“I… Nope.” I shake my head, jaw tight. “No, that’s over.”
“O-kay. Sure,” she says in that whatever, Dad tone of voice, before picking up her tray and flouncing off.
Christ. I blink at my phone screen before shoving it back into my pocket and stalking off to check garnishes. As if I haven’t already done that. As if I should even be here tonight.
My mind keeps fucking with me—giving me images of her sitting at the bar, nursing a champagne. I’d pull an off-menu bottle if she were here—the pink stuff we keep for special occasions. God, she’d love that, wouldn’t she? And she’d be so goddamn happy for me—for Harper, too.
I picture her, leaning forward, bright face surrounded by all that hair, her scarf trailing behind her, a hint of unintentional cleavage. My dick gets heavy just thinking about it. I remember the freckles on her collar bone—the ones I didn’t get a chance to count the other night, because, dammit, I can’t give her any of the shit she deserves. I can’t give her a fucking thing.
“Dad.”
I look up. “What?”
“Step away from the lemons.”
I look down at the huge pile I’ve butchered. Jesus. Time to pull my head out of my ass or God only knows what other havoc I’ll wreak. I’m shocked I didn’t slice my hand open, especially given that I’m using one of my best knives. Definitely not a good idea in my current mood.
Harper slides behind the bar and walks up to me, looking worried. “Seriously. What’s wrong?”
“I…” I huff out a breath. No way am I explaining any of what’s happened to my eighteen-year-old daughter. She may be wise beyond her years, but she doesn’t need to hear about the agreement I had with my neighbor. Or the fact that it’s over. “I’m good.”
“You are so full of shit.” Her sigh’s teenager-eloquent. “I know what this is about.”
Shit, I hope not.
“If it’s any consolation, Dad, she looks like crap, too.”
“What?”
“Your…” She wags her fingers in my face. “Neighbor girlfriend.”
“She’s not my—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Dad. Are you seriously telling me there’s nothing between you?”
“It’s over.”
“She broke up with you?” Her eyes narrow into angry little slits. “I will tear her a new—”
“Stop.”
For once she listens. Of course, I have no idea what to say. Apparently my silence gives me away.
“You ditched her? Why?”
“She’s too young.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You like her.”
“No, it was just…” Don’t say it, dickhead. “I don’t know—casual. She’s young. Deserves a chance at a real future and I’m not the—”
“Hold on. What? She said you’re too old for her? I’ll show that—”
“Harper. Listen. She didn’t say that. I’m saying that.”
She backs up a step, face drawn into a you’ve gotta be kidding me expression. “You ended it to help her?”
“Yeah.” My fist tightens around the lime I don’t remember picking up. I want to hurl it across the room.
“But you like her.” Obviously exasperated, she yells. “Why do I keep having to remind you of that?”
“It’s not—”
“You fucking do!” Wow. Harper’s pissed. I have no idea why.
“Whoa. Let’s not—”
“No, let’s.” Her finger’s in my face. “You broke up with the first person I’ve ever seen you actually into—and that includes Mom—because you think she deserves better?”
“She does,” I say, reasonably.
“Decrees His Royal Highness Karl M. McCoy the third.”
“The third? I’m not the thir—”
“Whatever. You’re breaking it off because you know what she needs. That it?” Her head’s shaking, mouth tight. “You know what, Dad? That’s fucking stupid.”
I open my mouth to reply, but she plunges on.
“Truth?” She backs up, head shaking. “I don’t like that she’s closer to my age than yours. It’s embarrassing, okay? We have the same friends. But even I can tell that you’re into her.” She stomps off and then comes right back. “You’d better not be doing this for me, Dad, got it?”
I shake my head, stunned at how enraged she is.
“I know about all the stuff you gave up.”
It’s my turn to be mad. “What the hell are you talking about, Harper?”
“Oh, come on. I know you put me ahead of everything.” She starts ticking things off on her fingers. “I know you said you were a fuck-up as a kid, but you can stop making up for it now, okay? No girlfriends, working a million jobs, extra construction hours, quitting school? You did all that crap for me.”
