Flirting with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 9) Read online

  He finished his bourbon and stood up from the couch.

  I hope you get your dog back.

  He wished he had time for a dog. He loved dogs. But owning a dog with his demanding career and attention-hungry children would feel like neglect from the get-go. That poor pet would never get the love or affection it deserved. Atlas was already being pulled in a million different directions. He’d love nothing more than to have a dog trotting down the hallway after him right now, prepared to leap up on his bed and claim Atlas’s pillow as his own. But when morning came and all hell broke loose as he fought to get Aria dressed, Cecily fed and his teeth brushed and tie straight, that poor dog would be forgotten about or possibly even cursed at for being underfoot.

  He wanted a dog. Probably needed one. But a dog didn’t need him right now, not in his current state anyway.

  Me too. Do you think I should get a lawyer?

  Well, now that he could answer.

  If he legitimately stole the dog from you, then yes. That dog is your property, and he was taken from you.

  We rescued the dog together. But … he feels more like mine.

  Ah, now things were tricky. If she’d adopted the dog before she and this Carlyle fuckface got together, then it would be a no-brainer. But since the dog was property and joint property at that, this Carlyle douche had just as much claim on the dog as she did. But theft or not, this wasn’t normally what a lawyer was used for. Unfortunately, a dog was considered small potatoes and the custody of one would be handled in small claims court, without attorneys.

  However, the thought of her losing her dog because she went into claims court ill-prepared gnawed at his gut like a rusty bread knife.

  He texted back Something like this is normally handled in small claims court, without lawyers. BUT, I would seek legal counsel anyway, just to give yourself an advantage. Better to be over prepared than under prepared.

  Legal counsel, nobody calls it that besides lawyers themselves. Wait… are YOU legal counsel?

  Not for a random text message I’m not. I hope the fleas of a thousand camels infest the crotch of your beloved Carlyle.

  That had been Samantha’s go-to insult. May the fleas of a thousand camels infest the crotch of the person who ruins your day. He snorted and smiled as he flicked on the light in his bedroom and her beautiful face and even more bright and beautiful smile met him on his nightstand. She was the most exquisite thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Fair and kind but still so fierce. Aria took after her in every way. Creamy complexion, light blonde hair, unique hazel eyes. And their smile … When Aria smiled, it really was like Samantha was smiling back at him—through their daughter.

  He undressed down to his black boxer briefs and plugged his phone into the charger on the nightstand next to Samantha’s picture. It was a photo of her on their wedding day—he’d never seen her look more incredible—until the day she had Aria, that is. Motherhood made her nearly angelic.

  After brushing his teeth, splashing some cold water on his face and scrutinizing the ever-darkening circles beneath his eyes, he hit the light and crawled into bed.

  Even after a year and a half of his wife being gone, he still couldn’t bring himself to take up more space in their king-size bed. Only when Aria came in to cuddle did he move from his side at all. Otherwise, Samantha’s place on the left remained untouched.

  He rolled over to his side, facing the nightstand, facing Samantha and said goodnight to her like he always did. Never out loud, but in his head. He said their vows; he asked her to be his forever.

  Once she said “I do” just like she always did, he closed his eyes and willed the sleep to take him. Only God knew how long he had before one of the girls woke up with one demand or another. He really wished the nanny, Jenny, was able to be a live-in nanny. But she had her husband to get home to, and as she put it, she loved kids, but she did the late nights and early mornings with her own children, who were now all grown up. Now, she wanted sleep.

  He thought about finding someone else other than Jenny, someone who could live in. But Jenny was just so damn good at her job. Aria loved her. Cecily calmed right down in Jenny’s arms, and she cooked—and cleaned. So he took the pros with the cons and kept her on even though he wished like hell the woman was willing to do even a bit of overtime—which she wasn’t. Thankfully, the single dads and their women stepped up to help Atlas a lot when Jenny couldn’t. His job as a senior partner at Wallace, Dixon and Travers was demanding, and he was up for name partner soon, so his hours were insane. He didn’t know what he would do without Jenny or the single dads. They all seriously saved his life, his job and his sanity.

