It’s time.
Time to get a life.
Time to start over.
Time to move beyond the past.
The guys in the Single Dads Club would tell you it was time years ago, but until recently, the risk of hurting my little girl outweighed the benefit of getting a piece of ass.
Now that I have a tween daughter on my hands? It’s becoming more apparent with every poster hung on the wall, every fight over make-up and every uncomfortable conversation about puberty, that at least one of us needs a female touch in our lives.
Jesus. I can’t even think the words ‘female touch’ without thinking of her.
Charlotte Rose. Charlie.
She’s everything I shouldn’t want, but someone needs to tell that to my damn libido because every time she’s around I have a constant case of blue balls.
There’s a list of reasons why I shouldn’t give into what I feel—she’s my best friend’s little sister, she’s seen me at my most vulnerable, and the biggest one—she’s the first person in eleven years who has the potential to break me.
