Disappointment stabbed at her, but only for a moment before her scramble brain caught up.
He meantshewas the hot date?
No.
Yes.
Fuck.
Longest. Summer. Ever.
Swallowing hard against the sudden, inexplicable tightness in her throat, she managed to force herself to answer. “Peach pork chops. I was about to make some mashed potatoes to go with them. Well, as soon as I have a shower.”
Dylan groaned, and she had the errant thought that it must be what he sounded like when he?—
Nope. None of that. Stop it, you creep. He’s achild.
“Sounds amazing.” Dylan shook the duffel bag he’d slung over one shoulder. In his other hand was a large, battered suitcase that had certainly seen better days and she made a mental note to swap it out for a new one when he wasn’t looking. “I’ll go stash my stuff and come help you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, you’re a guest.”
One of his eyebrows raised, and for a moment she worried her knees wouldn’t hold her up under the weight of his pointed stare. “For the next few months, I’m not a guest, I’m your housemate. Which means I’ll pull my weight. Understood?”
Yes, Daddy.Oh, god. Where had that come from? The last thing she needed was to start thinking of a boy nearly half her agethatway. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. Go get your shower and I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a bit.”
Rebellion welled up inside of her, and she just barely stopped herself from doing something childish like sticking her tongue out at him. He wasn’t her Daddy, and being a brat to someone who didn’t have the authority to punish her for it crossed over the line from brat to bitch, as far as she was concerned.
“If you insist,” she said instead, though she did allow herself an eyeroll when she turned away to head to her bedroom.
Maybe she’d let her showerhead get a quick little workout before dinner, to take the edge off the pulsing ache between her thighs that his bossy ways had inspired.
A long fucking summer, indeed.
Dylan
She’d obviously forgotten about the small mirror hanging in her entryway when she’d rolled her eyes at him. Not that he minded. It just made his palm itch more than it usually did around Samantha Fleming.
Feeling rather pleased with the situation so far, he hefted his duffel bag up further onto his shoulder and headed for the back bedroom with his suitcase rolling behind him.
The door to the other bedroom, the one where she kept all of her Little things, was closed but he paused to jiggle the handle.
Locked, as it normally was. Except for that one time. One moment that had completely changed how he saw his best friend’s mother.
Ah, well. She’d be opening it for him soon enough. Little girls didn’t get to keep secrets from their Daddies. And other than hiswork at ATLantis Biomed, the only goal he had for this summer was to finally make Sam his Little girl. For good.
Abandoning the door, he headed for Ethan’s room, where he’d be staying for the summer. His friend’s personality was stamped all over the place, from the Star Trek collectibles on every available surface to the corkboard full of Johns Hopkins memorabilia to the shelves and shelves of trophies and awards from various science fairs and other academic victories over the years.
It was a stark difference from his own room growing up, but he and Ethan had ended up in the same place anyway. A fact he was pretty fucking proud of, and one he reminded himself of whenever he found himself feeling a bit resentful of the charmed life his best friend had led. Especially because he knew better than most how even that seemingly perfect life had held its share of hurts and sorrows. Both for Ethan and his mother.
Pushing aside the brooding thoughts, he took his time unpacking his bags, figuring he had at least half an hour before Sam would be ready to work on dinner. She’d told him to use her first name from the first time they’d met, but he still called her Mrs. Fleming when he wanted to fluster her. And flustering her had quickly become one of his favorite hobbies.
If she had the first clue how interested he was in her, she’d never so much as hinted at it. Though she blushed adorably whenever he flirted with her, and she returned his teasing often enough, he’d have wagered the degree he’d fought tooth and nail to earn she had no clue what his intentions were. Or that he’d taken the internship in Atlanta for the specific purpose of having her all to himself for the summer.
By the time he had everything put away and made his way back to the kitchen, she was already there, sitting at her kitchen table, hard at work peeling potatoes. Her hair was wet, her skinstill pink and dewy from her shower. And as it often did, his heart tripped in his chest at the sight of her.
If she’d been his, he would have plucked both the peeler and the potato from her hands before explaining how naughty it was not to wait for her Daddy to help her. And then he would have bent her over the table and warmed her bottom with one of the many implements a kitchen naturally provided.
