Forbidden Daddy (Daddy Knows Best Book 3)

by Kelly Myers

  I was a mess for another six months after that. I was so mad at myself, and I was disillusioned with my life and love and all my choices. We weren’t speaking at the time, but I know that Lianne had it rough too. She went off the deep end and became a total party girl. The sad kind who drinks and stays out until the wee hours because she can’t be alone with herself.

  Finally, I pulled myself together. I decided that I needed to learn from this. I couldn’t trust my own instincts. I had truly believed that Lianne and I were going to be together forever. I had been wrong. I had to move on and not make the same mistake again. I threw myself into my work and moved out of the city as soon as I could. I saved up every cent to buy a place of my own. I dated, but I kept everything casual.

  Lianne got her act together as well. We started talking a few years after the divorce. She had found a job she loved in the city, and she wasn’t going crazy at the clubs every night. We’ve exchanged emails over the years. She ended up getting married to the guy she always wanted. A businessman who loved the city life as much as she did. Lianne made him wait years before she got engaged. She learned caution from our shared disaster of a marriage.

  She’s got two kids now, and she sends me a Christmas card every year. I’m happy for her. I’m glad that I didn’t break her heart beyond repair. She deserved a second chance.

  I probably do as well, but I’ve long since resigned myself to single life. I’m not going to get married again unless it’s something truly extraordinary. It’s not worth the risk.

  Of course, I’ll never say no to a fling. I’m a healthy guy who likes to enjoy myself. A few nights in bed with a beautiful woman – I’ve taken my pleasure over the years.

  But I never let anything get too serious. I’ve never even been tempted, to be honest. Something inside me just doesn’t work anymore. I wanted commitment so bad when I was young, probably because my own parents died before I graduated college. Now I’m over that urge. Commitment is not all it’s cracked up to be. That’s what I learned from my trainwreck of a marriage.

  I take another sip of my drink and savor the burning in my throat.

  I glance out my window to the light shining from the house next door. Cynthia’s room. I can’t see her, but I can picture her in her cozy little apartment. She’s probably studying at that massive desk of hers, her head bent. There’s a tightening in my groin when I picture her reaching up to adjust her glasses.

  One night in bed with her. That’s all I want. Just a few hours to devour her body and make her scream with pleasure. That would fulfill all my needs.

  It won’t happen though. Even if in some wild scenario, I got her into my bedroom, she’s too young. She’s too good. A girl like Cynthia doesn’t want or deserve a one-night stand. She probably values commitment as much as I did when I was her age. She’s just smart enough to put her studies and career ahead of a relationship for now.

  I let out a huff of laughter. I wish I had been that smart back then. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble.

  I finish my whiskey in one gulp before standing up and crossing my living room.

  I pace back and forth as I consider my situation. I have an itch that needs to be scratched, and it’s clear that as much as I want her, Cynthia is not going to be the one. I’m not even going to try and seduce her. It’s too awful to play with her feelings like that. I don’t want to hurt her.

  So I’ll just have to seek my satisfaction elsewhere. It won’t be as good as Cynthia, but it will do. I run through the list of women I occasionally call up. Older women who are to the point about what they want and understand when I call them, it’s just for a one-night scenario.

  It’s a small town, so it’s not like I have a bevy of options. There’s a divorcee who lives about thirty minutes away. We met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. She’s self-assured and like me, she’s been burned before. She’s just as averse to commitment as I am.

  There’s another woman I’ve hooked up with a few times who lives closer. We met when I downloaded a dating app out of curiosity. I hated it, and I only was on it for a night, but I matched with her, and we ended up getting together a few times. But I’m not sure about her. She says she just wants something casual, but I know plenty of people who say that because they think it’s what I want to hear. I’ve grown skilled at recognizing the signs of someone who says they want casual when they actually want something much more. Something I can’t give to anyone.

  I wander back to the kitchen and clean up a bit from dinner. My friends are always surprised that I cook my own meals. I’m actually pretty good at it. I guess the expectation was that if I was a bachelor, I would order take-out for the rest of my life. I did for a while, but it gets old, so I eventually learned to cook.

  I smile grimly to myself. Lianne and I, during that awful year of marriage, used to have all-out brawls over the cooking and cleaning. I would try to cook, but she didn’t like the meals I prepared, and I would get mad at her for making a huge mess in the kitchen and not cleaning it up.

  As far as I’m concerned, no two people should ever get married until they’ve shared a kitchen and a bathroom for an extended period of time.

  When I’m done cleaning up, I head back to my office. I might as well get a bit more work done tonight. I won’t message anyone tonight. But maybe this weekend, I’ll meet up with the divorcee, just so I can get some stuff out of my system.

  Despite my resolve to forget about her, when I head to bed a few hours later, it’s not the divorcee I’m thinking of. It’s Cynthia, over there doing whatever she does to prepare for bed. Maybe she’s even cramming in extra studying. Or maybe she’s curled up with a book, her glasses sliding down her nose.

  As I drift off to sleep, it’s her face that flashes through my mind. Her blue eyes. Her smooth pale skin. Her smile.

