Single Dad Seeks Juliet

Not even kidding. “Do it for the Gram!” should be written on her freaking tombstone.

“Hailie, shall I remind you that you live in the same bougie neighborhood as me? Your house is literally right across the street from mine,” I retort, but she ignores me completely and rambles on about anything but the darn personal ad I’m trying to write.

“Although, I guess I sort of get it,” she continues. “If I had a daughter who looked like you, all long legs, gorgeous blond hair, and big, pretty eyes, I’d probably lock you in a closet until you turned thirty-five.”

We are polar opposites when it comes to looks. Where I’m tall with blond hair, Hailie is short with dark hair. I look like I was born and raised in our home state of California, and she looks like she came from some exotic Mediterranean country.

“The same can be said for you,” I counter. “You’re like a teenage version of Megan Fox and have had boobs since we were in sixth grade.”

Hailie shimmies her chest, and I let out a deep sigh when I realize just how off track she’s managed to get us.

“Do I need to remind you that today is the last day to enter this contest?” I glance over my shoulder and glower at her with a stare. “I need you to stop shaking your ta-tas around and help me write this thing.”

“I’ve been helping,” she whines. “You just don’t want the help I’m giving.”

“That’s because you’ve taken a leave of absence from reality, Hailie. You really think I’m going to write about my dad’s penis in a newspaper personal ad? Can you even fathom the number of hours I’d have to spend in therapy if I did something like that? Not to mention, if my dad actually saw it? The money he saved for my college tuition would end up going to our freaking therapists!”

“I don’t know why you make that sound like such a big deal. Everyone is in therapy these days, Chloe. Everyone.”

“News flash, girlfriend,” I say and shoot a pointed look in her direction. “If I don’t have money for college tuition, then you’ll end up going to Berkeley by yourself.”

When Hailie and I were thirteen, we begged my dad to drive us seven hours to see the Golden Gate Bridge. And my dad, being the awesome dad that he is, gave in and took us on a three-day trip to San Francisco. We did all kinds of touristy things that weekend, but the one thing that stuck with us girls the most was walking around Berkeley’s campus.

Ever since then, that school became our dream college, and we’ve been bound and determined to go there together.

“Fine.” She blows an annoyed breath from her pursed lips. “How about this? Man seeks woman. Not to turn his world upside down, but instead, to help him keep it right-side up. Must have sense of humor, heart of gold, and big, fat tits.”

I choke on my spit as a laugh catches in my throat, and Hailie has to slam the flat of her palm on my back to save me.

It makes a hell of a ruckus, and the door cracks open gently. “Everyone okay in here?” my dad asks.

Of course, Hailie cackles like a hyena. A nervous habit she’s had since we were in elementary school.

“Yeah, Dad. We’re good,” I sputter over my best friend’s insanity. He smiles, obviously surmising by my track record of staying out of trouble that I’m continuing my streak, and chalks up Hailie’s laughter to her being her usual, crazy self.

Instantly, though, with him standing mere feet away from the computer screen that showcases the evidence of my in-process crime, cramps make my toes curl into the carpet, and an anxious twist wrenches my belly.

Why am I doing this? He’s going to kill me.

I hold my breath and hope he doesn’t decide to come any closer.

“Okay. Then I guess I’ll leave you girls to it,” he agrees with a laugh, and I offer up a silent thank you to the Big Guy upstairs that I will live to see another day.

And while I hate when Hailie rambles on about my dad being a total babe, with him standing right there in the doorway, his thick, dark hair kind of mussed and his handsome smile and bright-blue eyes directed at me, I can’t deny he is an aesthetically good-looking man.

I study his face and the lines around his eyes. Lines I know are there from laughing with me, and before I know it, I’m trying to picture him after I’ve left for college next year. I’ll be over seven hours away from him, and he’ll be here, alone, in this big house, having completely wasted all his best years raising me by himself.

He’s such a good guy, and I hate the idea of him feeling lonely at all. That’s why I’m doing this, I remind myself. For him.