Kissing My Dad's Friend

If I’m going to live somewhere with crappy weather for the majority of the year, she always says, then I’m going to at least be able to throw some damn pool parties.

But tonight looks like it will be decent enough, the sky bright and clear overhead, clear enough we can even see a few stars, despite the constant light pollution of Manhattan. It’s still a little chilly, but it warmed up throughout the day, which means that the pool area feels even more heated than usual when we step into it.

Dad goes straight to work, beelining for the grill, already grumbling about how Mom should have warmed it up before he got here. But she stops him halfway to his job, and his worried look softens for a moment. They trade a slow, easy kiss, one that makes me regret not having dated anyone seriously up until now. Watching them together, I’m always reminded of the magic of the right pairing. As infuriating and bossy and controlling as Dad is, with Mom, he’s a completely different person. She softens all his edges, and she’s always been the only one who can talk him out of a bad idea or bring him around to a new point of view.

How she deals with his difficultness, I’ll never know. But I’m glad they found each another.

Thus placated, Dad stops his grumbling and fires up the grill with something almost resembling a smile on his face. While he does that, Mom heads over to the little bar we set up near the pool and starts mixing some drinks. “Come and try one, Maggie,” she calls. “I’m testing out a new recipe.”

Mom used to bartend, back before she had me. Now she doesn’t work, aside from the odd volunteering job here and there. But she always loves whipping out the old bartending skills, especially when there’s a house full of visitors to show off for. I watch her shake with an expert hand and pour the kind of carefully crafted cocktail that would be at home in an expensive Manhattan restaurant. The kind she used to work at back in the day, I know. She’s always talking about how many bartending and craft cocktail awards she won.

I take a sip after she offers it to me, and smile. “It’s delicious.”

“Pumpkin spice twist on a Manhattan,” she says with a grin. “Be careful. It’s pretty boozy.”

I take another sip, unable to resist, as Mom spots something behind me and buzzes past me.

“Russ!” she calls, and then I nearly choke on the next sip of the drink I’d taken. I set it down before I do something utterly unappealing like spilling it all over myself. My hands are already shaky from nerves. The last thing I need is to wind up wearing a drink on top of my scrubs.

Crap. My scrubs. I haven’t even changed yet, and he’s already here.

I spin around and watch him stride in to hug my mom. But his eyes find mine, and sear into me. He doesn’t look away as he releases Mom and calls a brief hello to Dad.

He looks better than ever tonight. Unlike me, he’s not still wearing his work clothes. He changed into a casual pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, one that, when tucked in like it is now, clings to his muscles, and shows off every inch of how ripped he is. I swallow hard and force myself to look away.

“Maggie.” Russ approaches me next and pulls me into a tight hug. It’s the same kind of hug he always offers me at these kind of parties, except that I can’t help but notice the way his hands slide over my backside and down my curves, all the way to my hips. He lingers there, for just a heartbeat longer than would be strictly proper, if not for the fact that he’s already fucked me way past propriety.

We break apart once more, and I suddenly find it’s difficult to catch my breath. I smile up at him and sidestep toward the door. “Excuse me. I should go get ready,” I murmur.

“Bathing suit on,” Mom calls as I slip out. “We’re all going swimming later, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Russ calls out something in agreement, but I can feel his gaze still on me as I leave, and my heart rabbits in my chest in response, my pulse unable to slow down, my lungs unable to catch up with the breathlessness that comes over me whenever I know his attention is focused on me.

I hurry up to my bedroom. Some part of me expects Russ to follow, to try to seduce me up here the way I used to imagine him doing, after dinner parties when he’d sleep over some nights, in the guest room just down the hall from mine.