By the time I reach Sam’s Street, the sun’s high in the sky, glaring down as if it has something personal against me.Her house sits perfectly — not a blade of grass out of place.White curtains are drawn, flower pots are lined up neatly on the porch, each one screaming clean and polite.It’s a place that smells like rules and casseroles.The kind that would eat a guy like me alive if I stepped too far over the threshold.
I knock once.
Then again, harder.
The door creaks open, and her dad fills the frame.Tall.Cold.Dressed in a stiff-collared shirt that probably never wrinkles or sweats.He stares at me as if I just keyed his car.Doesn’t say a word, just scans me slowly from head to toe, dragging his gaze over my creased shirt, the strap of my bag, and the bruises still blooming across my knuckles as if they’re the bad decisions I never learned from.
His jaw clenches.
I lift my chin, meet his stare, and pretend the heat crawling up my neck is from the sun rather than the fact that I already know I’m the story he hopes doesn’t happen to his daughter.
I clear my throat, voice low.“I’m here to help, Sam.With the assignment.”
His expression remains unchanged.He simply glares at me, with a stare that makes you reconsider every bad decision you’ve ever made.I half-expect him to grab a shovel and start digging my grave in the front yard.
“Sam,” he calls out, voice sharp enough to cut right through concrete, eyes still locked on me.“Your friend’s here.”
Friend.That’s fucking generous.
Sam rounds the corner, ponytail swinging.She spots her dad, then me, then there’s a heavy silence between us.She moves quickly, reaching for my arm as if trying to shield me from a firing squad, and pulls me past him before he can load another bullet.
Her fingers tighten around my wrist.
I let her pull me in, not because I fear her dad, but because if she wasn’t standing there looking at me like she needs me to move, I might’ve turned around and walked the fuck away.
We don’t talk.Just move quickly.
Her fingers stay wrapped around my wrist, warm and firm, pulling me up the stairs like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
She doesn’t look back.I’m already watching her, tracking every step and sway of her hips in those black tights that make my cock twitch as if it has its own damn heartbeat.
The hallway hits, and she slows, but I don’t.My gaze keeps trailing down her spine to the curve of her ass, the stretch of those tights doing criminal things to my self-control.My mouth dries out.I want to press her up against the nearest wall, let her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.The assignment can wait.
Then—
“Keep that bedroom door open,” her dad yells, voice sharp enough to cut through bone.
My dick wilts instantly.I grit my teeth so hard my jaw cracks.
My skin crawls with that itchy, creeping heat that hits when someone’s watching too closely.Like he can see right through the floorboards.Through my skull.Through every filthy thought I’m trying not to act on.
Another adult who sees me as nothing but a walking red flag.A fuck-up.A cocky asshole with no future, no right to be near his daughter.
Maybe he’s right.Maybe I am those things.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from wanting her.
Sam doesn’t let go until we’re inside her room, her fingers slipping away slowly, as if she didn’t mean to hold on to me that long but couldn’t help it.
The door clicks halfway shut.Not fully closed, not fully open—just enough for plausible deniability.She’s playing it safe with Daddy Dearest lurking downstairs, ears probably tuned to every creak in the floorboards.
She turns her back to me and moves toward the bed, those tight black leggings hugging her in a way that makes my jaw twitch and my dick stand at attention.I force my eyes up, but not before they trace the curve of her hips and the way her oversized tee knotted at the front does absolutely nothing to hide what it’s barely covering.Fuck me.I’m not a saint.Never claimed to be.
“What are you doing here?”Her voice snaps.
She’s standing near her desk, arms crossed over her chest.Her cheeks are pink again—always are when I’m around.It’s like her body’s in on something her brain hasn’t agreed to yet.
My eyes drift to her lips.Plump, a little parted.She shifts on her feet, and for a second I think she’s waiting to see if I’ll do the same thing I did last time.My body remembers it better than I do… her mouth against mine, the way she gasped when I pressed against her, it hits me all over again.