“I’d do it again!” I’m close to yelling, myself. “Whatever it takes to make sure you have what you need. Keep you safe.”
“Like sell your bike to pay for Mom’s rehab?”
“She’s your mother, Harper.” I sigh, shaking my head at the memories. “You’re my kid. It’s my job to take care of you.” My entire reason for being, if I’m honest. Breathing hard, I look down at my tight fists, and force them to loosen.
“Yeah? Well, Mom’s good. Really good. And I’m doing pretty well.” She widens her eyes and leans over the tray. I can tell whatever she’s about to say is going to be a doozy. “Maybe it’s time to take care of you, now.” With that, my daughter sticks out her tongue and waltzes off, leaving me blindsided.
“Shit,” I mutter, staring into space for a few seconds as what she said sinks in.
As soon as it does, I grab my jacket and head for the door.
18
So what’cha want
Jerusha
I finally finished my last piece for the show. I should be relieved, happy. Celebrating. All I want to do is go home and take a bath and watch some show I missed out on as a kid.
No. That’s a lie. What I really want to do is text Karl and tell him he’s missing out because there’s still stuff that I haven’t tried and I keep thinking about him and—
Nope. Not texting. Not calling. Not even looking to see if there’s a light on in his house when I walk by. (There isn’t.)
I drag myself up my steps and pull out my mail. A bill, a campaign flyer. I unlock my door, shove it open, flip to the last piece of mail, and stop.
It’s a postcard. My postcard.
After a couple seconds, it hits me that I’m looking at one of the invitations to my big art opening and then I see that it’s my parents’ invitation. There’s the little note from me, hand-written on the back—Dear Mama and Papa, I really hope you can make it. It would mean the world to me. Love, Jerusha. There’s a slash through their address with the words RETURN TO SENDER scrawled in my father’s handwriting. My bag thumps to the floor and all I can do is stare at the stupid thing, wondering if he wrote those words in anger or with some pious sense of superiority or if maybe, worst of all, he just doesn’t care.
I should be irate. I should cry. I should call him and tell him he’s a coward. Instead, I go straight upstairs to my bathroom—the one with the clawfoot tub I love so much—and strip down to nothing.
I’m about to turn the tap when someone knocks on my front door. Nobody I know comes to my house, except for…
When they knock a second time, I pull on my robe, race down the stairs, and slide the last few feet, before flipping open the lock and throwing open the door.
It’s Karl.
Without warning, my face crumples.
“Jerusha, what is it? Hey. What’s going on?” He reaches out and I step back, not because I don’t want his touch, but because I want it way too much. “Did I hurt you? Did I make you feel this way?”
“No. Not at all.” I force a smile. “I mean, I missed you, yes, but it’s m-m-my dad.”
“Is he okay? What do you need? I can drive you to—”
&nb
sp; I shake my head, grab the card from the side table and hand it to him. I can tell the second he realizes what it means because his jaw hardens and his mouth goes all flat. He looks angry.
“It’s no big deal. I didn’t think they’d come, but I j-j-just hate that I care.”
“Come here.” His arms slide around me, pull me into that now-familiar chest, his comforting smell. It’s been a few days and already, I miss this smell. “It’s not okay. It’s fucking not.”
My chest shudders from the effort of holding the tears in.
It’s pointless. My eyes are already leaking, my face pressed to his coat. I hear the door close and lock. His muscles contract and I’m no longer on the floor. I tighten my hold, though I should make him put me down. But I don’t want to. I want the comfort of his arms, the solidity of these shoulders, this firm chest.
He leans down—so much bigger than I remembered—and kisses the top of my head. Just that. No words, no Stop crying, no Everything’s fine. Just that kiss.
I lose it. My body’s racked with painful sobs that are about so much more than a stupid returned invite. Although maybe not. That invitation wasn’t just a piece of paper in the post. It was an olive branch, an open door. A chance at connection. A way of asking my family to love me, even though I don’t fit into their mold.
