Single Dad Seeks Juliet

It’s my right.

Jake zooms around another turn and launches over the last huge hill, this time doing an actual flip with his whole dang body and bike!

Like, what is this sorcery?!

I jump to my feet, a huge scream of appreciation bursting from my lungs so loudly I almost scare myself. “Woo-hoo! Come on, Jake! Way to go!” I yell, to which I hear a small trill of answering laughter coming from somewhere in the stands. I ignore the audience and focus on the man on the bike, becoming so involved in his movements, I’m actually imitating them from my place in the bleachers.

I jump and weave and throw elbows like I’m trying to take all those other suckers down.

Before I know it, some of the others have actually started to join in, yelling for their own riders with almost the same amount of enthusiasm I am. Not quite, though, because it’s pretty hard to match the intensity of a woman possessed.

Before long, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m out for blood, and the more of his competitors Jake takes out, the better.

I scream and yell and jump, and when he makes the final turn to come off the track, I don’t even know how long has passed. All I know is that it’s been one of the coolest experiences of my life.Fresh from the shower, Jake’s hair curls ever so slightly at the ends and kisses at the skin of his neck as we drive away from the storage facility where we dropped the trailer back in its spot and head for Boogie’s to meet Chloe for dinner.

He smells like clean soap and the faintest hint of cologne. It’s so subtle, though, I’m not even sure it’s cologne.

Is it possible that his skin smells that good?

I’m not sure, but I’m desperate to place the scent in my mind so that I can recreate it at a later date.

Maybe vanilla? But not a lot of vanilla because that overpowering, saccharine smell always makes me nauseous.

Yeah, a small hint of vanilla mixed with something else to it, too…

Like the scent of sweet, earthy grass.

I know that sounds weird, but it’s not. He smells so good, I have to stop myself from climbing over the console of his truck and affixing my nose to his skin for a ten-day holiday.

I don’t know for a fact, but I have to assume he would be put off by that.

Instead, I keep all my scent-driven-angst to myself and stare surreptitiously at the strong line of his jaw. It’s relaxed—I haven’t really seen it clench at all since that first moment on the beach when he found out he was involved in this whole Bachelor Anonymous thing—but still, even lax, it’s almost as though it’s been cut precisely from stone.

Frankly, it’s kind of a crime that this guy has been single for as long as he has. It makes no sense with nature and physics and science in general.

Still, I can tell by the way he holds himself that just because he’s been single doesn’t mean he’s been celibate. Jake Brent looks like the type of guy who knows what he’s doing—and knows it so well, that it’s as if he were born with the talent. He doesn’t have to try too hard or overcompensate with overzealous remarks about his dick size or tongue talent. He just has it. Both of them, if I had to guess.

The neon lights of the Boogie’s sign shine in the darkening sky as we approach, and I take the last few moments in the truck to gather myself. It’s been a hell of a day—one that’s made me like Jake Brent a whole lot more than I expected.

He’s patient and kind and really knows how to loosen up enough to have fun during all the monotony.

Still, something about going to dinner with him and his daughter makes my stomach flip over on itself. I already spent a little time with them at spaghetti dinner the other night, watching their dynamic play out, and I know the way seeing them together makes me feel. Nostalgic. Squishy. Far too invested.

I don’t even want to know how much another night spent with the two of them is bound to compound those feelings.

I shiver at the thought, and Jake apparently notices. “Cold?”

I shake my head with the truth, but my mouth is at least smart enough to cover for me a little bit. “Kind of.”

He pulls into a spot, throws the truck into park, and twists his torso to reach into the back seat of the truck. “I bet I have a sweatshirt or something back here you can put on.”

A quick trip to Imagination Town paints a pretty scary picture of how it would feel to be that enveloped by his delicious aroma—to swim luxuriously in an item of his clothing.