My Kind of Perfect: a Roommates-to-Lovers, Single Dad Romance (Finding Love Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Playlist

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  My Kind of Perfect

  Copyright © 2020 Nikki Ash

  Cover design and book formatting by Juliana Cabrera, Jersey Girl Design

  Photo: Sara Eirew Photography

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Apple Music

  Feels Great - Cheat Codes

  House Party - Sam Hunt

  Ain’t My Fault – Zara Larsson

  Blue Tacoma – Russell Dickerson

  Sorry – Justin Bieber

  Eenie Meenie – Justin Bieber & Sean Kingston

  Feelings Show – Colbie Caillat

  This Feeling – The Chainsmokers

  I’m Yours – Alessia Cara

  Behind These Hazel Eyes – Kelly Clarkson

  Just the Way You Are – Bruno Mars

  The Difference – Tyler Rich

  I Don’t Care – Ed Sheeran & Justin Bieber

  Gold – Britt Nicole

  Take Back Home Girl- Chris Lane

  Give Your Heart a Break – Demi Lovato

  Wanted – Hunter Hayes

  There’s No Way – Lauv

  What Do You Mean? – Justin Bieber

  Can’t Take Her Anywhere – Dylan Scott

  Tie Me Down – Gryffin & Elley Duhé

  To Bret, for loving me imperfectly perfect.

  Chase

  “Hey… Yeah, I’m on my way,” my wife whispers into the phone, thinking I’m asleep.

  I had to pull an extra shift at work because two of the guys called out, and then we were up all night putting out a fire that resulted in a mom and her baby both losing their lives. I love my job as a firefighter, but some days it’s harder than others. We want to save them all, and it sucks when we can’t.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she says softly, using a tone very unlike her. I crack an eye open and see her standing in front of our dresser, putting her big hoop earrings into her ears. She’s dressed in a short, tight, leopard dress and tall as fuck heels that show off her mile long legs. Her long, dyed, black hair has been straightened, and her face, which is being reflected in the mirror, is covered in makeup.

  She’s going out without me… again.

  I take a moment to assess her features. My wife is hot. Always has been. And dressed the way she is right now, she looks every bit like the model she once was—before fame got to her head and destroyed her career. But if you remove the makeup, you’ll see the wrinkles around her mouth from years of smoking. And if you look closely at the creases in her arms, you’ll see the scars from the needles. She’s been clean for a while now, but those scars are permanent. Just like the damage she’s causing to our marriage by the choices she’s making.

  Before she can escape, I roll over and sit up. She doesn’t notice me right away, so I clear my throat. She jumps, startled, and swivels around. “Chase… you’re awake.” Her striking blue eyes meet mine.

  “I am. Where are we going?” I throw the freshly washed blanket off me—noting how she’s been doing the sheets several times a week, when she used to barely wash them once a month—and stand. I don’t really have any intention of going anywhere. I have to be back at work at 8:00 a.m., but my fake threat forces a reaction out of Victoria—shock tinged with a little bit of guilt—that tells me everything I need to know—something I’ve been suspecting for a while now.

  My wife, the woman I’ve been married to for almost ten years, have been friends with for even longer, have been through ups and downs with, was by her side every time she fell off the wagon and needed help getting back on, is having an affair.

  When she came home the first time smelling like another man’s scent, I questioned her. She told me I was crazy, that I was starting shit for no reason. The next time, she said the club she and her friends were at was crowded and a guy probably rubbed up against her. It was a dumb as fuck excuse, but I swallowed it down, not wanting to believe my wife would cheat on me.

  But now, it’s time I open my eyes and stop being a dumbass.

  “I’m going out with Fiona and Jezibel,” she says, referring to her washed-up model friends.

  “Cool. I’ll join you.”

  Her eyes widen, but she quickly schools her features. “It’s a girls’ night,” she retorts.

  “I don’t think they’ll mind me crashing… Plus, I miss you.” I walk over to her and cage her in my arms.

  “Don’t you have to work tomorrow morning?” She moves my arm and steps away like she’s repulsed by me. I can still remember the days when we would spend hours at a time with me inside her. Even the last year, since she’s been pushing me away, we haven’t gone more than a couple days without having sex. But the last couple months it’s gotten worse. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been intimate with my wife. She starts fights all the time, which end with me sleeping on my friend Alec’s couch. And when I’m home, she’s either out with her friends or doesn’t feel well and wants to be left alone. Something is definitely up, and I’m going to find out what—or who—it is.

  “I do,” I tell her, answering her question. “I actually have to work a double.” A lie.

