Can't Fight It (Fair Lakes 3)

Of course I’d find the one guy who clearly has his hands full, right? Hell, he probably has a girlfriend, or worse, a wife. Then I’ll meet her, like her, and feel guilty for staring at her husband’s ass every chance I got. Though, this house clearly doesn’t have a woman’s touch—at least not yet. In fact, there’s not much of a touch at all. The outside needs a little landscape help and a good grass trimming before the hard winter hits. The shutters are a faded green, and the wooden steps creaked a little with each step we took. I’d probably call it a fixer-upper, which isn’t far off from his description in the ad I found.

Actually, this place is exactly how I envisioned it, which is how he described it. I was shocked, and maybe a little thankful, he answered my email so quickly. He just purchased this place and had the space to rent to a single occupant. The in-law suite features its own entrance, which will come in handy for maintaining privacy. I can keep to myself and come and go as I please. Of course, I’m already 0-1 in the whole keep-to-myself bit. I’m sure enjoying pizza and maybe a few drinks don’t fall under the loner category. How are you supposed to blend in and make everyone forget you when the first person you meet, your tongue is hanging out like a horny dog, and you jump at the opportunity to spend just a little more time with him?

You’re doing a swell job there, Hollis.

Sighing, I wipe my wet hands on a paper towel by the sink and glance around my new space. It’s small—very small—but practical. All I need is a little space to work from my laptop, a place to rest my head, and a kitchen to cook some food. I have all of that. Well, minus the resting of the head part. I have no furniture yet, which I hope to rectify in the morning with a trip to a local secondhand store I found in my online search of the area. Until then, I’ll take my blankets and pillow and make a nice bed on the floor. It’ll be like camping, only better. Fewer bugs and bears.

Laughter spills through the closed door. I’m sure the reason it echoes is that my place is empty, right? Add in a few pieces of practical furniture, and I’m sure I’ll barely know I have roommates so close. The baby cries loudly, and I can’t help but wonder what I got myself into. I’ve never been around a baby before. He didn’t say anything about a baby in the ad, but I guess that’s not a deal breaker. It’s not like I’m here to care for the little guy, right?

That’s right, Hollis. You’re just renting a room. This isn’t your family or problem to deal with.

Deciding I’ve been gone long enough, I open the door and step into Colton’s space. My entrance is off the laundry room, right next to where the washer and dryer are positioned. The ad mentioned a communal laundry room for both him and myself, as well as the back exit. I take a quick peek at the backyard and am surprised by the size. It’s large, with several old trees that will provide plenty of shade in the summer. It needs a good mowing and trim job, but I can see why a man with a young son would want a yard like this one.

I head to the kitchen and find Colton. His back is to me, and he’s talking to the little boy perched against his shoulder. The little guy sees me and starts waving his arms around. “That’s right, champ. We’ll get your belly full and then finish getting the furniture set up in your room. You’re gonna sleep in your big boy crib tonight in your new room. Are you excited?” he asks his son as he shakes up the fresh bottle he just made. Colton turns his head and places his mouth on the baby’s side, blowing a raspberry kiss through his onesie outfit. Milo wiggles and yells, but not in the pissed off way he yelled when I first arrived. No, this one is a happy yell, one that makes me smile.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were standing there.”

I glance up from the baby and find Colton’s blue eyes watching me. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt,” I say, glancing down at my shoes.

“You weren’t interrupting,” he insists, maneuvering Milo to the crook of his arm and plopping the bottle into his awaiting mouth. “It’s his dinner time,” he adds, glancing down and smiling at the boy in his arms.

“I’ll let you get to that. I can wait in my room,” I insist, starting to turn back the way I came.