Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,39

empty and he idly sipped a cup of coffee while his thumb swiped across the screen.

“What about him?”

“Nice looking fellow.”

“Dad, no.”

“What’s wrong with him?” He shoveled a heaping bite of peppery potatoes into his mouth.

“Nothing. Just don’t try to set me up with anyone right now. Please?”

“Why not?”

Because technically, I’m married.

I wondered what Dad would do if I blurted it out like that. Just came out and said it. I didn’t particularly want to find out in the middle of a busy restaurant.

“Because I’m not going on dates with anyone new right now. I’m taking a little break.”

“Waste of time,” he said around his food. “You’re not getting any younger, Soph.”

“Dad.” I kept eating.

“It’s just the truth. You know I’m no bullshitter. And the truth is, a woman can’t have kids forever. Don’t complain to me about it; I didn’t make the rules. Take that up with the big guy.” He jutted his fork upward, vaguely motioning toward the sky.

“Thanks for pointing out how close my ovaries are to shriveling up.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure your ovaries are just fine. But those eggs do need a man to—”

“Okay, Dad, I get it.”

“I used to worry about some little shit coming along and knocking you up before you were ready. Now I worry all the men your age are too stupid to see a good woman when she’s right in front of ’em.”

“Hopefully I’ll run into one of the smart ones eventually. Oh, I brought you something.”

As I reached for my purse, I bumped my water glass, but Dad steadied it before it could spill. That was close. I pulled out a thin booklet with a blue cover and handed it to him.

“New crossword puzzles.”

He pulled his reading glasses out of his front pocket and put them on, then flipped through the pages. “Thank you, princess.”

“You’re welcome.”

While he continued eating and thumbed through the crossword puzzles, I took out my phone to text Nora. I wanted to confirm what time we were meeting for our run today.

Hey sweetie! What time today?

The reply came almost immediately. Well hi there, sugar. Any time is good for me, but what are we talking about?

Dang it, I’d accidentally texted Cox instead of Nora. How had I managed that? I blamed Kane. Stupid phone demon was always messing me up.

Me: Oops, I meant to send that to my friend Nora.

Cox: Damn, you had my hopes up.

Me: Sorry. We’re just going for a run later.

Cox: I don’t think I knew you were a runner.

Me: Yeah, I usually go with my friends. Then we get drinks afterward at this great place called Brody’s Brewhouse.

Cox: Been there once or twice. But let’s get back to you running. I’m imagining you all sweaty. I like it. Keep going.

I shouldn’t encourage him. Cox was a player with a capital P, and married to him or not, the last thing I needed was to be his next conquest.

But it was just a little texting. It wasn’t like he was sitting here in person.

I glanced up at Dad. He’d produced a pencil and was happily working on a crossword puzzle in between bites of breakfast.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun with Cox.

Me: I do get pretty sweaty. Makes it hard to peel off my clothes.

Cox: Peel ’em off, darlin’. One by one.

Me: Okay. My shirt comes off easily. It’s just damp.

Cox: I bet it messes up your hair when you pull it over your head.

Me: It does.

Cox: I like that. Keep going.

Me: My pants stick a little when I slide them over my… wait, maybe I still have shoes on.

Cox: Don’t worry about it. We’re just playin’. Slide those pants down over that sweet ass.

Me: Right, sorry.

Cox: Tell me you’re not wearing panties.

Me: Nope. No panties.

Cox: I’ve got this one. You bend over to take your pants off and I’m right there behind you. I crouch down, grab those luscious ass cheeks, and slide my tongue right up your center. You taste salty and sweet.

That escalated quickly. This was getting intense, especially because I was sitting with my dad. I could feel the blush heating up my face. But he was busy with his breakfast and crossword puzzle, and no one else in the restaurant was paying attention to me.

Plus, I liked the zing of excitement and little burst of arousal. Being in public kind of made it… better. Naughtier. More fun.

Me: My knees buckle and I fall forward onto the bed. I guess there’s a bed? I’m not very good