Neighbors with the Single Dad, page 1
Neighbors with the Single Dad
The Single Dads of Seattle
Book 8
Whitley Cox
Copyright © 2020 by Whitley Cox
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-989081-30-3
Cover Design: EmCat Designs
Editing: SkyDiary Productions
For Tricia.
My old neighbor who I miss every day.
Sorry we moved.
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Epilogue
Chapter 1
Rain poured and wind pounded the city of Seattle on a cold and miserable March night. Luckily, for all the patrons inside the very happening Ludo Lounge, where ladies drank for half price until eleven, it could be a zombie apocalypse or the rapture and nobody would be the wiser.
The outside world ceased to exist.
Over the last hour, the music in the lounge had picked up, going from smooth, club jazz to full-on dance music with a bass that Scott Dixon could feel in the very deepest parts of his chest. It was no longer cocktail hour—it was time to dance.
Which, for many, also meant it was time to start looking for a hookup.
Not Scott though. He wasn’t there for that, at least not tonight.
He hardly ever saw Donovan Smythe anymore, now that Scott had switched companies. But a couple of weeks ago, Donovan called, excited about his wedding and insisting that Scott come to his bachelor party. Scott, people-pleasing middle child that he was, agreed.
Now he was regretting it.
There was a reason he and Donovan weren’t that close anymore.
Donovan was a bit of a tool, and so were his friends. The group had been obnoxious assholes, hitting on and offending waitresses and talking about heading to a strip club to go and throw quarters at the entertainers.
Scott ordered himself a drink at the bar, turned and leaned back against it, watching the embarrassing theatrics back at the bachelor party table. He cringed inwardly when one of the guys let out a thunderous belch and the rest cheered.
The bartender could take his sweet time making Scott’s drink. He had no intention of heading back to those buffoons anytime soon.
“Drink’s up, man,” the bartender said behind him, only when Scott went to turn back around, a freight train, or something very akin to such, slammed into his side.
“Hey, watch—” His gripe died on his lips as he watched the woman who’d crashed into him teetering on high heels as she hooked it around the corner toward the bathrooms.
“Sorry,” she called back, waving a hand, her long red hair flipping behind her as she disappeared.
He thanked the bartender for his drink but didn’t budge. The bachelor partiers had ordered Donovan a muff diver, and the man of the hour’s face had just been shoved into a heaping pile of whipped cream.
Philistines.
Scott took a sip of his whiskey and leaned his elbow on the bar. There was also another reason why he hadn’t moved yet. He wanted to catch another glimpse of the whirling dervish with hair of fire before he rejoined his group.
It didn’t take long—maybe thirty seconds—before the redhead in the heels returned, her face scrunched up in what looked like pain, her green eyes darting frantically around the bar.
He approached her. “Is everything okay?”
Her eyes stilled, pinning on him. Her lips dipped into a deep frown as she shook her head. “I have to pee and the line for the women’s bathroom is ten miles long. I’ll never make it.”
Scott placed a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her out of the way, glancing down the corridor for the bathrooms with its black painted walls. Sure enough, the line for the women’s bathroom stretched at least fifteen women deep. The men’s room, on the other hand, had no line at all.
He grabbed her hand. “Follow me.” At a quick clip, he hauled her down the hallway and turned in to the men’s room, heaving the heavy door open with one hand while encouraging her to step inside with the other.
Her emerald eyes went wide. “This is the men’s room!” Her voice was low, almost a hiss.
Scott shrugged. “So?”
But her desperation won out, and with a quick eye shift down the hall toward the long line of women doing the bathroom dance, she nodded, then stepped inside.
“Hello?” Scott called out into the bathroom. “Anybody in here?”
Luckily, there was no answer.
His beautiful companion let out a sigh of relief, her slender shoulders slumping just a touch as she pushed past him.
“You go do what you need to do, and I’ll stand watch outside, give you some privacy.” Before she could come up with any more ridiculous protestations, he headed back out.
He still had his drink, so with one hand in his pocket, his shoulder against the doorjamb, he sipped his whiskey and waited for her to emerge.
Not four minutes later, a throat clearing behind him and a gentle tap on his shoulder let him know she was finished. He unblocked the door and held his hand out for her to go ahead of him, not just because he was a gentleman, but also because he wanted to check out her ass.
This woman was hot!
Tall and slim with nice curves, long legs and … yes! A rocking ass. And it was only played up by the sexy black pants she wore and those gold, strappy fuck-me heels. He gained ground, so he was right behind her. Not to be weird or anything—he just wanted to double-check if she was taller than him in those heels.
Phew.
Not quite.
Scott was a nice six-foot-two, and this beautiful creature didn’t quite come up to his forehead. Not that he was an anti-heightest (was that a thing?). He just preferred to be taller than the women he dated.
