His Father

I am far more offended by this than I should be.

“Come on, Pest!” Maddox yells from the door.

I watch her come skidding out of her room in flip-flops, denim shorts, a bikini top, and a patterned white tank top that’s so translucent it may as well not exist. Her thick, dark brown hair is in two braids and she has a pair of sunglasses resting on her hairline.

“See you later, Mr. Wolf.” She grins, waving as she passes.

I get the scent of vanilla and spices I can’t name as she flutters past, her flip-flops clapping against the ground as she goes.

They race to his friend’s sports car and I do the fatherly thing and yell, “SEATBELTS!”

Maddox just gives me a look. I know it’s ridiculous, he’s been traveling through countries unknown for some time, but I still worry.

Sighing as they speed away while cheering loudly, I close the door and return to my empty home.

Then I call my own friends and invite them over because fuck this silence.

My phone is ringing. Why is it ringing?

It’s one in the morning, I’ve been asleep for maybe forty minutes.

I remember Maddox went out and panic holds my heart in a tight fist.

“Dad?” There’s the sound of a loud beat in the background and people laughing and talking. At least if people are laughing and talking that means nothing bad has happened. Or so I deduce.

“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately, sitting up and reaching for the lamp.

“Nothing, just, Pest is on her way home, she’s drunk. Can you make sure she gets home okay and text me when she does? She’ll pass out and forget.”

My panic leaves me, and in its place comes anger. “Why haven’t you escorted her home yourself?”

“Because I don’t want to go yet and… well… you know. Pest is cool with it. She’s in an Uber.”

“You abandoned your girl to a fucking Uber?” Did I just step into an alternate reality? I know I’m not the cheeriest, nicest guy to be around, but I’d never abandon my date to a fucking taxi alone. “And she’s cool with that?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” He chuckles and I hear a female in the background shouting for him to hurry up. “Just make sure she gets in safely.”

What kind of man did I raise?

I blow out a breath and climb out of bed, flipping the thin blanket back as I go. I don a black T-shirt with some kind of logo on the front and make my way downstairs. My room is the only room upstairs, the rest of the upstairs is an office and second den. Or it is now that she’s here. It mostly went unused until her.

I wait for what feels like hours before I see headlights in the driveway. It has only been fifteen minutes, if that.

“Thank you!” I hear her call after a car door slams and as her feet carry her closer, I open the door.

She staggers right into my chest with an oomph and a very inebriated giggle.

I try not to think of her heat, or how perfectly she’d fit in my arms were I to wrap them around her. I definitely try not to think of the latter.

“Oops.” With her hand on my chest and the other clutching her flip-flops, she beams at me in the dark. Her smile is lopsided but strangely adorable. “Sorry, Mr. Wolf.” And then she wobbles past.

I watch as she hops on one foot and yanks on her ankle.

“What are you doing?”

“Duh,” she replies deeply and grins at me as she hops. “Trying to take off my shoe.”

She starts to fall to the side so I grab her elbow to steady her. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

Her foot hits the floor and she wriggles her painted toes on the wooden floor. When her wide eyes come back up to mine, her lips pinch together and she bursts into a fit of giggles so strong I laugh with her. Though only a little.

I don’t want her to think I find her cute, endearing, and funny because I do not.

“I’m so high,” she giggles, shaking her head. Her eyes become round with panic. “On life, Mr. Wolf. Not weed. Life.”

I pretend to not hear her or see her drop her flip-flops onto the floor.

“Mr. Wolf?” She dips her head to catch my eyes with hers. Hers are round, innocent, wild, glowing, alert, but also drunk, definitely high, and tired.

“Yes?”

“Are you gay?”

I absolutely love freedom of life and love but having such an attractive woman think I’m gay raises my hackles.

“I am not.”

“Because it’s cool if you are,” she mumbles, lifting the see-through tank top over her head as I guide her to her bedroom. “No judgment. Love and be loved. It would just shine a light on why you hate women.”

I clench my jaw. “I’m not gay and I don’t hate women. I just don’t like to live with a woman.”