Daddy's Best Friend: An Older Man Younger Woman Box Set

by Charlize Starr

  After a minute I step back and look at her as I pull my pants all the way down. She nods again and lifts her skirt up to her hips, sliding her underwear off. The sight of her naked underneath her skirt like that makes my cock twitch even harder—I’m so desperate to be inside her, I feel like a teenager all over again, like I could come from just the sight of her. I step toward her, kissing her again, sliding my hands back over her breasts before I guide my cock inside her. She wraps her legs around me even tighter, letting out a shout and rocking herself into to me as I start to fuck her.

  She feels amazing, like that electricity from kissing intensified tenfold, like I really am boiling over now. I thrust in and out of her, keeping one hand on her breasts, teasing her nipple, and then slide the other down between us so I can rub her clit as I fuck her. She kisses me hard and desperate and slides her hands over my chest, down my stomach. I want to touch her forever, want to burn into this moment. I want to feel her come around me, and I want to make her come so many other ways. I want her to bite out my name in a gasp, want to make her mine as I come inside her.

  I fuck her harder, rubbing even firmer circles over her soaking clit with my fingers until I can feel her clench around me. She grabs onto my shoulders and cries out, “Oh, god, Danny” as she comes. I shudder, feeling like I’ll never be able to get that beautiful sound of her voice breaking as she comes out of my mind and feel my own orgasm build and crash a minute later coming with my hand wrapped around her thigh. We collapse into each other, breathing hard, and I think about asking her back to my apartment, about doing this all over again, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to do so much at once.

  But I can’t let her go, just yet, so I held onto her for a moment, as we both come down, feeling her warmth pressed up against me everywhere and never wanting it to stop.

  Charlotte straightens up and kisses me softly before pulling her skirt back down and fixing her bra. All I can think about is how much I want to touch her again, how much I hope tonight was the start of something more.

  Chapter Nine - Charlotte

  My alarm goes off far too early, and I groan, reaching for my phone to shut it off. My head is spinning as if I’d had too much wine last night, but I hadn’t touched a drop. My faces flush, thinking about Danny, thinking about my night alone in the kitchen with him. The sex had been incredible—Danny is just as at skilled at it as he seems to be at everything else. When I close my eyes I can still feel his touches, his lips, and I shiver, turned on just thinking about it.

  But now, with the morning sun shining brightly through my window, I’m not sure the heady rush of last night was a good idea. I know I got too caught up in the moment, too carried away in the flirtatious vibe between us. I’m very attracted to Danny, of course, and I like spending time around him—honestly, I can’t get him off my mind—but going that fast has never been for me, has it? Not only that, but I can’t imagine Dad finding out. I can’t fathom what Dad would think if he knew I had a one-night stand with his best friend. I’d be mortified. That’s not exactly something to bring up casually over Christmas dinner, is it?

  Not to mention, there’s the fact that I’m still not sure about Danny. In the clear light of the morning, I can’t help but replay all those things Mom said over the years in my head—deadbeat, womanizer, sleaze, going nowhere fast in life, that kid. I want to be sure about him—I want to think I’m seeing something there, that everything Dad’s always seen in him is the man he really. But I saw all the things Mom said with my own eyes, saw far too many women flock to Danny over the years when I was younger and saw how terribly he treated them. I know Danny has supposedly cleaned up his life, but in my mind, I still see girls in tight dresses pressing themselves up against him, loudly and breathlessly whispering about “last night.” No matter how great our night was last night, I have absolutely no desire to join those ranks. I shake my head and pull myself out of bed, headed for the shower.

  Sure, part of me would love to keep seeing Danny, would love to turn last night into something real, but the longer I think about things, the more a larger part of me is embarrassed and worried more than anything else. I’ve never been the type of woman to start a relationship off with sex, have I? And there are so many other factors here, so many ways this could go terribly wrong, and so many of those ways that would not just hurt me.

