Her Best Friend's Dad

The fish fry on the menu for today is not my favorite, but the grilled salmon I know is Beck’s. Chef had already checked twice if Beck was in yet and if he should send up food. Beck’s itinerary had him returning yesterday and in the office today, but storms delayed his plane.

“Are you back yet?” I message Beck. We’ve been texting through most of his trip, and even shared a few late night calls. The last I heard from him was this morning—a short, apologetic sentence as they waited for clearance. I rescheduled his meetings for him, pushing them back to this afternoon, but now even that looks unlikely. Depending on when his plane arrives today, I doubt he’ll have a chance to show up at the gallery either.

My phone rings, and I answer it, already smiling after seeing the number on the screen. “Hi, Beck.”

“We’re in the air now, so my connection is iffy, but I wanted you to know I’m safe and sound. Sorry I didn’t text you earlier; I was in desperate need of some shut eye if I’m going to have a chance to make it to the gallery tonight.” He punctuates his sentences in yawns, and I feel guilty about asking so much of him.

It is unrealistic of me to want him at my art show, but it was his urging that convinced me to try again. Having Beck believe in me, in my passions, makes me feel hopeful again. With him gone, I’ve channeled the desire I have for him, the emptiness with him gone, into my art. I hate to say that he inspires me; an artist should never have someone else as her muse, but my love for him has been an inspiration.

I want to impress Beck with my art, to show him that I can live up to the potential he sees in me. To do so has been expensive. All my money has gone into paying bills and saving up for this show. Paint, clay, metal working tools, and a new air compressor were not cheap, but the money I make at Huntsworth has opened doors to me I had not imagined in a long time.

Making money even has Jean being nicer. I’ve helped with groceries, picked up some of the chores around the house that Jean usually takes care of, and I even paid a bit extra as rent, despite my dad’s protests. I get that her behavior is probably because she’s into Beck and hopes I’ll spill some details about him. That’s the biggest reason I couldn’t find the nerve to send him any nudes or even teasing photos, for quite a while. I can’t chance Jean finding out about us.

Some days, we only had mundane “How was your day?” type exchanges. It really depended on how tired we were. When my dad and Jean were out late for a party, Beck wrapped up his work for the night and called me. We spent hours on a video call that evening, only ending the call after we both had come at least twice. It wasn’t just about getting off, though. It felt like what a couple would do to stay together during an extended absence. I do wish I had photos of Beck on my phone for the lonely nights, but it’s too risky to get caught.

“Are you wet for me, Lia? Just thinking about getting to see you has me hard.” Beck’s yawns have changed to a raspy whisper. “Can I show you how much I’ve missed you?”

I laugh into the phone. “Yes, I am, and maybe. My father and Tasha will be at the gallery. I don’t know how great it would look if I disappear from my show, Beck.”

“Maybe I could show you now. Go in my office, Lia, and lock the door.”

I start to question him, not knowing what he’s up to, but the sound of his zipper going down is enough to silence me. “Oh, fuck, Lia,” he moans, making me run from my desk to his. “My hand does not feel anywhere nearly as good as your pussy. Are you in my office yet?”

“Yes.” His leather chair cradles me as I spread my legs.

“Touch yourself for me. I want to smell you in my office when I get in later. Where are you?” His whisper makes me even hotter, and I’m trying to picture how he’s hiding that gorgeous cock of his from view.

“Your chair.”

His answering groan is everything to me. “Fuck that’s hot. If I were there, Lia, I’d kneel under my desk and lick your pussy. Would you like that?”

I nod, my mouth going dry. “Yeah,” I manage to whimper. The phone is tucked between my ear and shoulder as I reach both hands down. “I’m so wet for you, Beck.”