by Amali Rose
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © Amali Rose 2019
Dating the DILF by Amali Rose
Editing: Ellie McLove ~ My Brother’s Editor
Proofreading: Judy Zweifel ~ Judy’s Proofreading
Formatting: Stacey Blake ~ Champagne Book Design
Cover Design: Ben Ellis ~ Tall Story Designs
Cover Image: Adobestock
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TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION/EPIGRAPH
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
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SNEAK PEEK
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
OTHER TITLES BY AMALI ROSE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book is for Rachel.
You are kindness and loyalty personified.
Thank you for putting up with me.
“My wish for you is that you continue.
Continue to be who and how you are, to astonish a mean world with your acts of kindness.”
Maya Angelou
My eye twitches as an unmistakable aroma fills my office and my nose perks up, ready to hunt down the source with speed and efficiency that would rival a bloodhound. Because what the actual fuck.
I’m on my feet before I have a chance to second-guess myself, and when I cross the threshold into my outer office, I have to tamp down a snarl.
“What is that?” I hiss.
Adelaide, my assistant, freezes, her hand halfway to her mouth and her eyes wide. Taking a moment to compose herself, she exhales a quiet breath as though preparing herself to go to battle.
“It goes by many names, Charlie.” She furrows her brows, considering me seriously. “Java, Joe, Jitter Juice, Energy Infusion, Rocket Fuel… but I generally refer to it as coffee.” She draws the word coffee out slowly, before wrapping both her hands around the paper cup and lifting it to her mouth and taking a long sip.
I bend down, squaring my hands on her desk, and lean forward. The delicious hazelnut scent is practically screaming my name, begging me to come closer. Which I do, much to Adelaide’s horror, who is about to topple backward as she attempts to put distance between us.
“I thought we were giving up coffee?” My voice comes out as an annoying whine, and if I was paying attention to anything other than the delicious nectar in her hands, I’d probably hate myself a little for that pathetic display. But my two-day-caffeine-free brain is far too distracted.
“Oh,” she startles. “I mean I kind of assumed the we part was more rhetorical. I figured my part of the ‘we’ was more cheerleader-esque. You know, to support you to give it up, because…” She pauses to take another sip of her drink, her eyes rolling back in an excessive display of coffee-induced ecstasy that I really don’t appreciate. “I don’t want to.”
I stand upright, silently pondering where I could hide a body. More specifically Adelaide’s body. She’s pretty small, so it wouldn’t need to be a large space. Perhaps in that manky storage cupboard up on the sixteenth floor? Nobody ever uses it. Of course, I do need her for the Thompson meeting at eleven, so taking her out would have to wait until after that…
“Charlie!” Adelaide flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder and glares at me in exasperation. “You’re planning my murder again, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dragging my eyes away from the coffee in her hand, I pin her with a look of, what I hope is, polite indifference.
“You look constipated, stop that.” She smirks at me and I slump down, leaning against her desk and sighing with defeat.
“Can you get me a coffee, please. An Americano with two extra shots.”
“I’m sorry, what? I didn’t quite catch that.” Adelaide turns her head to the side and lifts her ear in my direction. My jaw starts to ache, and I realize I’m clenching my teeth.
“Go and get me a coffee, Addy, before I fire your ass for being literally the worst cheerleader in the whole goddamn world.”
I head back to my office with her laughter ringing in my ears and settle myself back behind my desk just as the internal phone line rings.
“Charlotte Reed.”
“Charlotte, Mr. Erickson wants you to meet him and Kendall at seven tonight, to go over the Ultra Bond acquisition with them.” My boss’ no-nonsense assistant brusquely greets me. “Their plane gets in from New York at six and they’ll come here directly.”
I hold in a groan, knowing there is no way Louis and Kendall will make it here by seven and I have lost any chance I had of getting out of here before nine tonight.
“Of course, Helen. Conference room three?”
Minutes later I am pulling up the Ultra Bond file to make sure everything is ready for tonight, when Adelaide walks in holding a steaming coffee cup and a small bag that promises some kind of pastry deliciousness.
“I got you a cheese danish while I was there.” She throws the bag on my desk and hands me the cup before grinning at me. “Tim says hi, by the way.”
I ignore her, and the third-degree burns I’m currently inflicting on my throat as I gulp down my coffee.
“I said, Tim said hi.” Adelaide’s usually melodic southern drawl takes on an annoying lilt.
