Page 23 of Wrapped in Hope
He laughs. “I think you and I both know that my wife would have my balls if I brought home a motorcycle.”
Our conversation comes to a halt after our laughing dies down. I lift my beer and take a drink. When I pull the bottle away from my lips, my eyes land on Hope climbing out of the pool.
She’s wearing a red, two-piece, string bikini that clings to her hard body like a second skin. Her nipples poke against the thin material making my eyes grow in size. I can’t help but to look her up and down as she walks toward me: her tits that look round and perky as they bounce with her every step, her flat but toned stomach, and then to her hips where she adjusts the stings on her bottoms. She’s grown up since last summer. She had always been rail thin and flat as a board, now she has the perfect hourglass figure. She looks like a full grown woman, not the seventeen-year-old girl she is.
I feel myself harden just from looking at her. I take a long drink of my beer while thinking of baseball and motorcycles, but even that doesn’t work.
She walks past me, into the house, and I have to restrain myself from checking out her ass as she passes. God, what I wouldn’t give to dip inside that tight pu— No, I can’t let myself go there.
“Hey, Dad,” Dean says, following behind his girlfriend that looks far more adult than she should.
I nod at him as he passes, hoping and praying he didn’t notice me admiring his girlfriend. I’m angry with myself for even checking her out, but fuck. She doesn’t look like a girl her age should.
* * *
She sits as far awayfrom me as she can, and I’m thankful. “About last night…” I start.
“What about it? I don’t even remember what happened. I must have drunk more than I thought.” Her eyes are wide like she’s trying hard to pull off the lie.
I don’t buy it for a second. “Look, I just wanted to say that there is no need to be freaked out by what happened. It was an honest mistake. No hard feelings.” I’m lying to myself more than her. She’s young and she was drunk. These things happen. It wasn’t anything but a mistake for her. She doesn’t know she’s planted a seed inside of me that’s growing at an alarming rate, begging me to take what I want from her.
She offers up an embarrassed smile. “Thanks.”
With that out of the way, I lean back in my seat, trying to make her understand that we can be friends, even with the confusion I’m feeling toward her. I can look at her and see how badly she needs a friend. “Are you going to tell people your story today?”
Her head pops back up to look at me. “No! I told you, I’m never talking about that in here.”
Fuck. She needs to let this go. I completely understand the hurt she’s going through, but it’s not healthy to hold onto something like this. “What if it’s just you and me? I already know the story, but maybe it will help just saying the words.”
“Just you and me?” she asks with a raise of her brow.
I nod.
“But not here. I don’t want anyone to overhear,” she says with her chocolate brown eyes as wide as they will stretch.
I shrug. “Wherever you’re comfortable.”
“My place?” her voice is soft now, almost a whisper like she’s afraid I will deny her.
I really don’t need to be with her alone in her apartment, but I know she’s not attracted to me. Last night was just a drunken mistake. But can I trust myself? If she doesn’t kiss me again or give me permission to touch her, I won’t. I can keep my hands to myself. My mind though, that’s a different story.
“If that’s what you want,” I reply.
“Okay.” She nods. “I’ll buy the vodka.”
I sit up quickly. “No! No vodka. We don’t need another repeat of last night. We need to stay sober, feel our emotions, understand them so we can begin to heal. Ignoring this, or numbing it with alcohol won’t heal anything. It’s just a bandaid.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes as a puff of air leaves her mouth. “See you at my place?” She stands, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I’ll be there as soon as this meeting is over,” I promise her.