Beefing With The Dad Bod

By Shyla Colt

I've suspected my engagement has been broken for a while, and no amount of nails can hold it together.
I've had a secret dream for a long time, and not it's time to DIY it and start fresh. After I kick my unsupportive fiancé to the curb, I quit my corporate gig and purchase my first house—a fixer-upper that looks better on paper than it does down to the bones.
Suddenly this all feels a little too real.
To make matters worse, my new neighbor is the cocky quarterback I spent four years tutoring, Bennett Cromwell. Our love/hate relationship is still heavy on the hate, which is the last thing I need after sawing away the man who stood in the way of my happiness.
Now, I have the sexy tattoo artist doling out unsolicited advice, annoyingly helpful assistance, and sinful dreams. If I can't keep him and his adorable puppy off my property, I may forget why I loathe him.
There's a thin line between love and hate, and our fights leave me nailed in more ways than one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shyla Colt
• Release date: Dec 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223817321

Shyla Colt

Shyla Colt grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, but has lived a variety of different places thanks to her wanderlust, interesting careers, and marriage to a United States Marine. She's always loved books and wrote her very first novel at the age of fifteen. She keeps a copy of her first submission letter on her desk for inspiration.  After a lifetime of traveling, she settled down and knew her time had come to write. Diving into her new career like she does everything else, with enthusiasm, research and a lot of prayers, she had her first book published in June of 2011. As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household.  She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company. A self-professed rebel with a pen. Her goal is to diversify romance as she continues to genre hop, and offer up strong female characters. You can interact with Shyla Colt online via her website www.shylacolt.com on,  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorshyla.colt and  Twitter: @shylacolt

Book preview

Chapter one

Captain Morgan, what did you sail me into? I whisper as I pull up to the house I bought. Excitement and nervousness clash like hot and cold water, creating choppy waters in my belly. I double-check the faded numbers on the rusty mailbox in front of the overgrown lawn. An iron number seven on the exterior wall hangs haphazardly, confirming this is indeed 1617 Maple Lane Way.

Home sweet home. Through rum-shaded vision, the fixer-upper property hadn’t looked this much like a haunted house. I doled out a sizeable chunk of my savings to buy this home outright. So, I’ll DIY until I die to stay on my skinny jeans size budget. Continuing to live in the condo I’m trying to sell with my ex-fiancé, Vance, is non-negotiable.

I’ll pinch my pennies until we can unload that property. The man’s been insufferable since I called things off. It helps that I have plenty of time on my hands right now since I’m in between jobs. The past ten years as a financial manager for a Fortune 500 company padded my account nicely. It also tried to kill me, so there were trade-offs. My exit from the toxic environment was the beginning of the end for Vance and me. Never mind the debilitating migraines, extreme anxiety, and intense depression the job caused.

The issues had piled up like trash in a landfill. When the noxious combination led to full-blown panic attacks, I tapped out. Switching gears, I began counseling. It’s insanely disconcerting to find you don’t like the life you’re living once you slow down to pay attention to your surroundings. It took months of therapy to be able to even admit that to myself. The breakthrough was the start of my adventure to find happiness and contentment. I’m excited to create a life I don’t need to escape from.

The adverse reaction to my actions by family and friends shouldn’t have shocked me. From the outside looking in, I had everything a woman could want. It hurt, but I drew my line in the sand. I never expected to be nearly solo behind that boundary.

Swallowing, I turn off the engine and rest my head on the steering wheel. Relators must disclose hauntings and violent crimes committed in spaces for sale these days, right?

On the brighter side of things, the inside doesn’t have the same creepy aesthetic as the exterior. She needs some serious spit polish, but there’s no dickhead ex waiting inside to try to berate and bully me into doing what he wants. Unlocking my door, I step out of the forest green, four-door SUV and square my shoulders.

Into the fray I go. As I step onto the walkway, I pray there’s nothing actually living inside of the grass jungle that is my front lawn. It’s like someone decided to play Jumanji and got sucked into the gameboard before they could finish.

I smile as I approach the dream porch on the Craftsman. It was the final detail that sold me. Climbing up the stairs, I’m relieved when they don’t creak. The wood is weathered and neglected, but it appears sound. I walk the length, testing the boards every few feet. Bouncing to distribute my weight in different spots, I feel my confidence grow. My braids swing with the movement. Golden blonde highlights in the dark brown tribal braids catch the light. The seller insisted the damage was mostly cosmetic. The owner had moved out of state and rented it out to tenants who’d run it into the ground, partying and dodging bill payment. They ignored numerous eviction attempts until it all came to a head nearly a year after it began. Thankfully, he had someone come in and clear out the mess. What I’ll be walking in on is months of dust, dirt, and leftover remnants of chaos. He dropped the price to sell it because the HOA fines were eating him alive.

I admire the structure, picturing it repainted a robin’s egg blue with white shutters and a fresh coat of white paint for the porch. I’ll make new cushions for the porch swing and sit out here in the mornings to drink my coffee. The warm fuzzies in my chest silence the doubt forming in my head.

We’ll bring you back to life, girl. I know you’ve been trashed and disrespected, but all that’s over. I’m Marie Kondoing the hell out of this home because I believe in energy. In the past few months, I’ve been exposed to enough bad vibes to kill a unicorn. I’m