Accidental Ex’s Dad (Unintentionally Yours #17)

Chapter 1

Charlotte

“I am never, and I mean never, getting involved with a younger man again,” I say with a grimace.

The tequila shot burns a hole in my mouth.

I bite into the lime, and while it adds some relief from the wrath of Jose Cuervo, nothing could take the sting out of my heart.

“Cheers to that,” my best friend, Josie, says.

She pounds her own tequila shot. Afterwards, she does a full body shake.

“God, that’s truly awful. I want a fruity drink…

something with an umbrella in it. Barkeep!

” she snaps her fingers, and the whole room ignores her.

She half shrugs. “Oh well. Works in the movies.”

“I don’t want my alcohol watered down tonight,” I go on. “I need something that will help me forget all about Ben.”

“Good luck with that,” she says with an airy chuckle.

“I don’t know if I could ever forget someone like Ben.

Curly, tousle-able hair, brooding silver eyes, that Timothée Chalamet jawline, and that Flynn Ryder smolder.

Whew!” Josie wiggles in a shiver, but then she forces the smile away.

“But no. You’re right. He’s scum and we need to forget him. Every inch of him.”

“You’re not helping,” I tell her as the bartender nods up at us.

“Mai Thai, please,” Josie says, and his eyes dart over to me.

We are at a swanky little cantina bar in the heart of Denver. And being Friday night, they are slammed. I’m surprised we even found seats tonight, let alone bar seats.

“I’ll take another shot of Cuervo,” I tell him. “And this time, no training wheels.”

“Look out, Denver, Charlotte’s getting wild!” Josie says.

The bartender doesn’t smile. He just walks away to make our drinks. The frown lines in the corners of his lips make me wonder if he’s ever smiled.

“He’s cute. Don’t you think he’s cute? Hey! Maybe that’s the ticket!”

“The ticket to what?” I ask, dunking a tortilla chip into green chili salsa.

“The ticket to getting over Ben!” she says.

“It’s only been a week,” I say, crunching on the chip. “I’m pretty sure a month is the standard mourning time after a relationship crashes and burns.”

Especially when you find out that he is already in love with someone else.

“Listen, we don’t have that kind of time!

” she says. “Did you know that men in Colorado between the ages of twenty and thirty-five are considered some of the most attractive in the country? The swipe right ratio is much higher here. You have to jump on these things. You’re not getting any younger, you know. ”

I frown at my supposed best friend, and the bartender sets our drinks down. Josie pulls hers towards her and winks at him. His face doesn’t change.

“God, I love a man who plays hard to get,” she swoons before taking a sip of her fruity cocktail.

I roll my eyes.

I love this girl. We’ve been best friends forever. We even work in the same industry.

But when it comes to dating advice, she’s not really my go-to.

She’s too opinionated and quirky, two traits most men can’t handle.

Josie is attractive, though. Her fair skin and heart-shaped face framed by her thick, raven hair and perfect bangs. Her bangs are so good they are part of her personality.

“Listen,” she says, chewing on a pineapple triangle garnish. “I know you’re still grieving. Break-ups are the worst, but you’ve got to get over what’s-his-name.”

“Ben,” I say as I engage in a staring contest with my plain shot of tequila. My stomach sours at the idea of it, and I’m starting to regret going without the training wheels.

“I know his name. I was just trying to prove a point,” she says.

“That’s the thing though, Jo,” I say, biting my lip as my shoulders droop in defeat. “I am over him. I mean…I think deep down I knew we weren’t right for each other.”

“I can see how you wanted it to work,” she says. “Opposites attract and all that.”

“Like that! I don’t believe that opposites attract.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s no logic in it.

No rationality,” I argue. “Logic and rationality are two things I very much believe in. I was a straight-A student, Josie. A science major. A mathlete! I believe in absolutes. There is nothing absolute about a relationship where a guy and a girl are like the repelling ends of two magnets. There’s no reason to believe it could have ever worked out. ”

“I don’t know about all that, but I do think you’re right about you and Ben having no future together. Obviously, he needed someone more free-spirited.”

“Which I’m not,” I say as if it’s a good thing.

“Someone who drives with the windows down,” she adds.

“I would never,” I shake my head.

“Someone who pulls clean clothes out of a laundry basket because they never put them away,” she says.

“Exactly!” I point at her.

“Someone fun!”

I stop, and Josie grimaces.

“You know what I mean,” she says, and I sigh.

“I’m not fun,” I pout.

“That’s not true,” she shakes her head as she chews on an ice cube from her glass. “I always have fun with you.”

