Her Dad's Friend (4 page)

“No, wait—” I start to say, but he’s already out of the kitchen. He rushes past Emily, who looks at me, then at Paul, then at me again and her mouth falls open. Once he grabs his keys from the hook beside the door, he’s gone without even looking back.

“Oh my god, what just happened?” she asks.

I sigh. “I don’t know. Everything was perfect. We were … you know, getting there, then he heard the door and completely panicked.” I plop down on the couch and cover my face with my hands. “Now he’s probably never going to talk to me again.”

Emily sits beside me. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I should’ve called first.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, though it kind of was. Still, if he wasn’t feeling it, and things went farther than they had, he might’ve looked at me like that after sex and I would’ve felt ten times worse than I do now.

“Want some ice cream?” she asks.

What I want is to call him and find out what the hell just happened. But instead of being that girl, I decide it’s probably best to drown myself in sugar rather than do something I’ll probably regret later.

I
t’s been
two days and I haven’t heard from Paul since he escaped from my apartment without so much as a wave goodbye. I know he’s still in town because my dad called, asking if I wanted to go out to dinner with them last night. But I couldn’t go. If Paul doesn’t want to see me, I’m not going to force myself on him, no matter how badly I wanted to accept the invitation.

In class I can’t focus. Which is crazy because English is my favorite subject, but all I can think about is where exactly I went wrong with Paul. Things were going so great, then as soon as there was a distraction, he looked at me as if I were a leper.

We’ve spent the last couple of years flirting, which felt like years of foreplay building up to the moment we finally found release. Now I can’t help but wonder if, for him, the fantasy was better than the reality. I feel stupid for not thinking about that consequence. Rejection sucks. It sucks even worse when the person rejecting you is someone you might actually—dare I say it—love.

“Rachael?”

My self-pity party is crashed when I hear my name. Looking up from the window, I see the entire class staring at me and Mr. Oliver standing by my desk. A pretentious academic, his brow-beatings are stern enough to leave a bruise. I don’t know how he can stand to wear that tweed jacket in this heat while I’m sweating oceans wearing a tank top. He bends over my desk to look out the window.

“Is there a riot out there, someone streaking, perhaps?” he asks.

My face is so hot it’s numb. I know I’m a horrible shade of pink. “Not yet, but I’ll keep an eye out just in case” I say, which gets a few snickers from my classmates.

Mr. Oliver is not amused.

“Is my lecture boring you?”

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

“Then why don’t we leave the day dreaming for the musicians and artists, shall we?”

Says the man who moonlights as a creative writing instructor at night. Looks like I won’t be taking that class any time soon.

Mr. Oliver goes back to his lesson. Despite the boy next to me reeking of B.O. and the girl on my other side grinding her teeth, I’m able to concentrate long enough to make it through the class.

At noon, Emily and I meet up for lunch at a pizza joint down the street. I’m a nervous eater so I order way more than I should be eating by myself.

“You know what you need?” she says.

I take a giant bite of pepperoni with extra cheese and talk with my mouth full. “I’m all ears.” Because bad advice is better than nothing, and bad advice is all Emily has ever given me.

“You need rebound sex.”

A group of boys walking by slows at the mention of sex. I stare them down until they move on.

“Don’t you need to be broken up first for rebound sex? Paul and I were never dating.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says, popping a grape in her mouth and squirting me in the eye with the juice when she chomps down. She laughs, but keeps talking. “Just hear me out.”

I sigh, wiping my eyes. “The answer is still no, but keep talking if you want. I’m too busy making out with this pizza slice to care.”

Without skipping a beat, she says, “I know you like your guys with age spots and pumped full of Cialis, but there are guys at this school who are perfectly capable of doling out orgasms.”

I throw my crust at her. She laughs and tosses it to the pigeons stalking us. “There’s this guy, Jeremy, who was at your party and I have it on good authority that he’s really into you, and that he has Thor’s hammer hidden in his pants, if you know what I mean.”

“If I roll my eyes any harder, they’ll fall out of my head,” I say.

“I’m not asking you to fall in love. Just go on a double date with me and Chris. Maybe get laid and forget about Paul for a few hours.”