“They don’t…want me,” I sob. “They don’t love me.”
He drops to the sofa in my dimly-lit living room—it’s the last place Karl and I spent time together, but it might as well be another world entirely.
Even that makes me want to cry.
“I’m sorry, Karl.”
He bends forward. “What?”
“I’m sorry I pressured you. I’m sorry I told you I loved—”
“No. No, Jerusha. Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for how you feel. For being you.”
I open my mouth to protest, maybe to tell him that being me’s not working out all that well right now, but he leans down and kisses my tear-soaked mouth. Just a peck, way too small to draw a gasp from my lungs.
“Dammit. Come here.” He shifts me so I’m straddling him, slides his fingers into my hair and cups my ears. This time when he kisses me, it’s in earnest. Not a little one—a devouring of tears and hiccups and pain. Between pulls, he tilts back and looks me in the eye. “You’re a force of nature.” Another kiss, fierce and hard enough to bruise. “You’re fucking magnificent, Jerusha.” Our next kiss is lighter, more caress than consumption. “So fucking beautiful.”
A disbelieving snuffle escapes me.
He tightens his hold, levers me back to stare me down with those soul-wrenching eyes. “Since you showed up, you’ve changed my life. Made it better. Made me better. Made everything so much brighter.” His inhalation is as shaky as mine. “I don’t…” He draws a hand from my tangled hair and smooths his knuckles over my cheek, looking at me like…like I mean something to him.
I swallow back the hope trying to creep in. It’s a delusion that will only hurt me. Like the stupid invite that I should never have sent.
Karl’s eyes slam shut and his forehead presses to mine. “I don’t know how to… I shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t what?” I whisper.
“Be so damned selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“Wanting you. It’s selfish.” He grunts and shakes his head. What I see of his face looks pained.
“Be selfish,” I urge, surprising myself. “Be selfish with me.”
He grates out another raw sound. “I don’t just want your body, Jerusha. I want what you’re offering. Your…” He shakes his head, jaw rock-hard. “Those looks you give me, like I’m a fucking giant? Like I could move mountains for you.”
“You are. You could.” I nod, my breath picking up. “I’d do the same for you, Karl. I’d do anything.” I hook his arms at the elbows, and tug until his hands are in mine. I hold them tight.
“You don’t know about all the shit.”
I can’t help but smile. “I know the good shit.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not all kisses and orgasms.”
“I know.” With a shuddering, post-cry exhale, I flip his hand over. Slowly, carefully, I pull away from him, enough to look down at the crude tattoos inked into his fingers, and over the backs of his hands. “I know you have a past. I know you have a daughter who seems pretty amazing. I know you’re a good man.” His gaze rakes over my face, hot as coals. “I know you hurt inside.” My fingers slide between his, gripping his hand, showing him my strength. Under my bottom, I feel the hard length of him. I can’t help but twist my hips, very slightly. Teasing, promising. “I want to make you feel good.”
He lets out a long, slow breath and shifts almost imperceptibly beneath me. Deep in his eyes, the ferocity still burns. I want to kindle it brighter, make it hot enough to consume us both. “Will you let me do that, Karl? Let me make you feel good?” Another twist presses us tightly together, the move the most overtly sexual invitation I’ve ever made. “Will you let me love you?”
“I want to make you feel good, Jerusha. Let me take care of you tonight.”
His hands move to my ass, but I’ve got other ideas. Slowly, confidently, despite being bright red, tear-streaked and sniffly, I settle on my knees in front of him.
His mouth drops open.
Karl
Jerusha goes to the floor between my legs and every brain cell in my body goes dormant. Or dies. I don’t know. Or give a fuck.
All I care about is the hunger in her gaze, the bright color in her cheeks, the way her mouth drops open when she looks at my crotch.