  She chews the inside of her mouth. “Then you better get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I say, a plan forming in my head. “Guess I’ll see you in a few days.” I step close to her and kiss her cheek. “I love you.”

  “Me too,” she chokes out. “I, uh, I gotta go.”

  I watch as she grabs her purse and rushes out the door, and then I fall back into bed, knowing if I don’t get some sleep, I’m going to be useless tomorrow, and as much as I want to follow my wife and catch her in the act, I have a crew of men who need me to lead. I worked hard to get to where I am, and I can’t lose everything I’ve accomplished—especially since there’s a good chance I’m going to lose my wife
anyway.

  “You’re more than welcome to crash at my place,” Alec says as we walk to our vehicles. It’s finally eight in the morning, which means our twenty-four-hour shift is over and we’re off for the next four days—unless another guy calls out and I have to come in. This has been one long as hell week. “I was only fucking with you yesterday about squatting on my couch,” he adds.

  I laugh at his remark. Yesterday I was fucking with him about not owning up to his feelings for Lexi, his best friend whom he’s in love with but won’t admit to. And in return, he called me out on sleeping on his couch several times the last few weeks.

  “I know, man, and I appreciate it, but… I need to go home.” I don’t bother mentioning that my wife has no idea I’ll be home in a few minutes, and if I’m right about my suspicions, there’s a good chance I’ll catch her with another man, in our home, dirtying those clean fucking sheets. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Alec’s birthday is today, and we’re all going out tomorrow night to celebrate.

  I jump into my charcoal gray BMW 3 series—a gift to myself last year when I got my promotion as Battalion Chief—and head the few blocks home. I pull through the gate of our community and smile to myself at how far I’ve come. Victoria and I grew up in a small, poor neighborhood in South LA. We would talk of one day getting out of the ghetto. She would become a huge model and I would fight fires. We both achieved our dreams, but unlike Victoria, who couldn’t deal with the dark parts of your dreams coming true, I remained grounded. She wanted to purchase a mansion in Hollywood Hills with the money she was making, but I refused, instead telling her we could do that in a few years.

  It’s a good thing I won that argument, because not too long after, she was caught with blow up her nostrils during a fashion show. Her career tanked, and I found out she spent all her money on partying and getting high.

  When I got my promotion, I moved us away from Hollywood and into a two-bedroom apartment near UCLA. It’s more laid back—less temptations for her. I paid for her to go to rehab and when she got out, I had everything set up and ready. At first when she got out, she was on board, focusing on herself and us, but all too quickly, she was back to her old self. Going out and partying. She swears she hasn’t done any drugs, but I wouldn’t doubt she’s lying.

  I go to pull into my designated parking spot, but there’s already a newer-looking Porsche parked in it. I glance over and see Victoria’s Mercedes in hers. I bought it for her when I got my promotion, hoping it would make her happy. Spoiler alert, it didn’t.

  I park in a guest parking spot and then head up to our second floor apartment. After unlocking the door, I open it slowly and quietly, and then close it the same way. I walk through our foyer and living room and stop in the doorway of our bedroom. The door is wide-open and she’s in bed, sleeping on her side. Her hair is splayed out across the pillow, and her lips are forming a little pout. And behind her is a man I’ve never seen before with his arm thrown over the side of her, his hand resting on her bare, fake breast—something else she wasted her money on, thinking she needed them to be successful.

  I knew there was a damn good chance this was what I would find when I walked through the door, but I wasn’t prepared for the hurt and betrayal I would feel seeing my wife in another man’s arms.

  I met Victoria when we were ten, fell in love with her when we were seventeen, and we were married when we were twenty. Now, at twenty-nine years old, we’re about to be divorced. Because there’s no coming back from this. I could forgive her for just about anything, but fucking another man… I can’t do it. No matter how much I love her.

  I clear my throat and Victoria’s eyes pop open. It takes her a second for it to click: her husband is home and she’s in bed with another man. But once it does, she jumps out of bed, in nothing but a tiny G-string.

  The guy groans, stretching out his arms. He has no clue what’s happening.

  “Chase,” she squeaks, her eyes darting between me and her fuck buddy. She runs over to the bathroom door and grabs her robe, throwing it on.

  “Huh?” the guy says, opening his eyes and meeting mine. “Oh, shit. Look, man… I don’t want any problems.” He climbs out of bed, wearing only a pair of boxers. Human nature has me checking him out. He’s about the same height as me, has tattoos donning his arms, whereas I’m tattoo free. He’s skinny, tiny abs, but nothing like the muscle I have from working out daily. I’m not sure what’s drawn Victoria to him, until he sniffs and wipes his hand back and forth under his nose. And then it hits me: he’s a druggie, like my wife.

