Page 24 of The Summer We Lie

But the moment his dark eyes land on me, they widen with unmistakable recognition. His jaw clenches, and something that looks like horror flashes across his face before he schools his expression.

"It's nice to meet you, Skye," he says smoothly, extending his hand like we've never met before.

I have no choice but to take it.

Chapter Eleven

Dominic

I turn around to meet my daughter's friend and—fuck me. It's Cherry from the Obsidian auction. The girl I haven't been able to get out of my head since dinner, her feistiness or her round ass. Fuck, don't think about her ass. Shit. My stomach drops like I'm in free fall, that peculiar sensation of gravity failing while reality shifts beneath my feet.

She smiles up at me brightly and I try to cover my reaction by fixing my face and sticking out my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Skye," I say because there is no way in fuck I can explain this to Harper. Besides the fact that she's her best friend, then I would have to tell her about the sex club and that my dumbass friends bid on a virgin in my name. Nope. No. Fuck no. Not happening. So we can just pretend we've never met. I just hope Cherry—err, fuck—Skye will go along with it until we can talk about this. My pulse is hammering so hard I'm surprised Harper can't hear it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson," she says, and her voice, her words calling me Mr. Grayson go straight to my cock. The innocence in her tone completely at odds with the knowing look in those green-gold eyes.

Down boy, I tell my dick. God, I'm so fucked. Beyond fucked. This is an architectural disaster with no structural integrity.

"Just call me Dom," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. The formality between us feels like a cruel joke now.

"Okay," she says with a smile still plastered on her face. It doesn't reach her eyes, which are wide with the same panic I'm feeling.

"We're starving," Harper says, completely oblivious to the silent catastrophe unfolding before her. "Do you think we can hit an In-N-Out on the way home? Skye's never tried it."

"Yeah, sure," I say and take the bags from Skye. My fingers brush against hers as I grab the handle, and I feel an electric current shoot up my arm. Dangerous. So fucking dangerous.

"I can get mine," she says, a slight tremor in her voice that probably only I notice.

"I got it," I say, and she hands her bag to me, careful not to let our hands touch again. Smart girl.

"Thanks," she says, and it's like being nice to me is killing her, which is kind of cute. Nope. Not cute. Annoying. Problematic. A fucking disaster wrapped in tiny shorts and a tank top that hugs her body in all the ways I shouldn't be noticing.

"I can take that one too," I say, gesturing to the smaller bag on her shoulder, desperate to appear normal, like a polite host rather than a man who's lusting after a nineteen year old like a creep.

"No, I got it," she says, clutching the bag tighter like it contains evidence.

"You ready for the best burgers?" Harper asks Skye, hooking her arm through her friend's.

"Yes, corrupt me," Skye says, and they walk in front of me arm in arm. My eyes drift down to her ass, but it's covered by a hoodie tied around her waist. It's for the best. Though my memory fills in the details all too vividly—round, perfect, the kind that would fit perfectly in my hands. Jesus Christ, Dominic, get a grip. This is your daughter's best friend.

"Where did you park?" Harper asks, pulling me out of the thoughts I definitely should not be having.

"Short-term lot," I answer, forcing myself to look at my daughter instead of her friend. "Not far." Just far enough to get my shit together, hopefully.

We head toward the exit, while I'm trying to process what's happening. This girl—this virgin I was supposed to fuck—is my daughter's best friend. The girl she's mentioned in stories for years. The one who apparently lives with her at college and is now going to be living in my house for the entire summer. Every step we take feels like walking deeper into quicksand.

I grip the luggage handles tighter, letting the strain in my muscles distract me from the tightness in my pants. This is a problem. A huge fucking problem. The kind of problem that destroys families and friendships. The kind that would make Harper look at me differently forever.

"Dad, I was telling Skye about your new project in the city," Harper says, glancing back at me with that familiar pride in her eyes. "The one with all the sustainable materials."

"Yeah," I mumble, barely registering her words. All I can focus on is the slight sway of Skye's hips as she walks ahead of me, the way her light brown hair catches the sun streaming through the airport windows. She looks so different than she did when we met, but somehow I prefer this—her natural, her casual clothes.

We exit the terminal into the California heat, and I watch as Skye closes her eyes for a moment, face turned up to the sun. She takes a deep breath, and her chest rises with it. I snap my eyes away, focusing instead on a family loading luggage into a minivan. Anything but her.

"It's so warm here," she says, her voice softer now. Almost vulnerable. Definitely dangerous.

"Wait until July," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. Strained with the effort of restraint.

We reach my truck, and load their bags into the back. As I lift Skye's duffle, our hands brush, and she pulls back like I've burned her. The brief contact sears into my skin, a reminder of how much trouble I'm in.