is dressed in what looks like normal office attire, except his shirt is unbuttoned, and he is wearing a Superman t-shirt underneath it. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that it is supposed to be a Clark Kent costume.

Clever.

He might be dressed like Superman’s alter ego, but he looks like he could easily pass for the Man of Steel. He’s tall enough that I have to look up when he gets closer, and judging by the way his muscles press against his dress shirt, he would make a few superheroes jealous if he put on one of their suits.

“Mr. Brooks! Ready for a refill?” The bartender walks over to him.

“Yeah, same as before.” He puts an empty glass down.

Mr. Brooks. I wonder what his first name is. I instinctively look at his left hand and see no sign of a wedding band—nor a tan line. There’s something about him that I can’t put my finger on. Something that makes me feel drawn to him. It’s not the usual feeling I have when I see an older guy that I think is hot. Maybe it’s the scowl on his face—he looks like he’s pissed off at the entire world and would break someone in half if they looked at him the wrong way.

“Is your drink okay? You haven’t touched it since the last time I checked on you.” The bartender walks in front of me, totally blocking my view of Mr. Brooks.

“It’s great. I’m just taking it slow tonight.” I flash him a smile and take another sip.

“Nothing wrong with that. The parties usually go pretty late.” He steps to the side, and the seat previously occupied by Mr. Brooks is empty.

No! Oh my god…

I quickly scan the crowd and see him walking toward one of the side doors. I should forget all about him. I’ve been down this road before. I flirt. Occasionally, they flirt with me. It never goes further than that. I really don’t know if my heart could handle a rejection from a guy like him—a guy who looks like he was chiseled from my fantasies and brought to life.

I’ll regret it either way. I’ll spend days wondering if he could have been the one. Maybe it would be easier to just find out that he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t need a wedding band to be totally off the market.

I finish my drink and walking toward the side door. I expect it to lead to the street, but it appears to be an enclosed patio area. There are a few people gathered there, and when I step outside, I see Mr. Brooks leaning against the fence with a cigarette in his hand.

I immediately reach into my purse and pull one out of my pack. I haven’t even had a cigarette since my mom scolded me after I got arrested, but it gives me a perfectly good reason to approach him.

Which I do, with my heart beating a little harder with every step I take.

“Shouldn’t you be out saving lives? Does Superman really have time for a smoke break?” I get close enough for him to look up at me.

Tha

t didn’t sound so cheesy in my head. My god, I’m already making a fool out of myself.

“Only when he’s drinking.” The edge of his lip forms a half-smile. It’s sexy as fuck.

“Think I could borrow your heat vision for a second?” I hold up my cigarette.

“It’s out of commission for the evening.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. “I can do it the old-fashioned way, though.”

“Awesome, thank you!” I lean forward, and he lights my cigarette.

He has the most gorgeous pair of deep-blue eyes. I could get lost in them for eternity. He seems to be friendly, despite that permanent scowl, or maybe he’s just being nice.

“I don’t think we’ve met, have we? Do you work here, or are you here with someone else?” He extends his hand. “Lawson Brooks.”

Fuck. I’m supposed to tell people I’m here with Bob from Accounting, but I don’t want to tell him I’m here with someone else, not as their date at least.

“Ainsley Andrews.” I shake his hand, and it practically engulfs mine; I wish he’d just hold my hand all night. “I don’t work here. I came with a friend.”