  He was halfway asleep when his phone on the nightstand vibrated.

  Oh God, please don’t be Jenny calling in sick or something. I have a deposition in the morning and then I have to be in court at one o’clock.

  He grabbed it and checked the messages.

  It was from the unfortunate stranger.

  The fleas of a thousand camels, huh? That’s gotta itch. I just hoped his dick fell off altogether, but I like your wish too.

  He chuckled to himself, rolled over to his back and typed.

  It’s too cloudy to find a shooting star tonight. But if I see any double digits on the clock in my car or an eyelash somewhere, I’ll be sure to wish for Carlyle’s dick to spontaneously remove itself from his body AND the fleas of a thousand camels to infest his stump.

  An ache pulsed in his jaw, and with his free hand he reached up to massage it. That’s when he realized his cheeks and jaw hurt because he was smiling.

  Fuck, had it really been that long since he’d done it that his muscles cramped after only a couple of seconds?

  She texted back.

  Thank you for this. I was on the warpath and you brought me back to reality. I really needed this. You’re a kind stranger. Good night.

  She finished the message with a smiley-face emoji, which made him smile even more. Prickles raced down his arms and across his bare chest. He had no idea what this woman looked like, no idea how old she was or what she did for a living, but knowing that he’d helped her made an unusual sensation take over his body.

  Smiling wider and about to text back Good night, he rolled to the side to set his phone down again, but when Samantha’s hazel eyes hit his, his smile dropped like a stone in a pond.

  He put his phone down without replying to her and rolled over to his back again.

  Damn it. He was enjoying the witty banter with another woman. He was flirting … kind of. And that—his throat grew painfully tight as he stared up blankly at the ceiling—was a betrayal of the love of his life.

  2

  Tessa Copeland gathered her long, curly blonde hair at the nape of her neck and flipped it off her shoulders. Tucking the loose strands behind her ears, she tidied up her paints and turned the canvas she’d been working on toward the window and away from the doorway. She had a new client coming in at four, and even though she wasn’t ashamed of her art, it wasn’t finished, and she didn’t need to deal with curious eyes on her unfinished piece.

  She’d filled her essential oil diffuser with a stress-relieving and calming blend of cedarwood, ylang-ylang, patchouli, lavender and bergamot, and even though it made the studio smell lovely, it was doing very little to take the tension from her shoulders or jaw.

  Washing her hands in the sink, she ran the thumb of her right hand over the ring finger of her left. The moment she found the photos, she’d ripped that ring clean off and tossed it against the wall. Now, it was tucked in a small box in her underwear drawer for safekeeping, and her hand felt significantly lighter and certainly looked duller. A faint tan line ringed the base of her finger, a painful reminder of what had been.

  Not two days ago, she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with Carlyle Rickson. Until death do they part. Three years ago, he’d gotten down on bended knee at the top of the Space Needle on New Year’s Eve and professed to not only love her forever, but to spend t
he rest of his life working to make her as happy as she made him.

  Then yesterday she found Carlyle’s ancient iPad sitting around—which was odd on its own. She plugged it in, and because it was so old, she didn’t even have to enter a password. But what should pop up? Pictures of him and some other woman … in bed. And then the messages between him and this other woman, Blaire, and all the back-and-forth sexy pictures and suggestive sexting.

  Every cell in her body had instantly turned ice cold, her hands began to shake, and her teeth chattered like she’d been caught outside in the freezing rain. But there was no freezing rain outside. It was a gorgeous and warm May in Seattle, with flowers, birds, butterflies and an unusually minimal amount of rain.

  Too bad she was unable to enjoy that weather or the flowers on her windowsill after finding out her boyfriend of five years and fiancé of three of those was cheating on her. And it wasn’t like his relationship with Blaire had just started either. His text messages with the woman went back for almost a year.