  What am I thinking? This could ruin Dad and the restaurant. And with everything Dad’s been through lately, with the divorce and all the changes it’s brought, the last thing Dad needs is any more negative changes. And I moved back here to take care of him, didn’t I? I certainly can’t be the one to bring him more bad news in the form of throwing away his business by throwing myself at his restaurant partner.

  It’s for the best, anyway. I’ll never be able to get the image of all those girls from so long ago out of my mind, and the last thing I want, for myself, for Dad, for this new start here in my hometown, is to turn into just the latest conquest of someone who will never shake his town bad-boy reputation.

  After my shower, I call Danny and ask him to meet me for coffee at the cafe by my apartment. He sounds pleased to hear from me and agrees quickly, saying he’s already in my part of town. It would be so easy, I think, hearing his reply, to fall for him, and I cringe. Maybe too easy. And maybe that’s the point—from his reputation, it certainly seems he’s the kind of guy you fall in and out of love with fast and easy. I button my sweater all the way up, and tie my hair back quickly, not wanting to look too done up when I tell Danny I don’t want this to go any further between us.

  The cafe is warm and smells of coffee and cinnamon when I arrive, keeping out the cold December air and filling it up with cheerful spirit instead. The pretty college-aged barista takes my order and I get a table, smiling around at all the Christmas decorations and festive touches, even as my stomach is filled with butterflies.

  Danny arrives a few moments later, and waves to me, ordering just as my coffee order is called.

  “I’ll be right over,” Danny says. He’s got a knit hat on his head with a matching scarf around his neck, making him look like the model in some kind of Christmas advertisement. I nod and smile, not wanting to say anything until we’re sitting.

  “Hi,” he says warmly, sitting down across from me. “I’ve actually never been here.”

  “I hope it’s good, then,” I say, laughing a little. “I’ve wanted to stop in since I moved back, but I didn’t make it until today.”

  “You live right up to the street, don’t you?” Danny asks, settling back in his chair.

  “I do,” I confirm, nodding and taking a sip of my latte. It’s delicious, and I focus on it for a minute trying to figure out what to say next. The silence is a beat awkward, but it’s broken when Danny’s order is called, and he gets up to get it.

  “Mine is great,” I say when he gets back.

  “It smells promising, but truthfully, I’ve had a lot of really terrible coffee over the years. I’ll drink just about anything,” Danny says, laughing and sipping his coffee.

  “Unusual for a chef,” I comment, wishing I wasn’t so interested in everything Danny said.

  “A chef who spent months at a time on a boat, living off of instant coffee,” Danny says, grinning. “Mine is very good, by the way.”

  “Better than instant, anyway,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “We had packets of it all the time in our break room at the hospital. I tried it a few times out of desperation in the middle of a night shift.”

  “Desperate times call for desperate coffee measures,” Danny says, making me laugh. I shake my head.

  “Sometimes,” I agree. Then I bite my lip, taking a long warm sip of my latte before I say: “Danny, I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

  “I thought you might,” Danny says, nodding and unwrapping his scarf a little.

  “I think we should—” I stop and shake my head. “Last night was really great. I had a lot of fun.”

  “But?” Danny asks, stu
dying me and raising an eyebrow. I flush, wishing I wasn’t being so transparent.

  “But I’ve never—I don’t do that, I don’t move that fast, and I think starting now would be a bad idea,” I say, biting my lip again. Danny is looking at me with something that might be a disappointment, but I press on. “After all, you are my dad’s best friend, and I don’t want to affect that.”

  “So, what do you want?” Danny asks, eyes locked on mine. There’s a note in his voice I haven’t heard until now, a quiet and serious one.

  “I think we should focus on being friends,” I say. It’s not true. It’s not what I want at all, but I do think it’s what is best. I can’t hurt Dad over an infatuation. I can’t throw myself into a relationship with someone I’ve never seen take the idea of them seriously.

  “And only friends?” Danny asks, nodding slowly.

  “Only friends,” I confirm. “I really think it’s best.”

