Tame the Beast : Small Beach Town, Single Mom Romance

Plus, I have no way of finding her anyway, so there is no point in these inner monologues. Yeah, I’ve been trying to persuade myself for the past six months. Newsbreak, it still hasn’t worked.

“My baby boy is finally back home.” My mom rushes from the back, breaking the little daydream I shouldn’t be having and a huge grin breaks over my face.

Willa Loverson might be quirky, a little crazy, a lot hippy and too obsessed with my love life but she is the best human out there. And the most amazing mom anyone could wish for. She worked her butt off to make sure I was able to go to the college I wanted and pursue my dream while taking on the bar all by herself.

Love and Peace was started by my father’s parents and passed on to him when he married mom. They were the happiest couple of Loverly Cave who did everything together and when Dad passed away unexpectedly, Mom never even considered remarrying.

I was ten at that time and saw how many men tried to date her over the years. She’s always had that natural beauty and kindness in her heart that drew everyone to her flame. Much like someone else I know.

But she always told me, “Soulmates happen once in your life, and it wouldn’t be fair to some other man to love him only with half of my heart.” And maybe that’s why I’m not even trying to find mine.

Why allow that kind of heartbreak into your life when I can give them my all for one night? Isn’t that a better trade off?

“Hi, mom.” I wrap her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. She is one tiny woman, plus I know how much she loves it when her son allows himself to show love. Her words, not mine. So I do it. Just for her.

“We are all so excited to have you back! The whole town is buzzing!” she squeaks excitedly, her long, graying hair bouncing around along with the million trinkets she wears around her neck.

“I’m happy to be back too. Even though I downgraded on my dating pool significantly,” I say it with a pout to tease my mom, because sure, I’m a good son—mostly—but I still like to give her a hard time here and there and there’s nothing that makes her more mad than my sleeping around.

I will never forget the day when she found out what I do and called me with panic, yelling frantically, “I raised a manwhore!”

It was quite hilarious.

The thing is, however, that I don’t feel as sad about my dating prospects in LC as I should have. In fact, I haven’t felt like dating—or my version of it—in quite some time. Well, my dick hasn’t really felt like it…moody bastard. He has been giving me a hard—or rather, soft—time anytime I tried to take a girl home.

A little over six months to be exact. And no, I refuse to believe it has anything to do with the blonde perfection I had in my bed all those months ago. I refuse it.

My mom smacks my shoulder and narrows her eyes at me. “Your dating pool here will be just fine.”

“Whatever you say, Ma.” I kiss the top of her head again and pick up my bag to head back upstairs to my apartment. “I’ll go unpack and I’ll be back to help you set up for the day.”

Yeah, unpacking can wait for another day. After I air out this place because if I thought her scent clung to the busy bar, it has nothing on its concentration in here.

Zoe is not just the trace in the air. She is the fucking air here.

Did my dick just twitch in my pants? Fuck, no! You don’t get to do this to me! You don’t get to go on boycott for her. She is not here.

I rush to open the windows to make sure her scent washes out of the room and go back downstairs before I need to take a cold shower.

As soon as I come back, I get to work busying myself with unloading the glasses and prepping the ingredients we will need when mom’s phone dings with a text and she yelps.

I raise my eyes to her and see her smacking her forehead. “I am getting too old and senile!” I chuckle at her dramatics a little because she’s hardly old or senile, but I don’t say anything to her and apparently that was the wrong thing to because suddenly I feel her tiny finger poke me in my ribs and now, I’m the one yelping.

“Jesus, mom, are you trying to make me holey?” I grin. “Get it? Like poke a hole in me but make me holy? Cure me of my manwhoreness?” I scrunch up my forehead. “Is that even a word?”

“Matteo!” She pokes me again, this time with a serious face and I lift up my hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine, no jokes. What has got you all worked up?”

“I completely forgot to get the mint from my friend’s house for tonight. She has been growing it for us for the past half a year. I need you to go pick it up.”

“Alrighty, I’ll go as soon as I’m done with the lemons here.”

“Now!” she yells out, and I jump, sending the perfect slices of lemon to the floor period. What the hell has gotten into her?

“Jesus Christ, woman! Since when are you so passionate about fucking mint?”

“Language, Matty!” She swats me with the towel. “Since it’s a special mint and I need it for my cocktails.”