“That’s nice.” Tim is one of the young—emphasis on young—men who work on the coffee cart that makes the rounds through our offices. He might possibly have a small crush on me, and he really is very sweet, but I haven’t been interested in college boys since I was in college.
Adelaide flops into the chair opposite my desk while I lean back in my own chair and quirk a questioning brow at her.
“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be preparing an affidavit for me right now.” I tuck a strand of my brown hair back into the ponytail it has come loose from.
“You were the one who interrupted me, but whatever. Just hear me out.” I sigh, resignedly, and give her a nod to continue, knowing she won’t let this drop until I do. “I know he’s young, but he’s legal.”
I wait for her to go on, but she gives me nothing else.
“That’s it?” I snort. “That’s your whole spiel?�
��
“Well, he’s also hot, but I thought even you could see that.” She shrugs carelessly.
“I don’t have time for ‘hot,’” I argue.
“Make time for it! Slut it up all cougar-like and get in that boy’s boxers. Your vagina will thank you.” Addy laughs.
I bite my lip to disguise a smile. “It’s not that simple. If I want to make junior partner in the next couple of years, I don’t have time for relationships.” I move my chair forward, ignoring Adelaide’s groan, and begin rifling through the paperwork on my desk. “Which reminds me, Louis and Kendall want to be briefed on the UB acquisition tonight.” I hand her a pile of papers. “Can you make me copies of this report before you get back to the affidavit?”
“What time did you get here this morning?”
I blink slowly a couple of times, considering her question. “Six-thirty, why?”
“Six-thirty.” She shakes her head and I already know I’m not going to like where this is going. “And after this meeting tonight, you’ll get out of here at, what? Nine, nine-thirty?”
“What’s your point, Addy?”
“That’s a fifteen-hour day. And you’re doing that more and more often lately. Not to mention you’re here most weekends.”
Every weekend, but that seems ill-suited to my argument right now.
“It’s the job, you know that as well as I do.”
“Do you like the job?” Her question stops me short and I try to come up with an answer that will pacify her.
“It’s a good job. It has great benefits, it’s secure and the pay is—”
“Do. You. Like it?” She bites her lip and levels me with an exasperated look. “Are you passionate about it? Does it fill you up?”
This right here is why you should never work with your friends.
“I’m passionate about the law,” I defend myself.
“You’re passionate about negotiating deals so rich assholes can become even richer assholes?” Her voice oozes disbelief.
“I need—”
“You need to get laid.” It’s said with a roll of her eyes and it’s the final straw.
“I need security,” I snap. “I need to know that I have the resources to take care of myself and provide for myself. If you have a problem with that, then I’m sorry, but I also don’t really care.”
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I know this job is important to you. I just want you to remember that it’s not the only important thing.” She stands and smooths down her skirt. “Life can be so much more than what you’re making of it, Charlie. Love and relationships don’t have to mean you lose something. Sometimes they’re the reason you get everything.”
I watch her walk out, her words hanging heavy in the air, before I turn to my computer and get back to work.
The gentle sunlight is warming my back as I make my way into the huge converted church that is home to my yoga class. The teacher, Dee, began running these classes a few years ago, not long after I started working at Harris & Erickson, and after seeing a leaflet stuck on a coffee shop notice board, I decided to give it a try to see if it helped with my stress levels. I can’t say it did much for my stress overall, but I fell in love with the way yoga made me feel. How it made my body stronger and my mind sharper. I’ve been a devotee ever since and this class is a staple of my Saturday routine.
Yoga is also where I met Adelaide. At the time it seemed like serendipity. After a few classes where we ended up on mats next to each other, sharing our muttered moans of disbelief at some of the positions our goddess-like instructor could get herself into, we went out for a coffee one day. It was there that we discovered a mutual love of coffee and boy bands, as well as the fact that I was looking for a new assistant, while Addy had just completed her paralegal certification.
Kismet.
I find her as soon as I walk into the large room, in the back-right corner, our preferred spot. She’s rolled out her mat and is sitting in a seated forward bend, stretching her hamstrings, which I know are sore from a session with her personal trainer a few days ago.
Things were awkward after our words yesterday and I know that was my fault, so sucking in a deep breath I walk over and greet her with a big smile. She eyes me cautiously, but it only takes a moment before a grin slides across her face.
“You’re late, I wasn’t sure if you were coming.” There is no malice in her voice, only curiosity, and I’m grateful she’s letting me off the hook and we can move on from yesterday.
I roll out my mat and take a spot on the ground beside her.