  For a year, he’d been leading a double life. Cheating on Tessa with another woman while pretending he still loved her, that he still wanted to have a future and a family with her.

  Well, no more.

  She’d tossed all of his belongings into the bathtub, soaked them and then chucked them out onto the front lawn of her apartment complex. So whether it rained or not, his shit would be drenched.

  A tear slipped down her cheek as she shut off the water and dried her hands on a towel. As much as it hurt to lose Carlyle and the future she thought she had with him, he’d stolen her dog, Forest, as well.

  Who stole a dog?

  She didn’t even think Carlyle really liked Forest that much.

  Forest had never been too fond of Carlyle either—probably because he usurped Forest’s position on Tessa’s bed. Maybe she should have listened to her dog’s protestations. After all, didn’t animals have a sixth sense about humans?

  But now, she had no Carlyle and, what was more devastating, no Forest.

  Her two-timing ex had been raised by country-club elitist parents down in Georgia who were more concerned with the latest gossip and their upcoming tennis tournaments than giving two figs about their only child. They would be of no help. He wasn’t returning her calls or messages, and his voicemail was now full. She had no idea where he was staying. She’d called the few friends of his that she knew of, but either they had their bro’s back or they had no idea where he was.

  Should she text Blaire? After drinking three glasses of wine in under thirty minutes last night, she’d gone and accidentally mis-texted a complete stranger her insane rant. She wasn’t so sure texting Blaire was even a good idea, sober or drunk.

  She’d felt a whole lot better after texting back and forth with that random mis-texted number, though. Whoever he was, wherever he was, he had made her smile. And that was saying a lot.

  Who knew that her dyslexia and typing 6789 rather than 7689 would have proved to be a blessing rather than a curse? Reading back through her barrage of texts, she realized how totally nuts she must have sounded. Thankfully, the stranger had been understanding and cool about it.

  That could have gone a whole lot worse, and if the wrong person was on the receiving end, she could have been charged with harassment or something.

  Her eyes fell to the dog bed in the corner of her art and therapy studio, and her throat grew tight and more tears welled up in her eyes.

  Forest.

  God, how she missed him.

  She hoped he was okay. That Carlyle was taking care of him. Normally, Forest accompanied her to work every day, but yesterday Carlyle had asked for Forest to stay home with him. At the time, she’d thought nothing of it. Figured her fiancé had the day off, he’d take the dog for a run in the park. She never dreamed she’d return home to no Forest, no Carlyle and a weird vibe. A few shirts and pants of his were missing, but for the most part, all his stuff was still in the apartment. When dinnertime rolled around and they still weren’t home, she started to get worried. She called and texted, but there was no answer. Were they okay?

  It wasn’t until she found the iPad and the evidence of his cheating that she realized where he must have gone.

  Had that been Carlyle’s plan all along? Did he leave the iPad out on purpose so that she found it? Was that how he planned to end things with her? Why didn’t he move out entirely while she was at work? Why did he take the dog? None of it made any sense.

  What a coward.

  She crouched down next to Forest’s bed and ran her hand over the worn but clean and soft cushion. The teak bangles around her wrist jangled. He loved this bed.

  There wasn’t much her rescue mutt didn’t love—besides Carlyle. Even though they’d adopted him together, Forest had always preferred Tessa.

  A lab, collie, shepherd, malamute mix, he was a gorgeous creature with soulful light brown eyes, big paws, thick, long, dark chestnut fur and the most enormous heart she’d ever met.

  Her own heart throbbed painfully at the thought of never seeing him again, more so than never seeing Carlyle again. Because unlike Carlyle, Forest hadn’t hurt her. He’d done nothing but love her, even with all her faults and idiosyncrasies. A piece of her soul had been taken from her, a hole the size of her fifty-five-pound best friend permanently carved into her heart, never to be patched, never to be healed.

