Paying Her Dues

But I can’t take my eyes off of her. Not even for a second. The dome light in the cab shows off her curves. And her valleys. And that tantalizing V right where her pussy meets her thighs.

Christ. I gotta knock this off. Now. Right fucking now. It’s Jess. Sam’s Jess. Our Jess. She’s like my fucking daughter.

And I’ve got no business thinking about what’s underneath those leggings. No business at all.

Jess dozes off on the ride home. I keep stealing glances at her face, lit by the dashboard lights. Fucking gorgeous. Perfect. I’m counting her freckles. Naming each one and it takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on the road.

Somehow, I pull it off. Even though I want her, I want to keep her safe even more. Sam opens her door and jostles her awake after I get the truck parked in the garage. She wakes startled and wipes her face like she’s been drooling, her eyes unfocused dreamy. “Oh my gosh. I fell asleep, didn’t I?”

“Mmmhmm,” Sam says. “And girl, you snore.”

Jess’s mouth drops open. “I do not.”

Sam nods. “Yeppers, you do. Like a fucking freight train. Right, Dad?”

Jess swings her head around to look at me. She looks totally embarrassed, and a sexy little blush creeps up her cheeks. “Mr. Hawthorne. Don’t tell me I was snoring.”

“Jess.” I grit my teeth. “If you don’t start calling me Mike we’re going to have a problem.”

The blush on her cheeks spreads down her throat and blooms on her chest. “I don’t want any trouble.” She teases biting into her bottom lip making my dick twitch. “Mike.”

"Better.” I grunt because hearing her say my name has my heart thundering as it pounds blood down low and I have to turn away to take my next breath. In truth, she was snoring. No louder than a puppy. Cute as fuck. But I’m not going to rub it in. “No, you don’t snore. He’s just giving you a hard time. Now let’s get you two some water and then you gotta get to bed.”

Sam chortles. “But officer, we’re eighteen. Both of us!”

Goddamn I love that kid. Still, though. It’s a school night for him, and I know Jess has a big tryout in a week. It pisses me off, how hard her parents push her; they held her back years ago, and then pushed her to finish high school early? That’s bad then it made it impossible for her and Sam to spend their last months of high school together. What kind of fucking nonsense. But whatever. She needs her rest—they both do—I take that seriously.

I nod toward Sam. “My house, my rules. We clear?”

Sam mutters a loving, “Buzzkill!” and Jess lets out a sweet little laugh.

We open the door from the garage into the mud room, and Sam’s chihuahua skitters joyfully around on the tile. His name is Lagerfeld and Sam has made it his person mission to make him the best-dressed chihuahua in the Carolinas.

Right now, he’s wearing a teal silk bowtie, which Sam has decided is his Tuesday around-the-house attire. I pretend not to be interested at all. But goddamn he’s a cute little dog. Especially in the bowties.

We make our way into the kitchen with Lagerfeld running circles around us. I pop open a beer and get the kids both a Topo Chico from the top shelf.

The house has turned out well and every time I walk into it, I’m fucking proud of it. But I’m even prouder of the life I’ve made for Sam. It isn’t easy being a single dad. But he and I? I got lucky with him. That’s for damned sure.

Sam’s phone chirps with a reminder, and he sucks in a breath. “Shit. I’ll be right back. Just need to submit this assignment for history tomorrow.”

Jess gulps down a glass of water and nods. “’Kay,” she answers with an adorable little burp. “Is it for Mr. Harris?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeppers.”

“Don’t be cute with your margins or the font size. He measures,” Jess says.

“Copy that. Be right back,” Sam salutes, and runs upstairs with Lagerfeld chasing behind him making happy panting sounds.

Which leaves Jess and I all alone, face-to-face in front of the sink.

She’s swaying a little, still tipsy. She raises her pretty green eyes to me. I can tell she’s not hammered, not messy-drunk. More relaxed. Maybe a little less prim and proper. “You’re sure it’s okay that I stay the night?”

Something about her tone of voice, it makes me think of all the things she isn’t saying. About her sleeping two rooms away from me. About her bra on the floor of my guest room. About her showering tomorrow morning in the shower I tiled myself. Such fucking intimacy. Such closeness. I need her so much more than she knows or I ever admitted to myself before now. “Of course it is. You know that. Always.”

She nibbles the inside of her cheek like she does when she’s nervous. Her lips pulling to the side then popping together on a tight, little grin.

Fuck. I’d give literally anything, literally everything, to feel those lips on mine.