Single Dad
Milford College, #3
by Noelle Adams
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Trope: no-strings-attached; single dad
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Review of . . . SINGLE DAD (Milford College, #3) . . . It was cute, short, sweet, and gave the afternoon some delight. This was Max and Katrina working together to accomplish a school mandated goal and along they way the fell in to a supposed temporary relationship. Getting to know little Rika was darling as most children bring that touch of light and sweetness. This was an afternoon distraction from the day-to-day grind.
The last thing I want is to partner on a library exhibit with Max, a hot new art professor at my college, but it's part of my job as librarian so I don't have a choice. My attraction to him is intense and immediate, but I'm taking a break from dating so I can focus on myself. I don't need a distraction like Max.
He's a single father, and that's the only thing he can focus on now. He's never going to take a relationship with me seriously, no matter how much I want him to.
Single Dad is the third book in the Milford College series, novellas about the faculty and staff of a small liberal arts college.
EXCERPT . . .
I’m pretending to work on email but mostly giving myself a pep talk when there’s a tap on my half-open door.
I turn around with a practiced smile, only to freeze when I see Max standing in my doorway, dressed in tan trousers and a black Oxford with that intimate smile on his face.
It’s unseemly for a man to look that sexy. A universal injustice.
“I’m three minutes early, but surely you aren’t surprised to see me,” he says.
“Come on in. Of course I’m not surprised.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve been socked in the gut?”
“I don’t look like that.”
“How do you know? You can’t see yourself.”
I roll my eyes, my annoyance at this teasing overcoming the rush of attraction that had paralyzed me. I stand up. “Let me show you the books.”
“Ah. I’m back to being treated with cold-as-ice professionalism.” His smile is even warmer than before, so it’s clear he isn’t remotely offended.
I roll my eyes again. “I’m not treating you cold as ice.”
“It feels kind of icy to me. And here I was being nice and bringing you lunch.” He raises a bag he’s been holding that I only half noticed before.
“You brought me lunch?”
“I brought us lunch, but if you don’t want me to eat with you, I can take mine with me.”
“Why did you bring lunch?” I’m filled with another rush of pleasure.
“Because I figured I was using up your lunch break, and I thought you might be hungry. I’m a nice guy that way. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
“I know you’re a nice guy.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I do.” I’m afraid I might be gazing at him fatuously, and he’s going to be able to see it. So I clear my throat and give myself a mental shake. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. Like I said before, I’m still trying to figure you out. So do you want some lunch?”
“What did you get?”
“I didn’t know what you would want, so I got two kinds of salad, three kinds of sandwiches, and some pasta salad. I’ll eat whatever you don’t want.”
I gape at him. “You’ll eat two salads and two sandwiches?”
He laughs as he pulls containers and wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. “I could, but I probably won’t. You’ll have to eat half this stuff.”
“I can’t eat half of all this. You do see the size of me, don’t you?” I’m checking the labels and getting excited at every one I see. They’re just half sandwiches, so I pick the chicken salad on sourdough and the small Greek salad.
“Yes. I see the size of you.”
My breath hitches at his shift of tone. When I lift my eyes to meet his, I’m trapped by the heat of his gaze. His eyes are running up and down me, from my loose hair to my sandals. I’m wearing a long, soft skirt today in a pretty, feminine print. It’s not a sexy outfit, but I feel that way under his possessive gaze. My whole body starts to pulse.
When I realize what I’m feeling, I wrench my eyes away from his and focus down on my food again. I sit in my desk chair with an awkward flop.
He appears in better condition than me, but he doesn’t say anything else as he takes the turkey club and the pasta salad. He hands me a napkin and utensils, and we begin to eat.
“Thank you for this,” I say, after I’ve swallowed a bite of sandwich. It’s really good.
“You’re welcome. Thanks for your help with the exhibit.”
“No problem. The books are over there.”
“Great. We can look at them after we eat.”
His suggestion makes sense since we obviously don’t want to get food all over the books I’ve collected for him. But it extends our time together longer than I was hoping.
It would be so much easier and better for my state of mind if I could get him out of here in ten minutes.
No such luck.
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