“You also think that knitting beanies on a Saturday while rewatching You on Netflix instead of going out is a wild time,” I point out.

“Listen, Joe Goldberg is a snack even if he does have a fetish for murdering the women he loves,” she argues. “Maybe fun isn’t the right word. You are fun, but you’re not very spontaneous.”

It still feels like an insult.

I am a checklist kind of girl.

A never hit snooze kind of girl.

A straight hair kind of girl.

Spontaneity has never been a part of my personality at all, which is why the abrupt end to my relationship with Ben stung so much.

I thought he found my introverted, bookish nature endearing. But all along he was craving adventure and unpredictability.

He found it almost instantaneously when we broke up.

He and his fiancée had their first date planned before I had my suitcase packed.

In my defense, there is a right way and a wrong way to pack a suitcase, and it’s not something a sane person should ever do in haste.

But I digress.

“You’re right,” I say with a persecuted sigh.

“All I’m saying is maybe if you did something a little wild, you’d feel better. Prove that you can stray a little from your bulleted agenda. Not for his sake, but for yours. Maybe you need to get laid.”

I nearly choke on my water at that. “That is such a cliché thing to say to a friend going through a breakup,” I half laugh, half cough.

“It’s cliché because it works,” she says.

“Having sex with a stranger isn’t going to fix my life,” I say just as the bartender steps in front of us and a blush makes its way from the swell of my breasts all the way up to my hairline.

“You sure you don’t want the salt and lime?” he asks.

“Yes. I mean no. I mean, I don’t want it. I’m tired of using training wheels, gosh damn it!”

“Okay,” he says indifferently before walking away.

“I am going to do it,” I say, not caring how crazy I sound.

“Yes, you are!” Josie cheers.

“I’m going to hook up with a stranger!”

“Hell yeah!”

“I’m going to find a random, single man and flirt with him until he asks if I want to get out of here!”

“You go, girl! Now let’s find you that man!”

I stop, ducking on my stool. “Wait, now? Tonight? Here?!”

“Yes, now, and yes tonight and here. Listen to you, Charlotte. You’re more liberated than you’ve ever been. The prude little sensible voice inside of you is distracted or drunk. You need to pounce on this before she sobers up!”

Josie isn’t wrong.

If I allow myself to think this through, I’m never going to go through with it.

So I look around. The cantina is mostly couples or groups, but there is the occasional stag here and there.

“What about that guy?” Josie asks. “Twelve o’clock. The blond.”

“Ehh, I don’t really like blonds,” I admit.

“Okay. No Reynolds or Goslings. Got it. Ooh, what about the guy by the wall? I’m a slut for a man with a backwards ball cap,” she swoons.

“Are you a slut for married men because I see a ring,” I point out.

“Damn. Well–”

“End of the bar,” I cut her off, and Josie looks around.

“Who…? Oh…”

Sitting by himself, with dark brown hair and no ring in sight, is a man with warm eyes. He has a serious jawline and lips that look like they could stop your heart with one kiss. I am pretty sure he is exactly what I need to explore my spontaneous side.

“He’s hot,” she says.

“And well-dressed,” I say.

“Look at those forearms,” she adds.

“Look at his shoulder muscles,” I say.

“He has salt and pepper temples!” she gushes. “Girl. He’s a fox!”

“A silver fox,” I smirk.

“That’s the best kind of fox,” she swoons.

I can’t stop staring at him.

He’s alone, sipping draft beer, and he’s got this aura about him. It’s confidence, not arrogance. He looks very comfortable with himself and charming too.

From what I’ve heard, charming men can be dangerous. He could be perfect for what I’ve got in mind.

A one-night stand, no strings attached experience that will make me forget all about Ben.

Then, as if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks right at me, and I swear my heart stops beating.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

My lips part as I try to hide my heavy breathing.

His mouth curls into a small smirk.

It makes me giddy, and a smile breaks out on my face, accompanied by another blush.

That blush earns me the other three-quarters of that smirk.

“Jesus. You have to go over there,” she says.

“Should I?” I ask, suddenly feeling unsure. “Shouldn’t I wait for him? I mean, if he’s interested, he’ll come over here, right?”

“Charlotte. The entire point is that you make the first move. Waiting for him would be fateful, but not spontaneous.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” I murmur as the stranger and I play footsie with our eyes.

“Exactly. So go talk to him.”

Right.

“Right,” I nod.

I stand up, straighten my sweater dress, grab the shot of tequila, toss it down the back of my throat, and wince.

Then, with my better judgement and reasoning subdued by alcohol, I take a deep breath and say something I’ve never said in my life.

“Here goes nothing.”