  “Because of your dad?” Danny asks. He’s not fighting me on it, but I can tell it’s not where he was hoping this conversation would go.

  “For a lot of reasons,” I say, sipping my drink again. Danny nods.

  “I don’t want to pursue anything you don’t,” Danny says, “so friends it is.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling disappointed myself. I think I had been hoping he would fight it a little. I can’t help but wonder if his easy acceptance means I was right—that he wouldn’t have taken this, or me, seriously anyway.

  “If you change your mind, let me know,” Danny says, smiling that heart-melting smile of his at me again.

  “I will,” I say. It’s more than I should allow, but I can’t help it when he smiles at me like that. I know I’ve made the right the choice, but that doesn’t make me feel any happier about it.

  Chapter Ten - Danny

  There are printouts of properties in Washington, D.C., and Baltimore on my desk, with a note in Hank’s handwriting about how they’d make great locations for our second restaurant. There is also a bank statement staring at me with thousands of dollars less than it should have. Thousands, now. I’m tempted to rip all of them up, but I don’t. I settle for ripping yesterday’s special sign instead, wishing to rip the paper to shreds made me feel any better. Wishing it solved anything. I feel like I have so much today, even though I’ve actually already done everything I need to accomplish today. The final menu for the ball is ready to go, but I’m still unsettled, stressed about everything.

  I really had wanted Charlotte to taste everything, and not just because I like having her around. But it’s clear she wants me to back off. I stand up, frustrated. I need to get out of the restaurant and let off some steam. I head to my car and drive to the gym, figuring working out will let me vent without fighting with Hank yet again. My gym is just a few blocks from the Dock’s End, and I always keep gym clothes in my car.

  I change quickly and turn on a roaring playlist, trying to drown out every stress I’m having as my feet pound the treadmill. It’s not really working. I keep thinking about Charlotte, about the other night in the kitchen, the way she’d kissed me and touched me, the feeling of her hands and her skin. I keep thinking about her smile and her laugh and the curves of her body. I keep thinking about how she makes me laugh, about how I make her laugh, about how she makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time.

  I don’t want to push her, but I was hoping the other night was the start of something. I was hoping we were both feeling the same attraction. I already feel like I’m falling for Charlotte, and I hate that we’ve stopped before we really started. Still, the last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable or pressured. I just can’t stop thinking about touching her again.

  I used to be better at talking to women, I think.

  Well, that’s not true. I used to be good at charming women, at getting them into bed. I used to be good at getting women to fall for me for a night, for a weekend, for a fling. I used to be better at nights but terrible at mornings. I used to not care about anything beyond that. I’m sure I would still be good at it, but I’ve long been bored with it. I’ve been looking for more. I haven’t found it. Things have still amounted to weekends and flings, but none of that is what I want anymore.

  I want someone to be serious about. Someone like Charlotte, I think, is exactly the kind of person I could be serious about.

  I step off the treadmill, still feeling wound up with stress, and head to the free weight, hoping that focusing on lifting will focus all of me. I find that working out normally clears my head. It’s a habit I developed in the Navy and one that has kept me going through all the stress of opening a restaurant, through everything that’s happening now. It helps me keep my temper in check, helps me keep my mind focused on my goals. It’s also been really good for business.

  Last spring, Hank and I had been a business sponsor for the 15k I run in every year. We’d had the Dock’s End logo splashed on the keepsake water bottles given out to all participants who bought the VIP package. We’d given everyone who’d bought one of the bottles to the restaurant a 15% discount on their bill for the rest of the weekend. It had been a huge success, and something we’ll probably do again next year if we make it that long.

  The thousands of dollars missing is really concerning. Hank doesn’t want to go to the police—he’s still convinced it’s an internal error, but it has to be theft. He’s so focused on opening a new location that he doesn’t see that the one we have might be falling apart. The money, the inspection, it all looks bad. I have a bad feeling about it.

