Chapter 3
Harrison
I roll my eyes. I’d forgotten all about favor number two.
Just as I’m about to start another cup of coffee, a small noise catches my attention. My voice drops. “Hang on, Gabe.”
Because whatever he’s about to unload suddenly takes a back seat to the unmistakable sounds of all-out war erupting in my living room.
I edge the kitchen door open, carefully scouting for enemy activity.
Sure enough, my hellspawn have staked their claim on the couch, locked in fierce combat over the remote. Sophie’s elbow swings dangerously close to Ollie’s face while Connor bellows something about “first player rights.”
My fantasy of peace and quiet evaporates.
I blow out a rough breath, jam another K-cup into place, and press brew.
“All right,” I mutter grimly. “If you want me to agree to another favor, I suggest you speak fast.”
“Well, since I won’t be back as planned, I need—”
“Say no more,” I cut in. “If it’s your workload, you’ve got nothing to worry about. One team, one fight. I’m fully prepared to roll up my sleeves and get my hands dirty.”
“First of all, I’m already caught up. And it’s not so much a favor for me as for Zac.”
Shit.
Zac Donovan. Hannah’s fiancé. Brother to CEO Mark. My soon-to-be brother-in-law.
Which means exactly one godforsaken thing.
The Donovan Bishop Christmas Bachelor Auction for Wounded Vets.
Goddammit.
“It’s a good thing you’re prepared to get dirty,” he says, clearly entertained.
“No.”
“But you have to.”
“Absolutely not, Gabe.”
“But you already agreed. I need to stay in LA, and there’s no one else.”
I grit my teeth, volcanic irritation hissing just below the surface. “I already told Zac no. Now I’m telling you. I. Don’t. Date. Ever. Say it with me.”
“It’s not a real date,” he huffs. “It’s one night. For charity,” he pleads. “And if this is about you being self-conscious over your dad bod—”
What the fuck?
I bench more than this asshole weighs and can still cruise through SEAL Hell Week without breaking a sweat.
Dad bod, my ass.
I clear my throat. “I do not have a dad bod.”
I smack my abs hard enough to echo through the phone. “Hear that, motherfucker? Eight pack. Fully intact.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
What’s the problem?
The problem is I’m an overworked single dad of three who barely has time to choke down a second cup of coffee, let alone dive headfirst into the dating pool.
Even if it is just for one night.
Besides, from everything Mark, Zac, and Brian have said, that pool is nothing but money-grubbing women and a whole lot of pee.
Hard pass.
Desperate and grasping at straws, I scroll through the activities calendar, praying for a miracle.
Sophie’s ballet is on Mondays.
Ollie’s taekwondo, Tuesdays.
Connor cut back on gaming camp because hockey season just kicked off.
I blink.
Holy shit. Am I a slave to my kids’ social lives?
Maybe I do need a life.
Or a date.
Shut up.
I scrub a hand through my hair and glance upward. A little help down here.
I blow out a rough breath, confident I am not available at all. “When is it?”
A beat.
“You really don’t know?” Gabe asks.
It’s a glitzy black-tie event. Why would I know this? “No.”
“It’s tonight.”
My eyes land on the only patch of white space on my otherwise double-booked calendar. The exact spot where some urgent activity should be.
Doesn’t Snooki have one friend with a glitter-bombed birthday party tonight? Or wait. Doesn’t Connor have a robotics competition?
No, that was last week.
Dammit. Why can’t one of them be in football?
The room spins, and I reach for the only silver bullet I’ve got. “Can’t. No babysitter.”
“I thought you had someone.”
“I did. Had to let her go.” Sad, but true.
“That’s three in one month,” he scoffs.
“Four.”
He starts ticking them off. “The dancing TikToker, the wannabe life coach, and this one. Who am I missing?”
“The one I found naked in my bed.”
“Oh, yeah.” He tsks. “And you let her go.”
“She was covered in honey. Like, a gallon of it. I had to replace the sheets, the pillows, and the mattress. What the fuck? I don’t even own honey.”
He cracks up again. “Right. The wackadoodle. But wasn’t this last one a sweet little grandma? I thought you liked her.”
“I did like her.” I pause. “Right up until she offered my kids twenty bucks to the first one who found my credit card.”
“She didn’t?”
“She did. Lucky for me, Connor’s a shark. He negotiated twenty-five from me and sold her out.” I sniff back a fake tear. “Proud papa moment.”
“Rookie mistake. He could’ve gotten thirty.”
“So, as much as I’d like to help, Gabe, considering everyone I trust will be at tonight’s event, I’m out of options. Otherwise, I’d totally do it.”
“You would.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good news,” Gabe counters smoothly. “Zac figured you’d use your kids as human shields, so Mrs. D.’s already expecting them.”
Dammit.
Mrs. D.’s probably closing the restaurant so everyone else can go. I can’t argue with her as a babysitter, and she knows it. She’s the living embodiment of Mary Poppins. Practically perfect in every damn way.
And if I deny my kids the joy of seeing her, they’ll smother me in my sleep. They adore her.
Gabe’s voice dips lower, smug amusement sliding like silk through the line. “On the bright side, I’ll owe you. And that’s worth something, right?”
Instantly, my mind conjures an image of Gabe, all six foot four of him, strutting around the office in sky-high stilettos for an entire workday.
“Oh, you have no idea,” I mutter darkly.
Before Gabe can fire back, Sophie rockets into the kitchen at Mach ten, colliding with me hard enough to nearly neuter me.
Thanks to lightning-fast reflexes honed from years of dodging and weaving around my pint-sized hurricane, the family jewels narrowly escape total devastation.
My coffee is not so lucky. It now coats every surface in sight.
“Dad! Ollie dropped the remote in the toilet!”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” Gabe says, already retreating. “Thanks a million.”
“Wait—”
Too late. The line goes dead.
I grab a towel and scoop Snook up, propping her on my hip to keep tiny coffee-soaked hands from decorating every surface within reach.
So much for my second cup.
My gaze flicks between Snooki’s wide eyes and the flung-open kitchen door. Across the living, I see Ollie hovering over the toilet. Connor stands beside him, handing over something suspiciously familiar.
“Freeze right there, mister!” I bark. “If my toothbrush so much as thinks about kissing toilet water, you’re both grounded until college!”
Ollie shrugs. “Um. We already put the toothbrush in the toilet.”
Connor snatches it from his hands, holding it up like a trophy. Water drips onto the tile. “Relax, Dad. I’ll rinse it off. Good as new!”
I shake my head.
That’s it. I officially surrender.
A night out.
Drinks.
Trading a toilet water-soaked toothbrush for a tux…
Where do I sign up?