Whoa, now you’re dating her? You don’t even know her name. Slow down there, Sparky. Just because you haven’t gotten laid in … a while, let’s just leave it at that. Doesn’t mean you need to start picking out china patterns with the first pretty face to cross your path.
He shook himself mentally and stepped back, letting the woman get ahead of him a bit. They exited the corridor, reemerging into the lounge. In those few minutes they’d been gone, the place had filled up. It was wall-to-wall people, loud voices, laughing and some kind of hip-hop music. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the lyrics.
Man, he felt old.
He could still hear his party over in the corner booth laughing it up like obnoxious drunkards though. They were hard to miss.
He was busy glancing in the direction of his party when he was once again slammed, only this time it was in his chest, and it wasn’t by a freight train but a voluptuous, green-eyed wall of beauty.
“Thank you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a lifesaver.”
He grinned at her. “All in a day’s work. Glad you’re okay.”
She thrust her hand out. “Eva.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers, loving the way her hand felt in his. “Scott.” Her shake was firm but her hand soft and feminine. Her nails were painted in a subtle French manicure, and she wore no wedding ring.
“Can I buy you a drink for your gallantry, Scott?” She released his hand and pulled her clutch purse out from beneath her arm, her eyes twinkling as her mouth slid up into a mischievous smile. “It’s the least I can do.” Her eyes drifted to the right, and she cringed when a group of women decked out in pink sashes and horrendous wigs let out a loud, shrill cheer. “I’m also not eager to rejoin the bachelorette party I’m here with, so any opportunity to stay away, I’m all for.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she pushed her way through the crowd hovering in front of the bar, rested her breasts on the bar and leaned forward.
Like a dog with a bone, the muscly bartender lasered in on her in seconds, ignoring patrons who had been waiting far longer. “What can I getcha?” he asked, leaning onto the bar, his gaze drifting down from Eva’s face to where her gold heart pendant was wedged between the swells of her breast.
Scott would have done the exact same thing if he’d been that bartender—it would have been impossible not to.
Did she know what she was doing?
She had to. She didn’t strike him as a bimbo, just a woman who knew how to get what she wanted, how to work it.
And there was nothing wrong with working what the good lord gave you. Scott worked his megawatt smile more times than he could count, to charm a waitress or barista into giving him extra fries with his burger or an extra shot of espresso in his coffee.
“I’ll have a tequila, please. Añjeo or extra añjeo on the rocks, if you have it.” The bartender nodded. Scott had quietly followed her to the bar and was now beside her. “What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Whiskey.”
She nodded. “And a whiskey for my hero, here.” She glanced back at Scott, her smile wide, sexy and her eyes teasing.
What was she up to?
Moments later they had their drinks, and with Eva leading Scott like another dog with a bone, they managed to find a small section on a cushioned bench away from the crowd.
“You didn’t have to buy me a drink,” he said, taking a sip of his new whiskey.
She sipped her tequila and shrugged. “Like I said, I’m avoiding going back to those drunk-ass, marriage-loving women and their stupid crowns, leis and sashes.” She rolled her eyes. “Thank God I’m not in the wedding party.”
“How do you know the bride?”
She shrugged again. “Friend since beauty school.”
“Beauty school?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m a hairdresser and aesthetician.”
Well, that explained why she was walking, talking perfection. The woman knew how to take care of herself. Though Scott would put money on her looking gorgeous without an ounce of makeup on too.
“What do you do?”
“I’m in advertising.”
She nodded again, then began to bob her head in time with the beat of the music.
Then the conversation ended.
The air between them began to grow awkward.
He didn’t know this woman enough to like her, but he certainly found her hot, and what he’d met so far, he liked. Now he just had to figure out a way to charm her into wanting to ditch her party completely and maybe go grab a slice of pizza with him down the block or something. His stomach rumbled at the thought of Guy’s Pies. Best pizza by the slice in the entire city.
He took another sip of his drink and cleared his throat. “So uh … what do you think of my hair? You being a hairdresser and all. Am I an abomination?” He cringed.
Seriously? Wasn’t that like asking a stranger who’d just revealed they were a doctor to take a look at a mysterious mole on your back? He even had doctor friends, and he never asked them for medical advice. He asked his brother for legal advice, but when there’s a lawyer in the family, why wouldn’t you milk that cow?
Her smile was slow but sexy as hell. She lifted her hand from her lap and ran her fingers through his hair over and over again until he closed his eyes from just how good it felt.
If she brought out those nails and scraped his scalp, he was not to blame if his leg started to kick and shake uncontrollably.
“You have great hair,” she finally said, causing him to open his eyes again. Her gaze was soft and appraising, her smile sweet. “It’s nice and thick, soft. You’ve got a great hairline too.” She tugged at the sides.
“Yeah? What would you do to it if I gave you carte blanche?”
