One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(6)

“I’m good to go now that I have these.” He nuzzles his Little Debbie snacks.

Some things never change.

I give him a good pat on the back and head toward his house.

I could make my way around Racer’s house with my eyes shut, I’ve been here so many times. When I was younger, during the off-season, I would spend weekends helping Racer and his dad with little projects around the house. My dad would come along too, loving to get his hands on any kind of construction. The log house looks the same, even after the passing of Racer’s dad. Fuck, what a shitty day that was.

The familiar scent of wood and leather greets me when I walk through the back door. My second home.

But something is missing . . .

“Where’s all the furniture?” I whisper, scanning the area. There is nothing homey about the space. Not that Racer’s dad was a big decorator, but there was more in the house than a recliner and dining room table.

The kitchen isn’t far from the back door. I make my way to the fridge, pop the beers inside after grabbing one for myself, and turn back around to observe the space. Why has everything gone?

Casually, I make my way around the kitchen to a little built-in shelf near the hallway. There are unopened envelopes stacked high. I give the back door one more glance and pick one up.

Overdue.

In bright red, a giant stamp across the envelope.

I pick up another, and another.

All overdue.

What the fuck?

“Who the hell are you?”

Startled, I drop the envelopes to the ground and splash a little of my beer on the hardwood floors.

“Shit.” I pick up the bills, re-stack them, and squat to wipe up the little droplets of beer with my hand.

“Unless your hand is a Downey towel, that is not going to work.” The smooth sound of a women’s voice echoes through the empty space.

I glance over to find pink painted toenails laced through white flip-flops, and a set of long and lean toned legs in short denim shorts. Moving my eyes up, I take in her tight red shirt, showing off an inch of midriff. Farther up. Full breasts, V-neck shirt with an ample amount of cleavage popping past the low-cut collar. Smooth olive skin, long brown hair curled at the tips. Slender neck, heart-shaped jawline . . .

My eyes scan the last few inches. Full lips, painted in red, high cheekbones . . . and those eyes.

Deep.

A heavenly chocolate.

Sultry with a hint of . . .

Anger?

“Are you done checking me out?”

Clearing my throat, I stand and wipe my hand on my pants. “Sorry, you . . . uh . . . startled me.”

She walks to the kitchen and grabs the sponge from the sink. “Maybe because you’re snooping where you shouldn’t be.” Bending in front of me, her head mere inches from my crotch, she wipes up the beer. “Who are you anyway? Does Racer know you’re in here? He’s a private guy and doesn’t really like people in his house.”

When she stands, I tilt my head to the side, studying her. “You must be the brunette Racer was talking about.”

Tossing the sponge from her position, she lands it directly in the sink. Damn. “Avoiding my question, I see.”

“Not avoiding.” I stick out my hand. “I’m Hayden, known Racer since we were kids.” I nod at the cabinets in the kitchen as she slips her slight hand in mine. “I helped install those on one of the hottest fucking summers of my life.”

She quirks her head, a welcoming smile tugging at her lips. “Hayden Holmes? As in the man with the right hook?”

I roll my eyes and pull on the back of my neck. “How much was he talking about the fight?”

“Ever since we got here. He keeps trying to reenact it with everyone. When it was my turn, he told me to flop my tongue out of my mouth when he made fake contact.”

“Jesus Christ . . . did you do it?”

She shrugs. “I mean, I had no reason not to.”

I chuckle, loving her sense of humor. “So do you have a name, or are you just referred to as the brunette in the bathroom?”

“God, they have no class.” Shakes her head. “Brunette in the bathroom is unfortunately my nickname, but I go by Adalyn.”

Adalyn. Such a pretty name.

“Nice to meet you, Adalyn.”

We smile at each other for a few moments before Racer busts through the back door, chocolate on his face, beer in hand.

“There you are. We thought your ass got stuck in the toilet.” Racer comes up behind Adalyn and wraps his arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss against her temple. “Did you meet my boy, Hayden?”

“I did.” She scans me up and down, her little pink tongue barely wetting her lips.

“He didn’t give you any problems, did he?”

Still eyeing me, I grow a little nervous wondering if she’s going to call me out for snooping in front of Racer. I don’t want to embarrass him, so I pray she keeps our little interaction to just us.

“Nah, he did spill some beer on your floor, but I took care of it.”

“That’s my girl.” Racer presses another kiss against her cheek, and I wonder if they’re romantically involved. From the stiff set of Adalyn’s shoulders I’m going to assume no. Directing his attention to me, Racer says, “Addie Girl is one of my best friends and is untouchable, so don’t even think about making a move on her.”