Kissing My Dad's Friend

In fact, at the moment, if anything, that makes it even better. I think about the expression on Dad’s face, if he caught me flirting with his best friend, and it only makes me bolder. “I’ve always been good at games. Or don’t you remember how often I kicked your ass at poker nights?”

He chuckles softly. “You realize I was going easy on you, right?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Well, then you’d better stop. Because that’s exactly what I don’t want.”

Russ pauses. He runs a hand through his hair, a motion that makes the corner of his scrubs top inch up, just far enough to reveal a slice of his stomach, cut abs above a happy trail that my hands itch to trace. Then it falls back into place, as he casts a quick glance around us in either direction, as if he’s trying to decide whether he should continue with this. There is a cluster of nurses passing, clipboards in hand. One of them glances our way, and then the rest do, all of them trading glances between them.

In response, I reach up to place my fingertips on Russ’s arm, just above his watch. A barely-there touch, yet his skin feels heated under my fingertips. Boiling almost. But I keep my hand there, keep smiling, the grin turning mischievous as the nurses’ eyes widen, and they start to whisper amongst each other.

I want them to talk about this. I want them to report it to Dad. I want him to know what happens when he pisses me off. Dad thinks he can control every single aspect of my life, but he can’t. There are some decisions only I can make, some areas where I’m still the one in control.

And who I flirt with is very much one of those areas.

To judge by the look on Russ’s face, as he glances from my hand on his arm, to my eyes and back again, he knows this is a bad idea. A dangerous one.

But when his eyes find mine again, all fire and heat, I realize that he’s come to the same conclusion I have. If this is a dangerous game, that only makes it more interesting.

“Really, Maggie Owens.” Russ takes a step toward me. Another. His chest almost touches me, we’re standing so close. At this distance, I catch his scent. He smells like musk and smoke, all heat and fire. It reminds me of the scotch he and Dad always drink at our get-togethers, while Mom and her friends are mixing up margaritas instead. Or maybe the cigars Russ smokes afterward, out on our patio. He let me have a puff off of one once, when I was still in high school, and I came out for just ten minutes to wave hello to the party before I had to head back upstairs to bury myself in books again.

I still remember that night. The way he drew a puff before he passed the cigar to me, still wet from his mouth. The way I wrapped my lips around it and followed his instructions, breathed in a faint puff of smoke before I exhaled it, slow, through my nose so I could taste it right. It tasted incredible. But not as good as I imagined his mouth would taste, based on the tiny glimpse I got.

It made me shiver, that night, when he put the cigar back into his mouth, and I knew his lips were clamped right where mine had been a second earlier, my cherry flavored lip gloss still tinting the butt of the cigar.

“So tell me what you do want, then,” he murmurs, so close to me I can practically feel the words vibrate in his chest. He raises an eyebrow. “You like it hard?”

“Hard. Rough.” I pause to flick my tongue across my lips, and I’m gratified to see the way his gaze drops to follow its tracks. “Anything but safe.”

“Well.” His grin curls around the edges. “You certainly picked an interesting way to announce it, I’ll give you that. An interesting place to bring it up, too.” His gaze drifts back to the halls around us, following the tracks of the nurses. They’re almost at the far corner now, I can hear the squeak of their sneakers from here. They don’t work in the same wing as me, so I don’t know any of their names, but I recognize a few of them from around. And I’m sure all of them know who I am, at least.

Word gets around fast when the director of the hospital’s daughter signs up to the nursing staff. No matter how much I might have wished to remain just another anonymous face in the staff room, it was never going to happen. Not with Owens splashed across my name tag.

Or with my father in his office, sending down edicts like some kind of creepy overlord, obsessed with making sure I do every single thing he orders me to.