My tongue darts out over my lips as I enter the house, all too aware of her body pressing in close behind mine to peek over my shoulder into the living room, where some cartoon movie is still playing.
To where my dad and Luke are curled up on the couch together. Asleep.
A bowl of popcorn is on the table, along with a tub of ice cream that is now more of a milkshake than anything else.
“How precious are they?” Willa whispers behind me.
I can’t help but smile. Looking at Luke always makes me smile. It has since I felt that first little kick. Since I could see the little bulge of a foot pressing out on Talia’s stomach.
She complained it was uncomfortable, and maybe I wasn’t attentive enough to that. Because all I can remember thinking is that it was incredible.
“Precious,” I husk, walking forward to get a blanket from the basket in the corner. After our mom died, I never got attention like this from my dad. He did his best, but he wasn’t present for a long time. And by the time he was, I didn’t want his attention in this way anymore. I’m glad he and Luke are getting it though.
I cover them carefully and hear some shuffling behind me. I turn to see Willa tidying the table and then sauntering away toward the kitchen. Hands full of the mess they made, hips swaying happily. Like this is no inconvenience to her at all.
As if a stunner like her wants to spend her Friday nights with a washed-up single dad, cleaning up the mess a kid and his grandfather made.
My lids fall shut as reality comes crashing back in. It doesn’t matter how good her hands feel on my body.
The divide between us is too much. It’s too wide. She’s out of my league, and I’d be an asshole to drag her down into mine.
But when we hop back into the truck and she peeks over at me and says, “You’re an amazing dad. I hope you know that,” I want to drag her down right on the spot.
11
Willa
Summer: Did you leave with Cade?
Willa: Yeah.
Summer: You could have stayed with me! We’re getting a cab.
Willa: Nah. Cade’s hotter. Went home with him instead.
Summer: Lol.
Summer: Wait. Are you joking? I can’t tell.
Willa: Save a horse, ride a cowboy.
Summer: I still can’t tell.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I rasp as I see Cade’s imposing form step onto the deck. The sight of him standing above me, looking down on me in the hot tub, makes my stomach flip. He’s downright mouthwatering with swim trunks riding low on his hips, framed by a cut V-shape that disappears beneath them.
A V-shape my fingers itch to trace.
I press my thighs together at the intense expression on his face. If it’s a scowl, it might as well be the hot one. Because the look is sizzling. Maybe it’s in my head. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
Maybe I have a crush on an older man.
Again.
It’s pretty much part of my personality now. I’ve always had a thing for older men. I like to bug Summer about her dad being hot—but I’m not really joking.
I need therapy.
“I can leave.” Cade’s deep voice rumbles through the cool night air, the smell of freshly mowed grass mingling with the light tang of rain. I heard thunder but didn’t see lighting, so I figured I’d take my chances with staying submerged in the hot water.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your house, I’ll leave.” I push to stand as he approaches, failing at not checking out the imposing width of his shoulders, the way his scruff dusts down over his sharp jawline and throat, the muscles in his thighs.
When I go to step out, Cade’s harsh voice lances through the silence. “Please. Sit down.”
I glance up to see where the bite in his voice came from, but his eyes are trained on my chest. On the unpadded one-piece swimsuit I’m wearing.
On the way my nipple piercings press against the fabric.
With a small squeal, I fall back into the water and sink down. It’s not like I’m embarrassed about my piercings—I actually love them—but I don’t typically waltz around advertising them to employers.
I see his jaw pop as he avoids meeting my eyes while he climbs into the sunken tub, holding a hefty glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“Did you, uh, build this deck?” I offer lamely, mind racing with how I must be the naughty girl who drops panties and flashes her pierced tits at him.
But then he’s the man who suggested he wouldn’t be quiet while I gave him a blow job. The one who ran away when I questioned it.
I berate myself internally. He’s the man who signs your paychecks, you horny fool.