  She crumpled to the ground in a heap and a sob clutched at her throat. Her turquoise and paisley flowy boho skirt pooled around her like a mermaid’s tail. Sadness and pain, anger and fear burned in her chest like a fire she had no way of containing. Searing her from the inside out, until her body burned with an agony, a loss so severe she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover.

  She was thirty-five years old. She’d wasted five years of her life with Carlyle, and now she had to start over. And she didn’t even have her beloved dog to help her get through it all. Carlyle had taken everything from her. Everything that mattered. Her dog, her future, her trust.

  Using the hem of her white cardigan to blot at her eyes, she rose from where she stood and went to check herself out in the mirror.

  It wouldn’t do for the new client and her father to wander in and see Tessa looking like a mess. A therapist unable to get her shit together didn’t really evoke much confidence, did she?

  Her gold gladiator-style sandals slapped lightly across the white tile floor of her bright and open studio as she headed to the mirror.

  What stared back at her was a sad, lonely, broken woman. Red-rimmed blue eyes, puffy and tired. Her cheeks were blotchy and her nose was running. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

  Using another tissue, she blotted at her eyes and slathered on some lip gloss, hoping that it simply looked like she’d been outside for a brisk walk and not tearfully mourning the loss of her best friend and the future she’d planned down to the names and middle names of her three children. Two girls and boy.

  Crazy that the little girl coming in a few minutes was named her top choice for girl’s names, Aria.

  And Aria Stark at that.

  Her parents had to be Game of Thrones fans. Though they spelled her name different. Aria. Not Arya.

  Tessa would have spelled her daughter’s name with an I rather than a Y as well.

  Aria Jocelyn. Aria because an aria was a beautiful piece of music that often moved her to tears, and Jocelyn after her grandmother.

  She also liked the name Zoe. Zoe Rosalie. But Carlyle had thought that name to be dumb.

  Carlyle was dumb.

  The name Carlyle was dumb.

  So was the name Blaire.

  For a boy, she’d always been partial to Magnus. Magnus Bruno. Bruno after her father, of course, and Magnus because it was strong and uncommon

  But now that she was thirty-five and having to start over finding a man to share her life with, she could probably kiss Aria, Zoe and Magnus goodbye. She’d be lucky to have one child before her eggs ran out or … she met the same fate as her mothe
r.

  Maybe she was better off not having children. Maybe this was a sign. She wasn’t meant to be a mother. She knew firsthand how hard it was dealing with a mother’s illnesses. She couldn’t imagine putting her own children through that. Never in a million years.

  She already spent most of her days wondering whether there was more to an unhappy moment or a sudden mood shift. When her low moments got really low, whether that was her first slip into manic depression and if it was just a slippery slope after that, one she wouldn’t be able to climb back up. And then every time she forgot something, whether it be her keys or what she was supposed to grab at the grocery store—even though it was right there on the list—she could not stop the plaguing thought that it was the big A finally coming to claim her, just like it had her mother.

  Alzheimer’s.

  It had attacked her mother at the age of forty-five. Though she and her father were so consumed with handling her mother’s bouts of extreme depression, she’d bet the Alzheimer’s had come on sooner, they just hadn’t recognized it as such.

  Now in a home, her mother was rarely lucid and had no idea who Tessa was most days. Lily spent nearly every moment she had standing at the window in her room painting canvas after canvas of the same thing—a baby being held by its mother.

  Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she shook herself free of her grief as best she could.

  She needed to get into therapist mode.

  She was there to help people.

  And today, now, she was there to help a little three-year-old girl harness her frustrations and channel them into a positive and non-harmful direction.

  She straightened her pale pink tank top across her chest, made sure her cleavage wasn’t exposed, fixed the clasp on her long crystal pendant—it was supposed to be a healing crystal, but she didn’t feel the least bit healed—and smiled at herself in the mirror.