Happily Ever After With My Dad's Best Friend

My dad is also a handsome man and manages to look elegant even in swim trunks. It’s the way he holds himself. Straight posture, shoulders back, his chin just a little higher in the air than everyone else. Maybe that’s why he seems so much older than Paul even though they’re the same age. Paul is so much more laid back.

I manage to kind of not stare at Paul, but once in a while I forget myself and glance over. His eyes latch onto mine. Even after I look away, I feel him watching me and my heart drums in my chest as I make my way to the bar for a glass of champagne. I’m going to need it.

I try to ignore the heaviness of his gaze while I sip Dom—though, at the moment, I’d prefer an ice-cold beer, but that’s not on the menu. Hair of the dog. I still feel like shit from the night before. Except now I can add humiliation to it. Which pisses me off because this is the first surprise party I’ve ever had and I want to enjoy myself.

Nursing my drink, I make my rounds, catching up with people and thanking them for coming. I smile and nod as my high school friends tell me about their new jobs and plans for marriage, and all the other stuff I’ve always dreamed about for myself. I do my best to share in their happiness, but I’m having a hell of a time trying to concentrate when Paul is nearby.

“Rachael,” I hear my dad call out to me. “Come over here and say hi to your Uncle Pauly. He drove all night to be at your party.”

He drove all night? Maybe he didn’t get my text after all. Or maybe he drove all night to be at my party because of the text. I try not to get my hopes up. Relax and don’t say or do anything stupid, I tell myself.

There’s something skeevy about my dad calling Paul my uncle. And yet, in some perverse way, I kind of like it. Don’t get me wrong, if past royals taught us anything with their clubbed feet and genetic deformities, it’s that incest is bad. But a little bit of kinky fantasy never hurt anyone.

Anyway …

I try to play it cool when I head toward them, like, whatever, you’re here, no big deal. And it kind of works until I trip over my dad’s fat poodle lounging by the pool and nearly fall in. Paul catches me by the arm before I go into the water and he hauls me onto my feet.

That Harry Potter invisibility cloak I asked for on my eleventh birthday would come in real handy right about now.

“Damn dog,” I mumble. My dad loves that mutt. He takes him everywhere with him and calls him my brother. If there’s one friend who outranks Paul in my dad’s eyes, and one child who outranks me, it’s Pickles.

True to his character, my dad’s more concerned about his pet who lays there licking his balls, unfazed by my near destruction.

“You okay?” Paul asks.

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“Someone’s trippin’” I hear Emily say somewhere in the background. I ignore her, but remind myself to strangle her later.

Paul chuckles and the deep rumble of it touches me in a place not even my favorite dildo manages to reach. The gentleness in how he holds my arm, and the way he’s looking at me … Jesus. This isn’t good. I’m a fumbling mess whenever he’s around.

“Did we finally manage to surprise you for once?” my dad asks. I smell whiskey on his breath and cigarette smoke in his hair. He only smokes when he drinks. If my mom knew, she’d kill him. He looks over at Paul. “We’ve never been able to keep a secret from this girl. Even at Christmas she used to open her presents while we were asleep then spend all night rewrapping them so we wouldn’t notice. Who knows how many years she got away with it before she was finally caught on the home security system.”

“You know I hate surprises.” I tell him.

But I actually like this one. My parents have never been able to pull off a surprise party in the past, but I suspect this was Emily’s doing.

“Anyone want a refill?” my dad asks. He lifts what’s left of the amber liquid in his glass. He’s drinking hard alcohol, I realize. This is going to be some kind of party. Not sure if that’s a good thing or bad at this point. My dad is unpredictable after a few drinks.

“I’ll take another scotch on the rocks,” Paul says.

I show my dad my full flute. “I’m good for now.”

By the way he shuffles his feet, it’s not his first drink of the day. It’s kind of hilarious seeing someone who’s usually so poised let his guard down. That only happens when he’s with Paul.

“You know he’s going to forget about that drink as soon as he gets to the bar,” I say.

“I know. I’m not even drinking.” Paul’s smile is all glistening white teeth and dimples. “Come here and give me a hug. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

His hair has more silver in it than I remember, but it doesn’t age him like it would other men in their barely forties. He’s one of those guys who started going gray young. Better than losing it, which he hasn’t one bit. It’s thick and wavy on top, and damn can he ever pull off the silver fox look. Doesn’t hurt that his baby blues are the same color as the water and shine against his tan face. He could so be one of those older hipster models you see in high fashion ads these days. The Miles Better types with less facial hair.

As soon as his arms are around me I’m melting. His hands rub my back, warm breath on the pulse of my neck. He smells like sun and chlorine and coconut from the pomade in his hair. I want everyone else to disappear so I can be alone with him.

The text starts running circles in my head. Will he bring it up, or should I? Or should I just leave it alone and hope it goes away? Ugh.

“I can’t believe how grown up you are.” He steps back and studies me. “Twenty-one already. Time flies,” he says.

“I’ve been grown up for a while now.”

“I’ve noticed.” His eyes shift to my breasts for a brief second before finding my eyes again. He shrugs his lips as if embarrassed for looking. I wish I would’ve worn something a little more revealing than the university t-shirt I threw on this morning to get manicures.

I can only imagine the horror show he sees in front of him right now. All I did this morning to get ready was shower, brush my teeth, and throw my hair into a messy bun. I’m the epitome of lazy college student at the moment with my blotchy face I spent the morning picking at, down to the Uggs on my feet. I look like a hot mess.

Before I can respond my mom comes up to us. “Go get your suit, Rachael, everyone wants to swim a while before we do cake.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

Emily comes up behind me. “Don’t worry, I have you covered.”

We head upstairs to my childhood bedroom. Emily pulls out the tiniest bikini I’ve ever seen. It’s black and made of string and an inch or two of fabric. The butt area is practically a thong with thin strings attaching it to the triangle in front that barely covers me. It’s a good thing I got that Brazilian. The top half of the suit is more string than fabric and does a shoddy job at being an actual, functioning garment. If I’m not careful when twisting my torso, my areolas will show. There’s no padding either so it shows off every bump and curve.

“You’re insane,” I tell Emily. “I can’t wear that. My dad will have a heart attack.”

She smiles mischievously. “Don’t worry. I thought of everything.” She hands me a lace cover dress to go over the top of it until I get in the pool. I get dressed and we head downstairs.