Page 27 of The Single Dad Dilemma
There’s movement in the distance, someone shuffling around. Which is terrifying because I don’t think I made it home. This definitely doesn’t feel like my blanket.
It’s not a matter of being unable to open my eyes now. It’s more like I’m very, very scared to know just what the hell happened.
I turn to face the edge of the bed and slowly open a single eyelid. A glass of water fills the frame. Next to it is a bottle of headache medicine and my glasses. Feeling beneath the covers, it seems the glasses and my shoes are the only things removed. Another good sign that I didn’t do that other stupid thing, like hook up with a rando.
The rich smell of coffee brewing hits me, and despite the hangover, it actually smells delicious. I turn to take in my surroundings and panic.
This… is Ridge’s room. I’ve only seen it twice, but it’s enough to know for sure that’s exactly where I am. I pat my pockets, retrieving my phone for clues. Damn. It’s dead.
What did you do, Darcy??
I sit up and swing my legs very slowly over the side of the bed. The dizziness is still brutal. I stand, stumbling for a moment to my left before steadying myself. Jesus, this sucks.
There are times in life when you drink way too fucking much and swear on everything that you will never ever drink again. You swear you’ll always be designated driver because the juice is absolutely not worth the fucking squeeze. I myself have made this promise four times. It would appear four is also the number of times I’ve broken that fucking promise. But I really, really mean it this time. With my whole chest.
With much effort, I open his door without a sound and tiptoe down the hallway with my head hung quite low. I can hear him in the kitchen, but he seems to be trying to avoid making noise too.
Rounding the corner, I’m met with the image of Ridge with his back to me. And he’s shirtless. God, this is just not what I need right now. My eyes trace the curves and edges of his back muscles and the way his tattoo artist gave him a tattoo that flows with his natural shape. It’s a storm on the ocean, with bolts of lightning and waves crashing. There’s a tiny boat in the center of it all. I can’t explain it, but somehow that tells me more about him than I might’ve gotten from a conversation.
“Well, good morning, honey,” he says, turning to face me.
His use of that particular pet name somehow feels so natural from his mouth. He makes it work in a way I didn’t think anyone could. And the fact that he used it onme…well, I’m a smitten kitten all over again.
“I, um…” I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t have all the facts, but I’m a hundred percent sure I need to apologize.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he says, walking toward me.
He hands me a cup of coffee and says, “I know it’s not cold, but somehow I don’t think you’ll mind right now.”
And I don’t. I wrap my hands around the mug, warming them against it. It feels good. Soothing. I take the first delicious sip, the heat hitting the back of my throat in the most comforting way.
“Thank you.” My lips curl into a smile, and a wave of affection pours over me. Which is definitely not good. “How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember anything, do you?”
“I remember drinking a couple of rounds with Lyric. She hit it off with this guy there and hinted about wanting to leave. I toldher I wanted to have one more and she should go with the guy. I told her I’d be fine.” I pause to take another sip of my coffee. “Can I sit?”
“Of course,” he says, moving so I can make it to the stool he’s blocking.
I lift myself up onto the chair, wincing as I go. While my body feels like gelatin, my joints feel stiff as fuck.
“No sooner than she left, Tyler, the ex-boyfriend I mentioned, showed up. I swear it was like he was hunting for me. Like he knew I would be there.”
Ridge’s jaw tightens ever so slightly, like maybe he’s wondering if Tyler is stalking me. I’ll be honest—I had the same thought.
“Anyway, the next thing I know, he’s buying me a round. And then another. And another. The bastard overserved me. Probably on purpose.”
The tightness in his jaw is joined by his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.
“I’m sorry to have dragged you into this,” I say. “I don’t know how that happened.”
“You texted me,” he says. “Just the word ‘help,’ and I asked for the address. You were close by, thankfully. The guy you were talking to—I guess, Tyler—tried saying he would take you home, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the look of him or how wasted he let you get, so I got you out of there. But you passed out as soon as I got you into my truck, and I didn’t know your address. So I brought you here.”
I’m stunned silent for a moment as he shares the events from his perspective. I don’t remember sending that text. Maybe some part of me knew the bar was close to his house. Or maybe it’s because when I examine the people in my life, I come up short on protective savior types. Ridge is a father, and they’re prettymuch hardwired for that. The good ones, anyway. Maybe my choice makes more sense than I initially thought.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage to say. I truly mean it, and I try to convey that in the way I hold his gaze, silently praising him.
“I would do it a thousand times if it meant I knew you were safe,” he says.