I don’t even notice what she’s wearing until the robe slips to one side, giving me a pale, freckled shoulder. Christ, even the ugly terrycloth loves her curves, making her look like some Greek statue.
My balls have been aching for days—since the last time I sat on this couch—and the smile that curls her lips only makes it so much worse.
“Couldn’t stop thinking of you,” I admit, feeling raw, like I’m exposing my ugly insides. “Every second.”
When she opens her mouth, I figure she’ll say, Me, too. Commiserate, maybe. Instead, she levels me with a hard look. “Good,” she says, blowing every expectation out of the water and, in the process, blowing me wide open
In that moment, I’m gone. I’m hers. I don’t know if it’s love, but I give in. Give up. Or the opposite. It’s the moment I take up the fight, decide to earn her affection, to make it worth her while, to keep it no matter what it takes.
I can’t get enough of this woman, with her smooth and her rough, sensitive and strong. I want to fight, to fucking obliterate whatever’s in her way, to destroy anyone who hurts her.
“Now let me do this.”
All I can do is swallow and nod. Follow orders. Take what she’s slinging my way. Not something I’ve done before, but I’ll give it a try. Whatever she wants.
“I miss the lessons, Karl. I miss talking to you. I like the way I feel with you.” Sighing and shaking her head, she rises up onto her knees and reaches for my jeans. My cock throbs with anticipation. “I want to love you, okay? I’m not asking you to love me back. That’s not what this is. This is…experience, for me. Do you get that? Loving you is a new experience. It makes me feel so good.” She scans my face, looking for what, I’ve got no idea.
“Jerusha.” I run the back of a finger down her cheek. “I—”
She stops working at my belt to slap a palm to my mouth. “Will you let me do this? After this, you can… We can… Just let me, okay? Just for tonight?”
My frustrated growl’s the only response I manage.
“I’ve never given you an…” She bites that plump lower lip and lets her hands drop again. “Orgasm.” I beg to differ, given the fantastic climax I had on the phone with her, but her expression tells me to shut up. And, fuck me, I want to do as she orders. “I want to give you a blow job, Karl.”
I ignore the way my cock throbs behind my zipper and focus on what she’s
just said. “How do you even know that term?”
She shimmies the robe off her shoulders, giving me the view of a lifetime—her rosy cheeked, bed headed, turned-on flush, and a hint of cleavage where the robe’s hanging open. I want to swipe the garment off, but she beats me to it and my mouth goes dry. I’d figured I’d never see her like this again. Relief makes me want to drop my face between her breasts and breathe her in.
“I have my ways.”
“Ways?” What are we talking about?
“I know about blow jobs and…other sex stuff.”
I grit my teeth when her expert hands get the belt open. “You done this before?” Like in the last four days? Jealousy stabs me right through the solar plexus, pushing me close to the edge. I feel horny, out of control, explosive.
“Nooo.” She gives a duh look, complete with eye roll. “But I’ve seen people doing it.”
I go still. “Seen people?”
She smiles, her self-satisfied expression proving just how aware she is of her effect on me. For the first time, I wonder who’s in charge here. “Mikey and Alba tell me everything.” Her face wrinkles with momentary distraction. “Although not recently.” She leans in. “Alba took me to a kink party.”
I shake my head to clear it. “What?”
“There’s also this thing called the internet. I’ve watched pornography.”
“Porn,” I repeat, dumbly aware of just how little I know her.
She shoves my legs apart, more to be bossy than because she needs to, I suspect, and unzips my jeans. “I think it’s time for me to show you, Karl, that you don’t know everything.”
Her hands reach in through the slit in my shorts and pull me out. They’re strong and competent, a little rough from what must be calluses on her thumbs. Feels so fucking good. I can do nothing but stare.
“And, more importantly, I know what I want to do.” Her eyes hit mine with the impact of twin sledgehammers. “I’ve thought about doing this to you…a lot.”
She leans forward and breathes on my aching cock.
My vision goes dark around the edges.
19
Daddy Crush Page 12
