Dr. Daddy's Virgin

I chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. “I guess so,” I mumbled. Why wasn't this line moving?

“Speaking of men, there's a new fellow that moved in across the road from us this past weekend while you were out of town.”

That piqued my interest. The house across the street had been empty for months.

“Really? The Sanchez place?”

“That's right – someone's finally bought it. And I tell you what, between you and me, he's quite a looker! You should go say hello to him. Maybe bake him a pie. You know, offer a good neighborly welcome,” she said with a wink and a smile.

I laughed. “I thought you said you wanted me to welcome him to the neighborhood. You’ve obviously never eaten any pie I’ve tried to bake,” I smiled at her.

“Well, how about I bake the pie for you, and then you go across the street and give it to him?”

I laughed. “We'll see about that. So, I know you have the scoop. What’s his story?”

“He's the new principal of that high school three blocks away, what's it called again?” she asked.

“JFK High.”

“Ah, yes.”

I felt somewhat disappointed; if he was the principal, that meant he'd be a good bit older than me. Most

likely in his 40s or 50s. Not that I was interested or anything, but it might be nice to have someone close to my own age move in near me. I'd been in Irvine for two years now, but still only had a handful of friends, none of whom lived in my neighborhood.

“Well, I actually thought he was just a teacher until I spoke to him. He's so young for a principal,” Mrs. Dobbins said, rummaging around in her purse for something.

My interest was officially piqued again.

“Really? And just how old is he?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested. If I seemed too interested, Mrs. Dobbins would make it her mission to bake me a pie a week until she was satisfied we were either going to get married, or one of us was batting for the other team.

“He's only 32. Would you believe it, just 32 years old and already the principal of a high school?”

“That is surprising,” I remarked. “I guess he knows his stuff.”

“I guess he does. And like I said, he's a right handsome fella, too. And he seems like such a nice, polite young man. I'm more than happy to bake a nice blueberry pie if you'd like to take it over to him. And I promise that your secret will be safe with me. He'll never find out that it wasn't you who baked the pie!”

I laughed. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Mrs. Dobbins, but not right away.”

The line had finally moved, and I was able to start loading my items up onto the checkout counter while the person in front of me was busy getting their total added up.

“Well, looks like I've gotta sort this out now, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said to her. “It's been nice chatting with you. I'll see you later, I imagine. I have some stuff to do in my yard.”

“And I'll be on the porch with Fluffy, enjoying a nice iced tea. Would you like me to make extra for you if you're going to be out in your yard in this heat? There's nothing like a good iced tea on a warm summer evening.”

“If you've got any to spare, I might take you up on that offer later,” I said with a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Dobbins. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“I will, Vivienne, dear. See you later.”

The clerk turned to me as she passed the last of my items over the scanner.

Ten minutes later, I turned onto my street and slowed down as I neared my house. I saw, from a distance, someone in the front yard of the house across the street from mine – the house that had formerly belonged to the Sanchez family, the house Mrs. Dobbins and I had been talking about.

As I drew closer, my eyes widened as I got a clearer view of the man in the yard mowing the lawn. A mundane task, yeah, but he was doing it clad only in a pair of gym shorts and running shoes. I had to make myself look back at the road so I didn’t hit a neighbor’s mailbox. One thing was certain; he didn't look like any school principal I'd ever seen. I might have wanted to go to school if my principal had been blessed with an Adonis-like physique and surfer's tan. I couldn't take my eyes off my new neighbor. The man was ripped.

Mrs. Dobbins had not been exaggerating; he was ridiculously attractive with his strong jaw covered with a five o' clock shadow and stylish black hair that was just long enough my fingers were itching to run through it just looking at him from the road. It’s a good thing the speed limit in our neighborhood was only 10 miles per hour. Otherwise, my gawking would have been obvious.

I pulled into my driveway and parked the car, hoping that he hadn't noticed my staring when I had driven slowly past him. Thankfully, he seemed too absorbed in his task to notice, so I got out the car and took a few more good, long looks at him as inconspicuously as possible while unpacking my groceries.