I pull up my GPS app and scroll through all the pages. It’s deactivated. Thank God. I fall onto the sofa and throw my feet up on the coffee table.
Me: It’s okay. How was your day?
Dad: Good. How did you do on your small business test?
Me: Fine. Should be an ‘A.’
Dad: Good. Are you coming over this weekend?
Fuck no, and don’t you dare come over to my place. Calm down. Everything is fine. Act normal.
Me: I’m busy. Working all weekend. I’ll stop by and see you next week. Okay?
Dad: Sounds good. I love you.
Me: I love you, too. Tell Soraya, I love her.
A whoosh of air escapes my lips, and I throw the phone like a poisonous Pit Viper onto the cushions. Thank God. He doesn’t suspect anything. If he did, he’d be on a jet within the hour to scoop me up and send my ass back home.
I shove off the sofa and march to the kitchen. I’m a grown woman. Why am I scared spitless that my parents are going to get mad because I left the state? I jerk the door open and grab a bottle of Red’s Apple Ale beer.
Why do I care? Because I’m the perfect daughter. The one who studies hard. Who works her ass off at a part-time job and as an intern for my father. And what do I get? An asshole of a boyfriend that fucks my cousin because I’m always ‘busy.’ Screw that.
I twist open the cap, grab a glass, and pour a liberal amount of caramel-y liquid into a mug. That’s better. Dalilah’s right. This weekend is for me.
Damon
After my narrow escape from getting cornered by Brandi, I retreat to my room and escape to the patio. If nothing else, I can pretend I don’t hear her. Surely, Karissa didn’t tell her my room number. I shudder. Yeah, that’s way too much to ask for.
Once Karissa was old enough to understand her parents weren’t together, she’d been hell-bent on getting us back together. She claims it is because she wants me to be happy. I snort. Brandi and happy? That’s a fucking joke.
I slide the door shut, hold the bottle of beer in one hand, and lean over the balcony railing. The view is spectacular. I didn’t think Karissa was going to go for a Lake Tahoe wedding. She was hell-bent on a beach ceremony. However, choosing an all-inclusive resort in the mountains is a better choice, in my opinion. I’m not a sand kind of guy.
Lifting the bottle to my mouth, I take a slow slug off it. Like I’m ever getting married again. That ship has sailed.
When the door to the adjoining balcony slides open, I stare. The dark-haired woman from the lobby is my weekend neighbor. Holy shit. My heart skips a beat. She’s even more stunning in natural light. Her dark eyes slip over me, taking everything in.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here.” She cocks an eyebrow and glances over my shoulder. “Alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone.”
“Oh.” She purses her lips, shuts the door, and moves to the railing. In her hand is a third full glass of amber liquid.
“Who were you expecting?” Ah, Karissa. She saw me with Karissa. A slow smile spreads across my face. “Jealous?”
“Shit.” She jerks back and glares at me with narrowed eyes. “No, I’m not jealous. I don’t even know you.”
“I told you my name.” I step closer to the wall that separates our two spaces. The barrier is a couple of inches below my waist. “Once again, my name is Damon, and the woman I was speaking with is my daughter, Karissa.”
“Oh.” Her eyes round, and she flushes a pretty pink over her chest and along her cheekbones.
Damn. She’s beautiful. I tilt my head and study her closer. She seems familiar. Where have I seen her before? A magazine? No. It wasn’t a magazine.
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and my cock twitches. I want to taste those plump lips against mine.
“How old is she?”
My shoulders straighten, and I step back from the railing. Nothing like a slap in the face to remind me of my place. I’m an old geezer and she’s the young, innocent woman. “She’s twenty.”
“I see.” She places the glass to her mouth, closes her eyes, and takes in a long sip of the drink. After she swallows, her eyes pop open, and she studies me intently.
Damn. For the first time in ages, I feel like I’m being judged and coming up lacking. I’ve lived in the same neighborhood for years with the same friends. Everyone knows me.
Over the last ten years, I’ve made a name for myself in the business world. Even when my newest business partner and I sized each other up before signing on the dotted line a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t feel this – exposed? It’s hard to pin down a word for her perusal.
“Vacation?”
I blink and try to clear my mind. Everything is in a jumble. “What?”
“Are you here on vacation?” Her eyes are wide as she speaks to me like I’m in kindergarten.
“Not exactly. My daughter is getting married. We’re here for the wedding.” I tip the bottle of beer to my mouth and drain it. The bitter liquid almost makes me choke.
“Ah.” Her eyes and face turn soft. “I love weddings.”
“So, does my daughter.” I arch an eyebrow. What is it with women and weddings? Give me a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a bottle of beer in a local bar, and I’d be set.
“Tell me all about it.” She moves to the railing, places her elbows on it, and leans over.
My eyes steal to the cleavage she’s showing from this position. Her curves are subtle but perfect.
Shit. I jerk my attention back to her face. Fuck. How old is she? Please, God, don’t be under seventeen. Lusting after an underage girl is something I’ve never stooped to. At least not since I was that age. I clear my throat. “How old are you?”
“Why?” Her bottom lip pops out in a pout.
“Call it curiosity. How old?”
In anticipation of her answer, my muscles tense. If she’s under eighteen, I need to take a shower and hit a confessional.
“I’m twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two next month.”
Thank fuck. I scrub a hand over my face. Not that fifteen years isn’t an insurmountable difference, because it is. But at least, I don’t have to worry about going to jail for the dreams I’m going to have about her tonight.
She pushes her upper arms together, causing her breasts to smash tighter together. “Is that a problem?”
“No. No problem.” Yes. It’s a fucking problem. I slap the bottle on the table, shove my hands into the pockets of my dress pants, and adjust my aching cock. Lord, I need to go inside before I do something stupid.
“Good.” She licks her lips and then bites down on the flesh of the bottom one.
Sweet Jesus. I need a shower. When was the last time I got rock hard talking to a woman? It’s been years.
The dating pool is slim to none back home. All the women I know are either married, married and looking for action, newly divorced and looking for action, or searching for a Sugar Daddy. They have so much baggage, they can’t fit it all on a Boeing 777 airliner’s cargo section. I don’t need that kind of trouble.
“Dalilah, it was nice meeting you. But I’ve got to get ready for the wedding rehearsal.”
She shoves off the railing. Her face is devoid of emotion. “Have fun at the wedding.”