Daddy's Virgin

by Claire Adams

  “What about the bank?” she asked. “You aren’t the type of person to rack up big credit card bills, so I assume your credit score is probably pretty good. Could you get a loan from them if you wrote out a proposal for the gallery and got some artists who would be interested in it, do you think?”

  “That might work,” I said slowly. “It would be almost like buying a house at that point. And, I know that they would probably give me a loan if I was going to try to buy a house. I know a bunch of friends who have taken out loans for things like that.”

  “You might need to have another job lined up, too,” she cautioned. “At least something part time. They’ll want to know that they can trust you to repay their money and all of that.”

  “I’m going to get on that today,” I vowed. “I’m sure there’s somewhere in town that will hire me.”

  “Lydia was looking for a new waitress over at the diner,” Julie said helpfully. “I know it’s not the best job ever, but at least it might pay decently. And with all of the out-of-towners coming through, maybe you could find some way to advertise the gallery to them once it’s up and running.”

  “Awesome, thanks,” I said, smiling already at the thought of the gallery being up and running. “Hey, listen, I’m going to go tell Dad about it and see what he thinks. But thanks for being my sounding board.”

  “Anytime,” Julie said. “Good luck, and let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “Yes. Of course.” I started to say goodbye, but she cut me off.

  “And Vanessa?” There was a hint of humor in her tone.

  “Yeah?” I reached up and ran my fingers through my tangled locks. “What’s up?”

  “No more calling at ass-dark thirty. Okay?”

  We laughed and said our goodbyes. Definitely not a morning person.

  I hopped out of bed and threw on a clean dress, pulling my hair back into a ponytail before bounding down the stairs. Dad wasn’t in the house, so I headed out to the stables, wondering if he was already at work around the ranch.

  Instead of Dad, I found Trethan. He was standing with his back mostly turned toward me, a pitchfork and a pile of dirty hay next to him, where he had clearly just finished mucking out the stables. He had his shirt off, and there was a thin sheen of sweat covering him already, despite how early in the day it was. It was far from being hot yet, but I supposed if he’d been working all morning and using his muscles, he was probably pretty warm.

  As I stood there, he lifted a pitcher of water from under the water spigot and poured it over himself. He shook the water out of his eyes, and I watched the last of the water droplets trail down his chiseled chest, following the planes of his muscles and tracking lines down his skin.

  The sudden urge struck me to step closer to him, to chase those drops of water with my fingers or even (the thought made me blush) to chase them with my tongue, pressing kisses down the length of his torso. He looked practically god-like, all tanned and tattooed, standing there in the sun. I shivered with lust at the thought of him turning and seeing me, reaching for me, pulling me close to him.

  He would be a demanding lover, I guessed. He would know exactly how he wanted me and what he wanted to do to me. He would thrust without mercy, his expert fingers finding all the spots of pleasure along my body, teasing little moans and whimpers from my lips.

  My whole body flushed with heat.

  That was when Trethan turned to look at me, locking me in his gaze, drawing me stumbling toward him.

  “Like what you see?” he asked, smirking at me and cocking his hips at an arrogant angle.

  I blushed brilliantly, still moving hesitantly toward him, feeling as awkward as a newborn colt. For a moment, I wondered if the whole thing had been a show. If he’d somehow known I was there and planned the whole thing. But no, his back had been to me the whole time. He couldn’t have known.

  Trethan took a step toward me and wrapped his fingers around my hips, pulling me close, just as I’d imagined he would. He looked down at me with something dark and heated in his gaze, and I wondered for a second if he was going to kiss me.

  Instead, he merely licked his lips slowly. I helplessly tracked the movement with my eyes, a breathy noise issuing from my lips. Trethan smirked and raised an eyebrow at me.

  It was enough to have me pulling away from him, putting a safe distance between us again and gulping in air as though I had just run a marathon. I wasn’t sure whether I’d taken a breath since before I’d watched him dump the pitcher of water over himself.

  “We’re not…” I began shakily. I couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. We weren’t what? Dating? Fucking? Of course, we weren’t, and he already knew that. It went without saying.

  He was still smirking at me. “You feeling okay?” he asked casually.

  I nodded dumbly, still staring at him. Then, I shook my head, trying to regain my wits. “Don’t do that,” I scolded him. “You had your chance, and you missed it. We’re just friends, remember?”

  He continued to look amused. “Am I doing something other than being friendly to you right now, sweetheart?” he asked silkily.

  I rolled my eyes. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” I said tartly. I couldn’t keep my eyes from trailing down his chest again. The water had mostly dried off now, other than where it had soaked into the tops of his jeans, hanging low on his hips. But I could still picture those droplets in my mind and could still imagine running my fingers down his skin.

  I shivered again and looked back up at him. Instead of looking cocky, there was something else in his gaze, something troubled. “Do you think people can change, Vanessa?” he asked. From the raw note in his voice, I could tell that there was something deeper to what he was asking. Something beyond the two of us.

  I frowned at him, wanting to prod him, to find out what he was really asking. But even though we’d agreed we were friends now, it wasn’t my place to ask. There was too much history there. Anyway, it was easy enough to guess what he was asking about.

