Tame the Beast : Small Beach Town, Single Mom Romance

No, there is no possibly in this equation. He is the hottest, and I’m the biggest mess wearing a milk-soaked shirt—with what smells like throw up too on my shoulder—my hair in a wet bun atop my head and sweatpants that barely cover my postpartum body. Nothing in those baby blogs I’ve read bothered to mention how atrocious this part of having a baby is.

Yet the way he looks at me…is not with judgement or disgust. It’s with pure heat…Dear Lord.

Without a single warning, he starts advancing my way, with Mellie happily sleeping in his arms and his dark eyes eating me up.

Fuuuuticle on a cracker—yes, I’m trying not to curse over here—why does he have to look so hot holding my baby? Why is he even here? He cannot. Cannot be here.

My throat goes dry, arms uncross and flop down. Don’t whimper, damn it! Don’t you dare whimper.

Matteo comes right up to me, lifting his free hand up to my cheek and gently brushes his thumb across it, eliciting a damn whimper out of me that unfortunately does not go unnoticed by him and one side of his mouth curls up into that sexy, dangerous smile of his.

But only for a second, before it drops, and he grows serious again.

“I’m moving in because this is where I’m meant to be. With you and Mellie. And if some prick thinks he can take that spot, he is sorely mistaken, Zoe.” The storm is back in his eyes.

What is he talking about? What prick? But Matteo locks his eyes with mine, stealing my breath and says, “I don’t share, Zoe.”

“Since when?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Since seven months ago.” Then he looks down at my daughter. “And since three weeks ago.”

He can’t mean what I think he means, right?

I can’t have him here. Absolutely not! I can’t fall for another guy only to have him leave when he gets tired of playing house with us. Because he will.

Everyone does.

I’ve never been good enough for anyone to stay let alone for a guy like Matteo who could have any woman. Younger. More beautiful. Without a kid.

“Matteo, you don’t know what you are talking about.” My tone is defeated. It’s better to end this charade before it starts. “You can’t really want this.” I motion between myself and the baby in his arms. “That’s not the lifestyle for you.”

“And why the heck not?” He sounds offended, and I didn’t mean it like that. I simply want to protect myself and Mel from future heartbreak.

I sigh, taking a step back from him because I can’t think clearly in his vicinity. “We are not even dating, for Pete’s sake.” I throw my arms up. “And here you are talking about moving in.”

“Be my girlfriend,” he throws out right away with ease and not as a question. “Okay, so what’s next on your list?”

“Matteo, you can’t be fucking serious right now.”

“Ouch.” He glares at me, covering Mel’s ears. “That will be twenty-five cents in the swear jar.” He points to me in all seriousness then looks down on her. “Look at that, by the time you turn eighteen we just might have enough to cover college expenses seeing as your mommy loves them curses and”—he stops, looks up to me and mouths—“fucks.”

I narrow my eyes at him, drawing my tongue over my teeth. My hands firmly planted on my hips because the audacity of this man. “Look who’s talking, Mr. Prim and Proper. If I remember correctly, you owe at least a dollar from three weeks ago.”

“It’s already in.”

“What?”

“The dollar.” He nods toward the bag at my feet. I bend down, unzip it, and find a little mason jar, covered in watermelon stickers, right at the top. It’s filled with four quarters and labeled, Dear curses, thank you for your contribution to Mel’s college fund, and my heart freaking melts, damn it.

“Now that that’s settled, what else, Beastie? I gotta warn you, though, I’m here to stay. So, throw it all at me.”

I collapse on the floor next to his bag, holding the swear jar in my hands. I have no clue why he’s doing this. What he wants from me, but I am too exhausted to fight him right now. And let’s be honest, that needy bitch inside of me is not really trying all that much. No, she is screaming for me to shut up and keep him with us a little longer. Possibly forever, if she has any say in the matter. Which she doesn’t. It’s sensible Zoe time.

“Fine, you want to stay and play with Mellie, that’s fine. Hope you like that couch right here,” I tell him.

“It’s a nice couch.” Matteo shrugs.

“Glad you think so. It’s all yours.” I get up, walk over to the kitchen counter and set the jar there.