  I know that I can make plans to forget about her all I want. I can resolve to never act on my attraction. I can do all that, but even so, I know she’ll still haunt my dreams.

  Chapter Five

  Cynthia

  I look at my watch and nearly burst into tears. It’s only three in the afternoon. The day’s not even close to done, and it already feels like it’s been about five days. Five awful days.

  First I had my exam for anatomy this morning, and it didn’t go well. There were a bunch of questions on a topic I hadn’t studied as much, and the whole time I was taking it, I just cursed myself for not preparing properly. It’s not like I flunked it, and I know I probably still did fine, but I hate making a mistake like that. I should have assumed any topic might be featured, not just the obvious ones.

  Afterwards, Becca and Tommy were no comfort. I told them I messed up, and instead of offering sympathy, they just teased me and told me to lighten up. I hate being told that. I know they have a point, of course, but that doesn’t make it fun to hear your best friends tell you that you’re too uptight.

  “You’re already into med school,” Becca joked. “They’re not going to rescind your acceptance because you got an A- on one stupid exam.”

  She doesn’t get it. I’m not scared they’re going to rescind my acceptance, I just like to hold myself to a certain standard. I want to feel good about my grades going into med school, so I can continue to aim high.

  So I snapped at Becca and Tommy before storming off. Which was really immature. And I’ll totally apologize later, but first I have to survive the rest of this day.

  After my next few classes, I got an email about my student loan for med school, which stressed me out even more. Most of it’s all sorted, but it’s not completely set in stone, and I just want to take care of it now, so nothing goes wrong later.

  But I’ve been trying to call my mom all afternoon, and she’s not picking up. I worry about my mom constantly. When I was in high school, she was diagnosed with cancer. My dad had left by that point, so it was just the two of us. We depended on each other, and we still do. It was the most terrifying year of my life.

  My d
ad has a new family, and I only see him a few times a year. Most people assume I would be super damaged by this, but I’m actually ok with it. My mom was always more than enough. My parents weren’t happy together, so I’m glad my dad moved out, and they got a divorce. They’re both much more content now.

  When my mom was sick, I was terrified every day. If I lost her, I knew that was one thing I would never recover from.

  She did the chemo though, and she’s been healthy for a while now. I was at her side for every single hospital trip, and the whole experience only solidified my desire to become a doctor.

  I know in my head that my mom is healthy now, but every time when I can’t get in touch with her, even if it’s only for a few hours, I freak out. I start to spiral as I imagine her passed out on the floor of our small house back in Schenectady or being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance while her cell phone rings and rings with my fruitless calls.

  So I’ve been holed up in the library since lunch, trying to finish a paper. The assignment isn’t very long, so I should have been able to knock it out in under an hour, but it’s been almost three hours, and I’m nowhere near finished because I’m distracted by the fact that my mom’s not picking up her phone.

  I grit my teeth together. In all likelihood, she’s probably out puttering around her garden or meeting with her sister for lunch or something. But my logical side is not winning today. Every once in a blue moon, my emotional side shoves all my pragmatism in a dungeon and throws away the key.

  I abandon my stuff for the fourth time to duck into the bathroom and call my mom again.

  At long last she picks up. “Sweetheart! How are you?”

  “Mom, I’ve been calling you for hours,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Why weren’t you picking up.”

  “I was in a pilates class and then grabbing lunch with Susan.” My mom lets out a little laugh, completely unbothered by my clear annoyance. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me, Cynthia, it’s my job to worry about you.”

  I let out a breath and a bit of the tension leaves my shoulders. It was as I expected; I’ve been worried sick, and she’s been spending an afternoon with my aunt. No matter what she says, I will always worry about her. It’s hardwired into my nature.

  “Well, I wasn’t that stressed,” I mutter.

  “Oh really?” My mom chuckles. “You know you can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

  I nod as I look in the mirror. She’s right. My mom is the only one in the world who completely understands me.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Oh, I just got an email about my student loans for medical school, we need to fill out some more paperwork,” I say.

  “Forward me the email, and I’ll take care of it.” My mom speaks with firmness. I’m prone to try and do everything myself, but she likes to let me know she’s there for me. I think she still feels bad for how much I had to take care of her in high school. She shouldn’t. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

  “Ok, I’ll forward it this afternoon,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “Of course,” my mom says. “And what else is new with you?”

  “Nothing much.” I shrug. “I had an exam today that was a bit tricky, but other than that, school is good.”

  “There’s more to life than school.” My mom’s voice is warm and heartfelt. “Are you taking time to hang out with friends? You’re going to miss undergrad life after you graduate, I guarantee.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” I smile and try to sound as cheerful as possible. “I promise, I’m enjoying my final days as a senior.”

  “Good.”

  “Alright, I gotta go, but I’ll call you later or tomorrow, ok?”

  “Sure, have a good evening!”

