Colin

COLIN CORA ROSE CREDITS Editor: Angela O’Connell Photographer: CJC Photography Copyright © 2023 by Cora Rose All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To Willow Thomas and Lark Taylor who taught me that cunt is an appropriate British term and then went on to tell me all of the ways it could be used. My learning is endless. CONTENTS Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Epilogue Afterword Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Cora Rose PREFACE Colin’s book is a little different from the rest of the series because he is different. He’s not a college student or a guy in his twenties. He’s a single dad with a full time job. He’s been married and divorced. But he deserved his happily ever after, so here it is. This is a low angst love story with the usual dose of ridiculousness and a lot of steam. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. CHAPTER ONE COLIN My date has fallen asleep on me. His chin is on his chest, those long, dark lashes flush against his cheek. And he’s snoring. In the middle of a restaurant. He nodded off while I was mid-sentence. Fuck. This is my life now. Slowly killing my dates with boredom. This was not premeditated, Sheriff. Just plain old manslaughter. Death by small talk. Ben snorts a little in his sleep, and I run a hand across my jaw, looking around me at the other tables in the large dining room. Couples. Couples everywhere. But not me. Nope. I am doomed to a life of singledom because I cannot for the life of me keep someone interested. Or conscious, apparently. If I take him home, is this considered necrophilia now? It’s not like I’m having the time of my life either. Ben is much too shy and quiet. I found my own eyes drooping as he talked about…shit what was he even talking about? I was only half-listening, my mind wandering to other things. Filthy things. Things I do at night when I’m alone and my neighbor’s bedroom light goes on. I’m always focused on his window now. It’s become my new obsession. I should be disappointed with my poor life choices, but as it is, I can’t find it in me to stop. Not until I find someone worth stopping for. And, believe me, I’m searching like mad, trying to find him. Hence the date. This clusterfuck. I reach out with my foot and nudge Ben’s leg until his eyes snap open. “Huh?” he mutters and sits up, ramrod straight, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. “Oh, oh hell,” he adds and blushes very prettily. “I’m so fucking sorry, Colin. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” I chuckle a little and shake my head. If my ex could see me now, he’d cackle in delight. He always did think I was boring. Well, Kurt, Ben seemingly thinks so too. Meek, shy Ben who works at the senior living facility my grandma is currently residing at. He works the reception desk, checking people in, and he’s cute. Almost too cute. So, I had to shoot my shot. I always do. Because every shot you don’t take is a miss. When I’d asked Ben out, he’d seemed excited, stumbling over his words and blushing, so I thought that maybe, just maybe I’d found a good one. But then he fell asleep mid-conversation, those pretty eyes of his just shutting as he nodded off. If it wasn’t so fucking depressing, I’d laugh. A laugh bubbles out of me regardless. Well, if you can’t laugh during times like these, then you’ll just cry. I’m a sad, sad man—on a date with a guy much too young for me, who dozed while I was telling him about my job as an American history professor. And while I could blather endlessly about the Revolutionary War, I can’t imagine that our country’s history is that boring. Have some patriotism, Benjamin. “Why don’t we just get the bill,” I say softly, and Ben blushes deeply. It bleeds down his neck and disappears beneath his maroon button-down shirt. Fuck, he’s gorgeous—petite with dark, wavy hair and big brown doe eyes. It’s too bad. Too fucking bad. “Do you have a ride home?” I ask because he told me he’d caught a ride here. “Oh, yes, um. I can get one,” he says, pulling out his phone, his thumbs tapping on the screen in quick succession. Then he slides his phone away and hands me his credit card. “I’d like to split the bill,” he says as I eye it. “No, I got it. It’s the least I can do for putting you to sleep.” He lets out a nervous laugh and then bites his bottom lip. “I feel really bad. It’s not you. I’m just really tired. This semester’s classes are killer and I’ve been helping my dad at his shop…” “Don’t worry about it. This is just how it goes for me. This is really nothing new.” He watches me carefully. “Well, it really shouldn’t be. You’re handsome and…nice.” I groan, hearing that far too often. “God, don’t say that. I’m apparently too nice and that’s the problem.” My point is proven when I see Ben slide onto the back of a motorcycle ten minutes later. His arms wrap around a large, muscular dude who looks like he just got out of prison. The man—quite possibly a serial killer—even glowers at me, probably debating if I’m worth dismembering. But even