I have no idea who Chris is, but getting away from the apartment does sound good. The thought of sitting on my couch alone, binging Netflix and Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches, makes me want to curl up and cry. It’s so depressing. I’m young and fairly attractive—well, at least three weeks out of four, before PMS breakouts make me look like I have a case of the black death. I should be going out, having the time of my life while I’m unattached and at an age where it’s still acceptable to make terrible decisions. I should be experiencing different guys.

“Fine, I’ll go, but I’m not promising sex with this guy, so don’t even plant the thought in his head.”

“I would never,” she says with her hand to her chest in mock-exasperation.

I’m already starting to regret this decision.

* * *

I
’ve never been
on a blind date before. Jeremy is tall, wide shouldered and narrow hipped with a prominent brow and piercing eyes; a Zach Efron doppelgänger who I definitely could’ve seen myself with had Paul not returned.

We go to dinner, a nice little authentic Italian restaurant in the valley. It’s a double date, but we sit away from Emily and her date so that we have a chance to talk and get to know each other. I learn that his dad is a veterinarian, but he would rather go into sports medicine rather than follow in his father’s footsteps. His favorite band is … I don’t remember. I’m really trying to make this date work, but I just can’t.

I put my chin in my hands, pretending to hang onto his every word. Emily is all smiles at the other table. I feel her eyes carving out a hole into my skull to see my thoughts. When I glance over at her, she looks mighty proud of herself. She texts me under the table, bragging about her skills as a cupid. Every time I feel my phone vibrate, there’s always the hope that it’s Paul.

After dinner Emily slips me a condom, even though I have plenty at home, before they leave. I can’t bear to tell her I’m not interested.

Jeremy drives me home and walks me to the door. He leans against the door jam. “It was really nice seeing you again,” he says, “I wanted to talk to you at your party, but that older guy you were with never left your side long enough to give me a chance.”

Though Jeremy looks like the kind of guy made of Hollywood magic, I hadn’t noticed him at my party. He is only familiar to me because we have a class together. I hardly notice him now, and it doesn’t help that I’m distracted by thoughts of Paul; our time in the pool together, the way he’d touched me in my kitchen, the desperate, needy way he’d kissed me.

“Right, him,” I say, wishing he hadn’t brought up Paul because now he’s all I can think about. For a second there I was doing a fairly decent job keeping him out of the frontlines of my thoughts. “He’s a family friend and is only in town for a little while, so, you know …”

“Yeah, no worries. I’m just happy I’m getting my chance now.”

Sorry, Bro, but you never stood a chance,
I think to myself.

Talking about Paul only makes things worse. My self-esteem has plummeted faster than the pound on the stock market after Brexit. I feel like shit and I could really stand to have someone worship me right about now, even if it’s only for ten minutes—twenty if I’m lucky. I debate inviting him in, but I don’t think I’m ready for that. I don’t stop him when he kisses me, though. It’s a nice kiss, a lingering peck on the lips. Helps too that he smells fantastic, and tastes like the fruity moscato wine we had at dinner.

I have one hand on his chest and one on the door knob. It’s the moment of truth. Will I or won’t I? There’s a pause as he waits for me to invite him in. In the end, I just can’t do it.

When I don’t extend the invite, he says, “I had a nice time. I’d like to go out again, if you want.”

I nod. “I’d like that.”

He smiles at me and waves goodbye. I go inside. My apartment is quiet and already I’m lonely. I know I’ll spend all night waiting for a text or a call that will never come and I’ll feel even worse than I do now.

After I change out of my clothes and into a tank top and pair of shorts, I wonder if it’s too late to catch Jeremy before he gets out of the parking lot. Just as I’m about to send him a text, there’s a knock on my door. He must be reading my mind. I know I’m about to make a huge mistake, but I open the door anyway.

It’s not Jeremy.

My heart thrashes out a nervous beat in my chest.

“Paul, what are you doing here?”

Suddenly I’m on the verge of tears, and I feel really stupid for getting emotional. I hold it in the best I can but my chin is quivering and tears warp my vision.

He’s wearing a gray pullover, worn jeans with holes in the knees, and boots. He looks so. Fucking. Good.

Hands in his pockets, he asks, “Can I come in for a minute?”

I steel myself with a deep breath and try to regain some composure as I open the door for him. He smells like coconut again when he passes me, and something else that I can’t quite place, but it’s so distinctly Paul that I get wobbly from wanting. It’s as if I were cast from a Jell-o mold. He wanders over to the couch, patting the seat next to him. I sit down and chew a corner of my thumbnail.

