Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

1.

Ollie

I don’t remember the name of the black-haired woman sleeping beside me in bed. It started with an R. Rhianna? Rachel? I recall the fruity mixed drink that lingered in her kisses and the way she worked me with her experienced hands.

Hel

l if I knew her name.

Sliding out of bed, I pull on the boxers from last night and make my way to the bathroom across the hall. Rhianna/Rachel doesn’t stir despite me shutting the door a little harder than I mean to. Subconsciously, maybe that’s my way of getting her up and gone. It isn’t like she was a bad lay because she did everything I told her to and never once questioned it, but I’ve got things to do.

Before I can pour myself a cup of coffee after going about my morning routine, there’s a knock at the front door of my apartment. Brows pinching, I set down my mug and look through the peephole.

“Shit,” I murmur, seeing Charlie’s long blonde hair through the hole.

Undoing the locks, I scrub a hand down my tired face and cringe over my lack of clothes. I don’t want her staying in the hall where anyone can watch her. The building is safe as far as I know, but one could never be too sure when a pretty fifteen-year-old is involved. Plus, I promised my sister and her husband I would look out for her since she started at the Chicago School of Music. I take my guardianship seriously, no matter how much she pushes me on everything.

Like when she begged River and Everett to let her stay in a dorm room on the school’s campus instead of with me like they preferred. Honestly, I liked the idea at the time. Having her living with me would have been difficult considering my late-night activities. But not as bad as her showing up whenever she wants when I have company. It’s hard filtering out the women I bring over before she can see.

Opening the door, I wave her inside. “Do I even want to know how you got here? It’s not even ten yet, Charlie. What’s going on?”

Her eyes widen a little when they meet my bare chest, quickly snapping away to the half-empty fruit bowl sitting in its usual spot on the counter. She walks that way, letting me close the door behind her.

Digging through the bowl, she makes the same face she always does at the contents inside—lips pinched, and eyes narrowed like the pears did something to offend her. “You should really keep donuts in here, you know?”

Lips twitching upward, I cross my arms over my chest. “In the fruit bowl?”

“The apartment.” Her tone is woven with her usual sarcasm, a language she speaks fluently in.

She isn’t facing me, but I’d bet good money she rolled her green eyes. She thinks they’re boring, generic. She doesn’t see the silver specks that make them gem-like, almost amblygonite. In some ways they remind me of Everett’s hues, just slightly different.

“If I knew you were coming,” I reply pointedly, “I would have made sure there were some waiting for you. Which brings us back to my main question. What are you doing here?”

Her lips part to answer just as a noise stirs from the direction of my bedroom. Charlie’s eyes widen a fraction before glancing at me, her gaze calculated as she takes in my state of undress.

“Oh.” She clears her throat as Rhianna/Rachel comes out in nothing but yesterdays faded 90’s grunge band t-shirt, which does little to cover necessary parts of her anatomy.

She gives Charlie a shocked look, having the decency to yank on the hem of the shirt to cover her a little better. “I didn’t realize we had company, Ollie Poo.”

Cringing at her horrible nickname for me, I glance over at Charlie to see her mouthing back Ollie Poo while shooting me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me stare.

Wish I was, kid.

Rhianna/Rachel turns her focus to Charlie, examining her from the top of her loose blonde waves all the way down her white fitted tee, denim cutoffs, and worn gray Converse. She looks like she’s about to cruise the—

Fuck.

I agreed to take her to the History Museum today to celebrate her first month of classes being done. She’s wanted to go since she got here, but our schedules hadn’t lined up.

Before I can apologize, last night’s hookup finally finishes assessing her. Any jealousy over another female being in my apartment washes from her made-up face. I don’t remember all the makeup last night, but I was also three sheets to the wind and in the mood for a mindless screw. “Ollie Poo, is this your little sister? She’s so … cute.”

Anyone who really knows Charlie knows that cute is not a word you use to describe her. Whether true or not, this chick just opened a can of worms.

“That’s so funny,” Charlie replies in a sugary sweet tone, giving Rhianna/Rachel a once-over that only I seem to know is dangerous. She turns and bats her lashes at me, which aren’t caked with black gunk and outlined with brown liner unlike my hookup’s were. “Did you hear that, Ollie Poo? Another one of your five cent hookers thinks I’m your sister.” She turns back to Rhianna/Rachel feigning innocence. “Sweetie, if you think you’re the only one lucky enough to have him peel your panties off with his teeth, you’re wrong. Imagine what he does to me at night.”

My eyes bulge. Jesus fucking Christ.

My hookup goes pale, which probably mirrors the expression on my face. Her lips part as she rushes into the bedroom and gathers her clothes, not bothering to change into them before side stepping me.