Her eyebrows twitched up a bit. “Carte blanche?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She raked her top teeth over her bottom lip, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. She set her drink down and added the fingers from her other hand, turning her body so they were now face-to-face. She tilted his head down so he was forced to stare directly down her blouse into her cleavage. He knew he should shut his eyes, but he just couldn’t. It was like staring at an eclipse—so damn beautiful, but it might very well get him in some major trouble too.
“Honestly, I don’t think I’d do much,” she said. “Maybe go a bit shorter on the sides, tidy up the back of your neck a little, but whoever you see does a pretty good job.”
“I see an eighty-three-year old barber down by Beechers Cheese. The guy takes nearly an hour to cut my hair, but he does a good job.”
She chuckled, and oh, what a laugh. It was deep and throaty and sexy as fuck. She still hadn’t stopped running her fingers through his hair. “A bit of silver on the sides here, huh?”
He nodded. “Yeah, starting to get some.”
Her touch was strong but gentle. Confident but curious. “But not too much. I’m guessing the men in your family all have their hair, but they went gray early?”
His head bobbed again, in awe of this woman and the pure magic her hands wielded. He was putty. She could pet him like that all night long and he’d lay like a chocolate lab at her feet. “Uh, yeah. My dad started going gray by the time he was forty, my grandpa too. My dad’s more salt than pepper now, but both gramps are combing tinsel.”
She chuckled that raspy laugh again. “I like that term. You’re cute.” She still hadn’t released his hair.
He hoped she never did.
“You’re beautiful.”
Eventually, unfortunately, she pulled her hands from his hair and batted long, dark lashes at him as she ducked her head, her smile coy and slightly hidden. “Thank you.” She lifted her head again, her gaze settling on him. “Full disclosure?”
You’re a hooker and this is all an elaborate ruse?
“Sure.”
She took a deep breath, which only amplified her killer rack. The buttons on her emerald-green silk sleeveless blouse strained against her inhale. Scott did everything in his power not to stare.
He was weak. It was impossible.
“It’s my first night away from my kids in … ” She shook her head and blew out a breath in exasperation. “God, I don’t know how long. So it’s been a while. I just signed the papers last month finalizing a very ugly, very messy, very painful divorce, and my kids are with my sister and her fourteen-year-old daughter. It’s the first night where my children have been okay being away from me overnight. We’ve tried a few times, but my little guy—Kellen, he’s five—gets upset when I leave. But I needed a night out … desperately. We’re moving out of my sister’s place in a few weeks, as I finally bought my own house now that the divorce has gone through.” Her eyes turned sad. “It’s been tough on my boys.” A wary glint invaded the sadness in the dark flecks of yellow around her irises as she waited for Scott to reply.
All he did was nod, and hope that his small smile and eyes conveyed his understanding and sympathy. She had no reason to be wary of him or his reaction to her honesty, to her plight. He’d been there himself and knew how hard a divorce could be on everyone involved—especially the kids. He took a leap of faith and rested his hand on her arm. “Been through a messy divorce myself. I have a son, and I totally get where you’re coming from right now. It’s hard on the kids. It’s hard on everyone.”
If she thought that her declaration was going to turn him off, she couldn’t be further from wrong. If anything, her honesty, her openness just made her more intriguing. She had wounds and scars just like him. She was human.
Heat flared in her eyes, and she shifted closer to him and brought her voice down. “I have a room at the hotel next door,” she said, the first sign of real, genuine nervousness entering her eyes. Her voice quavered slightly, and her throat bobbed in trepidation. “Would you … like to join me there?”
Eva hadn’t planned on inviting anybody up to her hotel room. She simply wanted a night away to herself. A night alone. A night to not have a furnace of a child in nothing but Marvel underpants crawling into bed beside her at two in the morning, and then another one crawling into her bed an hour later.
She wanted one night in a bed all by herself where she didn’t have to share the pillows, the duvet or the mattress. She wanted one night to not be mom, mama or mommy and instead just be Eva Fletcher—no, wait, scratch that, Eva Marchand. No way was she hanging on to that asshole’s last name, even if it was still attached to her sons. She would spend the rest of her life making sure her sons turned out nothing like their father.
Nothing.
Kellen and Lucas Fletcher would be nothing but respectful, kind and sensitive men who treated women like equals and didn’t emotionally or psychologically abuse or manipulate them. Kellen and Lucas would grow up to be good men.
But for one night she wanted her sister, Celeste, to be with those future good men. She didn’t want to have to worry about anybody’s needs, worries or wants but her own.
For. Just. One. Night.
From the moment she met up with the bachelorette party in the party room of the hotel, she began to plot her exit. Began to plot her escape to the luxury of her terrycloth robe and room service.
The party had been fun at first, with the rep from Curiously Kinky at-home romance parties doing sex toy demos and playing “guess that lube flavor,” but after a while, once the champagne and Jell-O shots had started to get passed around, all the women began to get annoying. They went from respectable women in their thirties and forties, mothers, wives and entrepreneurs, to squealing sorority divas. Or woo girls.