  I breathe through my reps, thinking of how many extra hours at the gym I’d needed after Anthony had been fired. I wonder how many I’ll need to do if this all continues. I wonder how much money we’ll have to lose before Hank takes it seriously. I wonder if it will take until the inspector cites us for things that aren’t even real code violations for him to understand something is very fucking wrong here.

  I still think talking to Charlotte might be my best bet, might help me actually get through to Hank, but now I’m not sure she’d be willing. She had said she wanted to be friends, but I don’t know how much distance to give her. I think I should let her come to me, but that’s not really in my nature. I’ve always been a first move, first gesture sort of guy. Charlotte makes me feel thrown off. In every way.

  I shower after my workout, head not as clear as I’d like, mind still filled with thoughts of Charlotte. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop thinking about her anytime soon.

  Chapter Eleven - Charlotte

  I’m not working until 11:00 a.m. today, so I’m planning to spend the morning Christmas shopping. I swing by the restaurant first, wanting to talk to Dad, to see Danny, to ask about the Naval Ball menu and maybe have some breakfast while I’m there. It’s not open yet when I get there, but I open the door with the key Dad made for me. I know he and Danny are there, so I head to the back, stopping when I hear voices echoing.

  “But it is serious,” Danny’s voice echoes. He sounds frustrated.

  “Because you’re making it out to be,” Dad says, sounding equally upset.

  “We’re losing a lot of money, and you don’t seem to give a damn,” Danny says. I frown, confused and unsure what to do.

  “I told you, Danny, I’m looking into it,” Dad sighs.

  “How? Name one thing you’ve done,” Danny snaps, like maybe they’ve had this conversation before.

  “The new inventory sheets, for one,” Dad says, and Danny laughs bitterly, a disbelieving sort of sound.

  “The inventory is not the problem, Hank!” Danny says. I can’t see him, but I’m sure of the expression on his face, the way his jaw is probably tight. My dad is probably red, the way he gets when he’s mad like the heat is rising up inside him.

  “It fucking might be if you’d let me handle it and see!” Dad says. I back away, not sure I should be listening to this. I had wanted to talk to both of them, but I don’t want to walk into a fight, and I don’t think I want to hear any mo
re of it. I let myself back out, confused and worried.

  I’d thought the Dock’s End was doing well—doing incredible, actually. Isn’t it? How can they be losing money? What could be happening that has Danny so concerned? Why are he and Dad fighting? I’ve only heard them fight once before, back when I was a kid. Danny had come to work at the franchise Dad used to manage to reek of alcohol, clearly still drunk, and Dad had yelled at him in front of everyone, like years of frustration were breaking. They’d said all sorts of things I hadn’t really understood at the time that I was years away from being able to comprehend.

  But I remember them all, vividly. Dad had said Danny needed to get his shit together and get his life under control. Danny had said he’d never asked Dad to tell him what to do, that he wasn’t looking for a damn parent. Dad had accused Danny of having no clue what he was looking for and kicked him out of the restaurant, telling him to not coming back until he was sober. My mom had said Dad should just fire him, and Dad had told her that restaurant decisions really weren’t up to her, and then they’d fought, too.

  I’d ended the night in my room, head under the covers and my favorite music turned all the way up, trying so hard to drown out all the day’s yelling.

  I wonder what’s happening now, what’s going on. I wonder if I should ask Danny about it. I head back out on the street and grab a coffee and a bagel for breakfast before doing some shopping. I can’t get the fight I’d overheard or anything that’s been happening lately with regard to Danny and the restaurant, out of my mind. As I shop, I keep seeing things that remind me of him, or that I think would look good on him, and every time I wish I could get Danny out of my head, in general.

  I don’t think getting him a Christmas gift is a good idea, given everything, but it doesn’t stop me from picturing how all the cable-knit sweaters would look on him, the colors on his skin and the fabric hugging his muscles. I’m tempted to buy him something small, just for friendship, for our new relationship, but I don’t know what that could possibly be. There isn’t a boutique section for “hey, you’re my dad’s best friend and we slept together, but let’s just back up and be friends” gifts, after all.