  Did I think the fact that he had quit doing drugs had changed some things about him? Sure. But he was still fundamentally the same person deep down, wasn’t he?

  He was still arrogant and still thought that he could get me to sleep with him, as a matter of course. And he drank and got into fights. He might have a better work ethic now, but he was the same.

  And for all that I had matured since I’d gone to college, for all that I liked to say that I was over him, there was still that same attraction there, and I still had the thought that I might act on it if he gave me an opening.

  In so many ways, we were exactly the same as we had been a few years ago. The conversations may have changed, but not much else.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure,” I said finally. I didn’t want to tell him flat-out that I thought he was just the same as the smoked-out guy I’d known five years ago. But I also didn’t see much to suggest otherwise.

  From the hurt expression that came across Trethan’s face, you would have thought I had stabbed him in the heart. He turned away from me, nodding grimly. Without another word, he got back to work. I wanted to say something else, to take it back, but I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I went to find Dad, although some of the excitement from that morning had worn off.

  Chapter Eleven

  Trethan

  I spent most of that day thinking about what Vanessa had said, that she wasn’t sure she believed people could change. I tried to come up with examples that would prove her wrong, but I couldn’t even come up with a list of many people who’d tried to change, let alone people who had tried to change and were successful at it.

  The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I had changed. People always said that when you grew up, you’d come to resemble your parents. Maybe I’d been kidding myself and everyone around me when I’d thought that quitting drugs would somehow make me a different, better person.

  Someone pounded on the door, drawing m
e from my thoughts and the pot of water boiling on the stovetop. I went to answer it.

  It was Brent again, but this time, he looked beaten up rather than just nervous. He pushed past me and into my apartment before I could say anything.

  “Hey, man, let me hang out here for a while,” he said, belatedly tacking a “please” onto the end of the sentence.

  I stared at him for a moment, and then shut the door. I moved toward him. Blood ran down the side of his face. He tried keeping the wound turned away from me, but he couldn’t hide it. I reached out to touch the blood next to his eye, trying to figure out the source of it. He flinched away.

  “Hey, come on, man!” he said indignantly. “This shit hurts enough without you sticking your fingers in it.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to bandage it or not?”

  He grumbled something under his breath and walked to the bathroom to peer into the mirror. I leaned against the doorway, watching as he touched the bloody area lightly with his fingers, wincing every time he pressed a little too hard.

  “We gotta clean that up,” I said.

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  “No. I’m not letting you get blood all over my apartment. Look out.” I pushed past him so I could get bandages out from under the sink. I grabbed an old washcloth, as well, and wet it with warm water. “What the hell did you do to yourself, anyway?” I asked, wiping at the blood. The cut was smaller than I’d expected it to be. Head wounds bled a lot, though. They always seemed more serious than they really were.

  I hoped the same was true for whatever mess Brent had gotten himself into this time. That it seemed more serious than it really was.

  He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details, though. “You know how things go,” he said, the same thing that he’d said before. “I ran into some more trouble in my trade. Nothing I can’t manage, though.”

  I snorted. “In your trade?”

  “Hey, just because I’m not into manual labor like you, it doesn’t mean that I haven’t worked just as hard as you to perfect my skills,” he said, indignant again. He dug his fingernails into the back of his arm, dragging thin lines of pink into the skin, still clearly agitated.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Sorry, the phrasing just caught me off guard. That’s all.” I paused. “Want to tell me what exactly happened?”

  “Just ran into some trouble,” h repeated. “Everything’s under control. I just need a place to crash again. I can ask someone else, though, if you’re going to be a dick about things.”

  “Nah, it’s fine,” I said. “Stay here. I just started cooking dinner. Nothing fancy, just some pasta, but there’ll be plenty for you to have some.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said sullenly.

  Brent looked gaunt these days. Deep shadows hung beneath his eyes, and his face looked worn and tired. I refrained from reminding him that he had to eat. No matter how gently I said it, I knew it would likely upset him. The last thing I needed was for him to get pissed at me.

  But I couldn’t resist saying, “Seems like the weed stuff is giving you more and more problems lately. Have you ever considered finding something else to do? I know McKinnon’s was hiring when I walked past the other day.”

  Brent snorted. “A couple setbacks isn’t a big deal for someone in my line of work,” he said arrogantly. “Anyway, it’s not like I’ve got anyone really pissed at me. It’ll blow over, man. You know how it is.”

  The suggestion that I would know how things were in that line of business rankled me. The thing was, of course I knew, but that was the root of all my unhappy feelings lately. I didn’t want to be the kind of guy who knew what a drug dealer’s life was like. I wanted all that behind me.

  “You’re thinking of getting back into it,” Brent said gleefully, incorrectly interpreting the look on my face.

  I blinked at him, and then shook my head sharply. “No,” I said emphatically.

  He snorted. “Don’t lie to me, Frye; you’re shit at it. It’s the money, isn’t it? I know you like the stability or whatever of working at the Lazy J.” He wrinkled his nose at the mention of my job. “But you know, the money has always been so much better in dealing.”