  I hang up and exit the bathroom. I’m glad she’s doing well, but my bad mood hasn’t evaporated. I’m still worried about those loans, and I’m still grumpy about the exam. I glance at my phone and see that Becca texted about dinner. I should answer. And apologize. But I’m not really in the mood to be social so I’ll have to skip dinner. Which Becca will be sensitive about since she’s getting all sentimental as graduation looms closer.

  Between her and my mom, I’m being told to enjoy my last two months of college so much that I want to scream.

  Of course I don’t blame them. After beating cancer, my mom knows to appreciate every second of life. And Becca is coming from a place of love too. We’re going to miss each other when we go our separate ways. Even so, I can’t help feeling judged when my mom and Becca tell me every day to enjoy myself and socialize more.

  Because implied in those sentences is their belief that I clearly have not enjoyed myself enough. I haven’t socialized enough. They think I’m a sad virgin who studies too much.

  I slouch back in my chair and stare at my computer. I’m being angsty and bratty, I know, but I’m having a rough day. I promise that, for both my mom and Becca’s sake, I’ll make more of an effort to spend time socializing with friends. I can’t promise them that I’ll set up and get a boyfriend or recklessly hook up with a string of one-night stands, but I can go out to dinner or have a few drinks with people now and then. Who knows? I might enjoy myself. It’s not likely, but it’s possible.

  As for right this moment, I just want this day to be over. So I pick up my phone and text Becca telling her that I’m sorry about earlier, I’m just in a bad mood. I tell her I can’t do dinner, but I promise her we’ll do something fun this weekend. She texts back a smiley. At this point, she probably expected my response. I’m the most predictable person on the planet.

  It takes me another hour to finish the paper. When I finally close my computer and start to pack up, I’m exhausted. I just want to go home, take a scalding hot shower, and then curl up in bed with a cup of herbal tea and a good TV show.

  I decide that’s exactly what I’ll do. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a workaholic all the time. I’m capable of taking breaks. I know that’s how you avoid burn-out. So this evening, I’ll just let myself off the hook with work and relax.

  I manage to bike home without falling over today, which is a relief. It’s March so it’s still a little chilly, and I’m looking forward to my sweatpants and quilt.

  I toss my bag and jacket aside and head to the bathroom to turn on the shower. After a few minutes, the water is still freezing cold. I bite back a curse when I realize the water heater must be acting up again. Perfect. Just what this day needs.

  I go to my bedroom and change into sweatpants and an old T-shirt, since if I’m going to have to deal with maintenance issues, I might as well be comfortable. Then I fiddle with the sink and shower knobs a bit before admitting that I don’t know what I’m doing.

  The last time this happened, Nate came over and did something with the water heater. I glance at the closet where the water heater is. I was trying to pay attention, but I was distracted that day. I frown. Was I distracted by my to-do list for school, or was I more distracted by Nate and his charisma? It’s hard to say.

  Either way, I don’t know how to fix the water issue, and I’m not stupid enough to risk messing it up even further by taking a wild guess.

  I flop down on my bed and compose a text to Nate. I don’t want to make him feel like he has to rush over here, so I just tell him that I noticed the water heater is being weird. I say it’s no big deal, just letting him know so he can check it out later when it’s convenient for him.

  I used to feel bad texting Nate about little issues like this, but he insists I let him know as soon as anything is wrong with the apartment. He is my landlord after all, so I guess it’s his responsibility. He’s just so nice, and whenever he comes over to fix one thing, he ends up fixing about five other random things I haven’t even noticed.

  I send the text and curl up on my side.

  I want a shower so bad, but I know it might be a while. Nate could be working or out running errands.

  I briefly consider taking a cold shower, but then I reject th
at thought right away. After a day like this one, I’m not going to torture myself with frigid water.

  I resign myself to having to wait.

  I get out of the bed and grab my backpack so I can pull my laptop out. I open it up and start to consider what kind of TV show I’m in the mood for. Something light that requires very little thought. Maybe a sitcom or possibly some trashy reality TV. I just want to zone out for hours on end.

  I’m mulling over the options when my phone buzzes. It’s from Nate.

  He says he’s heading over right now.

  Chapter Six

  Nate

  I hate how much I perk up as soon as I see the text. I had an uncomfortably vivid dream about her the night before, and I’ve been trying to forget it.

  But now that I have an excuse, I might as well enjoy getting to see her again.

  I grab my toolbox from its closet and make sure I have everything I need. I doubt it’s a complex problem. I check the water heater regularly, and it was fine a few months ago. The pipe just probably needs to be tightened. For someone so smart, Cynthia is pretty hopeless with home maintenance. I smile to myself. I can’t say I’m upset about it. I’m grateful for an excuse to pay her a visit.

  I force my expression into a mask of indifference. I need to keep it professional. I don’t ever want to make Cynthia uncomfortable by letting her see how turned on she gets me. The last thing I want to do is act like some old lecherous guy towards her.

  Once I’ve got my toolbox, I head out my door and cross the driveway to her door.

  As soon as I ring the doorbell, I hear her feet on the stairs. She opens the door and gives me a bashful smile.

  “You didn’t have to rush over here,” she says. “It’s really not a big deal, I’m sorry to pester you.”