As a single mom in a small town, there's only one thing I want. Another baby. When all the roads to getting what I want lead to dead ends, I turn to one of my best friends for help.
In my mind, Trent Castillo is the perfect baby daddy. He has good g...
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When Trent saunters into the living room with his glass of wine, I have to school my outside, so it doesn't show my insides. He is, probably hands down, the sexiest guy I've ever met in my life. From his short, light brown hair, tattoos, tall, muscled statue, and the natural swagger he seems to possess, he commands attention wherever he goes. Everything about him oozes charm and sex appeal, and normally I can handle that.
We've flirted many, many times before. Trent is a world class flirt who sometimes lightly crosses boundaries in a teasing way. Which I've always been okay with before—he is who he is, and you can't take any of it seriously. Lila is proof of what happens when you don't understand that Trent doesn't mean any of it. Feelings get hurt, and they really don't need to.
But there's something about having him in my house, without the barrier of Amir or other people, that's doing wild things to my insides. Heat is pooling where it doesn't belong. Thighs are tingling in ways they shouldn't. Even his cologne is hitting in a way it normally doesn't—the dark, spicy scent with a hint of vanilla makes me want to lick it off his skin.
Maybe I need to go back to my original plan of looking for a partner to be my baby daddy, because although I was starting to believe otherwise, it doesn't appear to my lady parts are completely dead yet.
"You okay?" Trent asks when he sits on the other end of the couch from me, which I'm grateful for. Far away seems like a good idea.
"Fine," I say. "Why?"
"I thought we were going to watch terrible TV and count down until the ball drops." He nods at the television. "You didn't turn it on."
"Oh, well," I say, trying to cover up the fact that I've been in here contemplating all the levels of his hotness. "I thought maybe we could play a game instead."
He raises his eyebrows and takes a suggestive sip of his drink.
"Not strip poker," I say.
"That's a shame. I am very good at poker."
"I don't know what that means in this context—that you're actually good at cards or you're good at stripping."
He grins but doesn't say anything, just takes another pull from his drink. My heart rate accelerates, which makes me feel ridiculous. No matter how much we've flirted before, he's never made me as discombobulated as he has tonight.
"Maybe Ticket to Ride?" I suggest, getting off the couch to pluck it from the little cabinet where I keep all the games Amir and I have played.
"Amir has forced that one on me before, so at least I know it," he says, scooching closer on the couch so he can reach the coffee table. "Competitive, but not in the "I'll never speak to you again" way."
"Which is why I like it," I say. "Boardgames in the Sullivan family were a bloodbath."
"Castillo family too," he says. "Until my dad died, and my mom had to take on another job. Then we didn't have much time."