“I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly the other night,” he says. He sounds upset and maybe a bit sad. I want to comfort him because I’m feeling those things too. Only, there’s a touch of anger mixed in with those emotions that keeps me from wrapping him in a hug.

My foot bobs. I chew on the inside of my cheek; a nervous habit that sometimes leaves the skin raw and sore. I’m sad that he left, but I’m also mad that he left me hanging there like an idiot.

“Why
did
you leave?” I ask, words outlined in anger. He flinches and looks at his hands.

He has the decency to look ashamed. “Several reasons. One, I’m too old for you, and two, you’re my best friend’s daughter. Your dad has been there for me through every part of my life. We didn’t have the best upbringing. All we had was each other. When we got older your mom and dad paid for my contractor’s license when I was just starting out even though your dad was barely making minimum wage and taking care of a teen wife and an infant. How do you think they’d feel if they knew I was falling for their daughter? I’ve watched you grow up.”

He’s obviously struggling, and I don’t want to be the cause of his inner turmoil, but can’t help cling to the words I’ve been dying to hear. My voice wavers when I say, “Okay, one, I decide who’s too old for me, and two … you’re falling for me?”

He closes his eyes, leans back against the couch, and puts his hands in his hair. “Why do you think I moved away? I was falling hard and fast for someone I didn’t dare pursue. I had to get out of town as fast as possible before it was too late.”

I clutch my stomach, feeling as if I’d just dropped from a precipice I’d been hanging onto by my fingertips. “I thought you moved to be with another woman.”

His eyes flutter open and he looks at the ceiling, avoiding eye-contact with me. “The only woman I want to be with is you.” He reaches over, moves the hair off my shoulder, and runs a finger down my arm, making me shiver. “I’ve been sitting in your parking lot for an hour, trying to build up the courage to tell you that. When I saw you kissing that kid …” he swallows hard and clenches his teeth, the muscle rippling along his jawline. “It took all I had inside of me not to get out of my truck and pummel him. I don’t think I can bear to ever see you with anyone else.”

My heart jackhammers so loud and furious I can barely hear my own thoughts. I climb onto his lap, straddling his waist. “I don’t want to ever be with anyone else.”

I rock my hips against him. He holds onto my legs, lifting his groin to apply more pressure. I gasp at the sensation. We grind together, finding the rhythm that nearly sends me over the edge.

With one swift, effortless move, he lifts both of us off the couch. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on, sucking on his ear lobe and kissing his neck as he carries me to my room. The bedside lamp is on. Normally, during sex, I’m more of a lights off kind of girl, but I want to watch this, witness the coupling I’ve been dreaming about since puberty. I’ve imagined this moment with him since I started masturbating and now I want to watch it all play out in real time, not missing a single moment.

He sets me down gently on the bed and climbs on top of me, propping himself on his elbows to hover over me. A lock from the coif of his hair hangs down, dangling between us. I reach up to smooth it back. His finger traces the curve of my cheek and chin.

I try to memorize everything about him, the strip of gray in the stubble under his lip, the slight downturn of his nose, the way one of his eyebrows sits just a little higher than the other. I want to hold onto it forever. The scar cutting into his left eyebrow, the slight lines around his eyes, and my god, those eyes. I’ve heard people compare him to Gerard Butler with Bradly Cooper eyes. Right now I can kind of see it.

“Your skin is so soft.” His low voice is just above a whisper. He kisses the corner of my mouth. “And you taste so good.” The way his lips just barely graze mine sends chills through me. We’re hardly touching and yet I feel him in every part of me. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how wet you got the night of your birthday. You smelled so sweet on my fingers. I’m dying to taste you.”

His words and the slow, sensuality of his voice opens a faucet inside of me and soaks my panties. It’s as if his words are a spell and he’s conjuring it out of me. I can’t take it anymore. Reaching up, I grab the sides of his face and push my lips against him. His mouth is so much bigger than mine and he’s forceful and demanding when he kisses me back. Though I’m no delicate flower, I feel dwarfed beneath him. Knowing that he can take whatever he wants from me, fold me in any which way he chooses, has me all kinds of wet.