“Nanna called right before I was about to leave. Apparently she found a photo of us from a vacation we took to Saugatuck when I was ten, and it was imperative she tell me all about it right that instant.” I can’t help the giggle that slips past my lips when I remember how excited she sounded while she reminisced.
“You must miss them, how long has it been since they moved? Six months?”
“Yeah, almost that.” I grimace as I stretch my own hamstrings, trying to loosen them up before class starts. The burn reminds me that I need to renew my gym membership. One yoga class a week just doesn’t cut it. “They love Florida though, so that makes it easier. Every time I talk to them they sound happier than the last.”
Adelaide pulls a bottle of water out of her bag and gulps some down, nodding in agreement. “That would definitely help. Still, how old were you when you started living with them? They’re practically your parents. I couldn’t imagine my parents not living here. Although, sometimes that sounds like a dream,” she says wryly.
“I didn’t live with them until I was sixteen. Mom left me with them a lot of the time, but I was always going back and forth between them and wherever she was living at the time.” The familiar anxiety begins to creep up, remembering those years of tension and arguments. The confusion and dread that weighed me down daily. “When I was sixteen, I’d had enough of it all and I asked Nanna and Poppa if I could move in with them.”
“Not gonna lie, your mom sounds like a legit nightmare.”
I shrug and consider what she said. “She is who she is. I honestly don’t think she wants to be this way, but at this point, I know she’ll never change.”
Our conversation comes to an end when Dee calls for everyone’s attention, directing us to move into child’s pose.
“Hey,” Adelaide whispers. “Coffee after class?”
I pause, envisioning the pile of work on my desk and knowing I won’t get into the office before lunchtime if I go with her.
“Of course,” I whisper back.
I take a long swig of my beer and try to keep my eyes on the big-screen television that is playing the game above the bar. Despite my best efforts, they keep getting drawn to the table of girls to my left, where a cute blonde has been checking me out for the last ten minutes.
It has been almost a year since my disastrous television experience, which is an awkward amount of time. Too long for every sidelong glance to be a side effect of it, but too short to be able to discount that thought completely.
For all I know, blondie over there might just like what she sees. Or she’s a rabid dilfie—DILF groupie—which is far more common than you would think, considering how much of an asshole that show portrayed me as.
B.L.—before Lulu—I would have been all over whatever she was offering. I was always on the hunt for The One. For my happily ever after. Always chasing what my parents had. After my daughter arrived, I realized I don’t have the luxury of messing around with maybes and possibilities anymore.
It was what drew me to the whole shitshow that was Dating the DILF in the first place. What a stupid fucking name. I pick up the bottle and take another long pull of my beer, but the bitter rush of regret is all I taste.
A firm slap on my shoulder pulls my head out of my ass and I can’t stop the grin when I look up and see my kid brother, Grayson, standing there.
“You have the same shitty expression that m
y last girlfriend had when I took her cat to the groomers and had them shave it to look like a lion.” He pulls out the chair next to me and collapses into it. “She was so pissed, but it was funny as fuck and totally worth the week without sex.”
“You’re a dick.” But I can’t help but laugh when I imagine the look on his ex’s face. She was a full-blown Kardashian wannabe with a huge stick up her ass and she treated that cat like a child.
The waitress comes over and we order a round of beers, my last for the night.
“Who’s winning?” Gray nods toward the television.
“The Bulls are up by five, three minutes left until halftime.”
We spend a few minutes catching up while we wait for our drinks to arrive and I have forgotten all about the girl from earlier when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder and I turn around, only to come face to face with her.
“Hi.” Her voice is low and kind of raspy, in an unexpected way. Incongruous to the girl-next-door vibe she gives off. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my friends and I were talking and, well, are you the guy from that show?” She points to the table next to us. “My friends are convinced you’re the guy from that DILF show.”
Beside me, Gray covers his mouth to disguise a laugh while I have to swallow down the burn of impatience, the desperate desire to fuck right off and escape her predatory gaze.
But I have no one to blame but myself for this. I let myself get sweet-talked into something with bullshit promises when I should have known better.
So instead, I give her an appraising look and try to decide which camp she falls into. The women who approach me ultimately fall into one of two. The ones who want to rip my dick off and force-feed it to me or the women who want to do much more pleasurable things with it. Not that I would ever give them the chance.
She must mistake my silence for some kind of encouragement, because I feel a light tickle on my arm and, when I look down, I find her fingers trailing along it in a way that is a hell of a lot more intimate than it should be, considering I haven’t spoken one word to her yet.
