Page 54 of The Daddy’s Girl

Amelia, the woman.

Amelia, the woman…I want.

The more my brain processes this desire, the less shocked and disgusted the reflex is. As if I am becoming desensitized to my own shame.

These are desires I will never act on, and just knowing the want is there is still unsettling. But with time, I’ll eventually accept it.

How can I help it? She is perfect and beautiful in every way. What man wouldn’t yearn for her?

She takes another cookie from my hand and rests her head on my shoulder as she chews.

“So,” she mumbles with her mouth full. “What did you think of him?”

I swallow, the sudden discomfort in my throat a sign that I don’t like talking about other men with her.

Without a choice, I reply, “He seemed…nice.”

She chuckles. “You don’t like him.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like him.”

“Yes, it does,” she says with a sigh.

Why? Why does it matter if I like him? I want to ask, but I don’t. Because I’m afraid the answer is that I am like a father figure to Amelia. A truth I can ignore all I want but it doesn’t make it less true.

“I know he’s a little…strange, but so am I,” she says.

“You are not strange.”

“I’m different,” she argues.

“Everyone is different, Trouble.”

“You know what I mean.” Her voice sounds despondent and frustrated, and I hate that she has to feel this way. I do know what Amelia means. I will never know what it’s like to live in her mind, so how could I make her see that she is no less normal than anyone else?

“Being different is not strange,” I whisper. Then I turn my head and place my lips against her soft blond hair.

It’s quiet for a moment as we both finish our midnight sugar fix. She finally adds, “I do like him.”

Those four words feel like stones being hurled at my chest. They land with a violent thud against my heart.

“I’m glad you like him,” I lie.

“I think he wanted to kiss me good night, and I feel bad that we didn’t.”

“Don’t feel bad. It doesn’t matter what he wants.”

This makes her chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

She lifts her head and stares up at me with those vibrant blue eyes that seem to shine even in darkness. “Do you try to be perfect, or does it just come natural to you?”

My brows shoot upward. “Me? Perfect?”

“Yes, you,” she replies, shoving me playfully on the shoulder. “You always say the right thing. You’re never selfish or inconsiderate. You would quite literally be the best boyfriend on the planet and yet…you’re never anyone’s boyfriend. Least of all mine.”

My lips part, and I stare down at her without a single smart thing to say. I have never seen myself in that light. I am selfish and inconsiderate. And I don’t always say the right thing.