  “Look, Chase, I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to hurt you,” she says, stepping over next to the guy.

  “You told me you two were over,” he says to her.

  At this point, most guys would’ve pummeled the man who was sleeping in his bed, but that’s not who I am. I’m married to Victoria, not this guy. Should he have been fucking a married woman? Hell no. But I got a glimpse at her left hand and saw she removed her ring. She’s been lying to both of us.

  “We are now,” I tell him calmly, refusing to go ballistic and throw shit. I gave this woman my all. I loved her and supported her. I was faithful to her. And in return, she cheated on me God knows how many times.

  My gaze meets Victoria’s. “Let me know when I can come back and pack my shit. I don’t want you to be here. And I’ll file for divorce… you know, since you don’t have any money to file yourself.”

  I turn my back on my cheating wife and walk out the door. She doesn’t bother to chase after me, and I don’t expect her to. She made her decision a long time ago.

  A few minutes later, I’m pulling into Alec’s complex. It’s nicer than mine, located in a wealthy neighborhood. He comes from a well-off family—stepdad is a retired UFC fighter—and was given the place as a gift after he graduated from the fire academy.

  I knock on the door, and Georgia answers. She’s Alec’s roommate, along with her sister, Lexi. She’s holding her laptop in one hand and the door with the other. Her brown hair is up in a messy bun, and her eyes, green like the grass after a good rain, shine in sympathy.

  “Hey,” I mutter, “Alec mentioned…”

  “Yeah, of course,” she says, thankfully not making me finish my sentence. If I had to, I might fucking lose it. I’m barely holding it together as it is.

  I grab the door from her and walk through it, closing it behind me.

  “The pillow and blanket are where you left them,” she tells me. “Lexi is at the beach, surfing, and Alec is asleep.”

  “Thanks.” I fall onto the couch and drop my face into my hands, trying to figure out how the hell my life has come to this.

  My phone dings and I pull it out.

  Victoria: You can come by and get your stuff tomorrow. And I’ll file for the divorce. I want it done ASAP.

  She’ll file for divorce?

  Me: With what money?

  There’s no way her cheating ass is getting a dime from me.

  Victoria: Raymond said he’d pay.

  Raymond… Guess that’s the guy’s name. Must’ve been his Porsche parked in my spot. What a fucking dumbass. He finds out the woman he’s fucking is a liar and offers to pay for her divorce? Must be the powder he’s been snorting.

  Me: Cool, he paying for your apartment and Mercedes too?

  We both know her broke ass can’t afford to pay for either one. Speaking of which… I pull up my bank app and quickly transfer my money from our joint checking to my sole savings account. I’ll need to visit the bank as soon as possible to close that checking account and open a new one.

  I wait a few minutes for her to answer, and when she doesn’t, I put my phone on silent and throw it onto the coffee table. Fuck her and her cheating ass.

  Grabbing the pillow and blanket next to the couch, I lie down and close my eyes, trying not to let myself get worked up. But fuck, it’s hard. I gave her everything, all of me. My money, my time, my love. And what did I get in return? A cheating wife. At l
east we didn’t have any kids. The divorce will go through quickly and then I can move on, start my life over again. I can tell you one thing, there’s no way in hell I’m ever giving a woman that much of myself again.

  Lesson. Fucking. Learned.

  Chase

  Fifteen Months Later

  “Hey, what are you up to tonight?” I pop my head into Georgia’s room and ask, even though I already know what she’s up to… the same thing she’s always up to.

  She looks up from her laptop, and her emerald eyes meet mine. “Working.” She lifts her laptop slightly.

  “Any chance you want to go to Club Illusion with me?”

  In the last two years, since I’ve known Georgia, I’ve only seen her actually go out a handful of times—usually when Lexi would drag her out for a celebration. But since Lexi and Alec moved out—after getting married and having a baby—Lexi has been too busy to go out, which means Georgia hasn’t been out either.

  “No, thank you,” she says softly, shaking her head to emphasize her answer. She glances back down at her laptop, resuming her work. The woman practically lives in her room, on that thing. The only time she ever leaves it is to either visit her family or check on the art gallery she helps Lexi run. Hell, she even has her groceries delivered.

  “All right. Not sure if I’ll be home tonight, but text or call if you need anything, okay?” I tell her the same thing every night before I go out, or before I leave for work. In the several months we’ve been living together, she’s never once texted or called me.