  That was true, but the thought of going back into dealing left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. That would be the end of everything I’d ever had with Vanessa for sure. And it would definitely mark the end of my time at the Lazy J. John was willing to overlook my drinking and brawling, but he wouldn’t stand by and let me drug myself into oblivion again.

  “Brent, I’m not getting back into dealing,” I said, my voice a little too loud.

  “I could spot you, man,” Brent insisted. “I could give you all my leads, all my suppliers. I could even give you some of my business. Everything’s been good lately.” His face was still flushed, though, and he scratched at his wrist. I wondered if this was a new tell for him, a way to let me know he was full of shit.

  I shook my head. “You know it’s only a matter of time before the cops catch you,” I said.

  He stared at me for a long moment, looking incredulous, and then scowled. “The fuck are you talking about?” he asked. “The cops aren’t going to catch me. Not unless someone snitches.”

  The way he said the word “snitch” made it clear he was questioning my loyalty.

  I raised both my hands in the air, surprised. “Hey,” I said. “You know I’d never turn you in. I just-”

  “The local sheriffs don’t give a shit what I do,” Brent interrupted. “Unless someone starts bugging them to come after me, they’re going to let me keep going the way that I have been. So, what? Is this your warning that you’re being a little snitch now, Frye?”

  “Of course not,” I snapped, wondering just what his deal was, anyway. He was red in the face with rage, fuming with it. Was something else going on? I didn’t know how to even ask about that. “I’m not going to turn you in or anything. I’m just saying, there are easier lines of work. Work that won’t get you arrested. Jobs that don’t involve risking your life every time you go outside.”

  Brent stared at me for a long moment and then scratched a hand through his hair. “Shut the fuck up,” he finally said, though his words lacked heat. “You want to play some video games or something?”

  “Sure,” I said, not letting him see how uncomfortable this whole incident had made me.

  “You really don’t want to get back into dealing?” he asked, one final question as we walked back out into the living room.

  “Nah, man,” I said, trying not to dwell on the thought. “I promised John I wouldn’t get back into that stuff for as long as I’m working for him and the Lazy J.”

  He snorted and folded himself down into a seat. “You fucking pussy.” From the mild tone of his voice, you wouldn’t know we’d ever disagreed about anything.

  Again, I felt a tinge of unsettlement. Something was going on with Brent, something he didn’t want to talk about. I wanted to know what it was, but asking would only upset him again. So for now, I pushed my feelings aside.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vanessa

  Sunday morning brunches had always been a staple in our household, but Dad and I hadn’t had a good brunch since before Mom died. Brunches had been so hard for the two of us since then. I tended to dislike them more than I should but that was only because of the memories I could no longer make with Mom.

  I wanted to surprise Dad with a hearty spread, just like old times. I’d gone to the store during the week and picked up all the ingredients I needed for waffles with strawberries on Sunday morning. Dad didn’t use the fridge or the pantry often anymore, so I didn’t expect he’d come across the extra groceries and wonder what the ingredients were for.

  He came down into the kitchen just as I stacked the last waffle onto a plate. He looked at the food piled on the countertop, pleasantly surprised.

  “Do you need me to make coffee or anything?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  I smi
led at him. “Coffee’s already made,” I told him. “Just need a little help carrying this all out to the back table.”

  He nodded his head and moved automatically to grab plates and bring them out to the table on the back porch. I followed with the mugs of coffee and the silverware. It was a beautiful summer morning with a bright blue sky above us. The sun was just starting to warm up the ranch. A few students were already out in the practice rings. Some merely walked their horses while others were already running through their paces, sailing over jumps or dancing through dressage routines.

  “So, what’s the occasion anyway, sweetheart?” Dad asked as we sat down. He shook out his napkin.

  I shrugged. “No occasion,” I said, smiling. “I just wanted to make us brunch.”

  “Hmm,” he said before falling silent.

  Indeed, that was the last that either of us said for a while. Dad finally broke the silence. “So, you really plan to follow through with this idea of yours, for the gallery?” he asked. It came out as a question, but he said it as though he already knew the answer.

  I shrugged and continued to pick at my food. “Well, I’m not so sure now,” I said. “I’d love to do the gallery. Don’t get me wrong. But with the bank refusing to give me a loan unless I can put up some sort of collateral, I’m not sure how realistic a goal it is. They want somewhere around twenty-five thousand dollars. Even if I worked a good full-time job, it would be a while before I had that much in liquid funds.”

  Dad paused for a moment, chewing deliberately. “They’d accept it if I was the one putting up the collateral,” he said slowly.

  It was an idea that I’d already considered and discarded. I shook my head. “You don’t have that much money lying around,” I said. “Unless you wanted to put the ranch up as collateral, and I refuse to let you do that.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “What would be the harm in that? I know you’re interested in the gallery. I can see it in your eyes every time you talk about it. And, I’ve read through your business proposal; it seems sound. There’s no reason for me to believe that it wouldn’t take off exactly how you project that it would.”