Page 12 of My Dad's Best Friend

Conner opens my door for me to get out of the car, to enter the restaurant, and practically growls at the greeter who shows us to our table and offers to pull my chair out for me. Instead, Conner moves him out of the way, seats me, turns to the waiter and orders half a dozen oysters on ice.

“This place is amazing,” I say.

“I thought you’d like it,” he says, taking the seat next to me rather than across from me. Together we face the restaurant filled with clinking silverware on plates and and smiling faces.

“I’ve never had oysters before,” I admit, not knowing what to say.

“They’re delicious, and nourishing. You’ll need your strength.”

His voice is low and he’s so close as he says it, I think he’s going to kiss me. I feel his hand slide onto my leg under the table cloth and move inward. My heart is pounding in my ears and my knees involuntarily spread under the table.

“Eager,” he says.

I blush. “You do things to me.”

“Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.” His hand moves up my dress and runs along my lips over my underwear. “Wet for me already.”

“You have no idea,” I say, instantly wishing I could suck back in those words. They’re so bold, and not like me.

He smiles before taking his hand back, and I hold back a moan of disappointment. I know I’m in a restaurant full of people, but I want nothing more than for him to continue touching me. It’s deliciously naughty, though I’m sure I’d be mortified if he did continue feeling me up.

“So you’ve just finished your second year of college?” he asks.

I blink. What a normal thing to ask. “Yeah,” I say, wondering briefly if I’ve imagined everything—making out with Conner by the tree, him going down on me earlier, his finger toying with my most intimate place.

“What’s your degree?”

“English,” I say, reaching for my glass of water. “I don’t really know what to do with it. I just know I need to go for something.”

“Why are you in college then?” He asks.

I shrug. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I’ve been told my whole life that grades and school are important, and now I’m in the most important part of my education and I have no idea what I want to do with it. I thought I’d figure it out while I was in college, but I’m halfway through and I haven’t.”

“You know there’s no rush, right?” Conner says. “You don’t have to get a degree just because society says you do. Take some time. Live life.”

He winks at me as he gives me his advice. I definitely did not imagine today. Everything happened and oh god, do I want more to happen. I wonder if what I’m doing right now is living life, and if this is what he means. I have a feeling that if this is a date, and if he does fuck me the way I so desperately want him to, I’m never going to want to go back again.

The oysters arrive and Conner proceeds to order both of our meals, pairing them both with non-alcoholic drinks.

He shows me how to eat oysters off the shell, and to my surprise, they’re amazing. He wasn’t lying when he said they were delicious. We talk, and he tells me what I’ve heard time and time again, that oysters are an aphrodisiac.

“Or,” I say, “They’re a delicacy for the rich and it’s actually the money behind them that’s the aphrodisiac.”

“Are you saying it’s my money that turns you on?”

I blush. Oysters or not, money or not, I’m hotter for him than I ever knew I could be for anyone. I don’t even want dinner, I don’t want dessert. I just want to be spread across his bed and devoured.

I don’t say any of that. I can’t. I don’t know how to say the dirty things that come to mind with Conner, my father’s best friend, who’s twenty years older than me and whose voice alone could make me soak the chair under me.

Instead of voicing my naughty thoughts and desires, instead of telling him I want nothing more than for his hand to be between my legs again under the table, I blush throughout dinner. A lot. In fact, it’s towards the end of dinner that I realize my knees are wide apart, begging for him to notice. Thank god there’s a long-reaching tablecloth.

“I know you’re not old enough to drink yet,” he says as our server takes our plates, “but I want to raise a glass for a toast with you.”

There it is. I feel my cheeks going red at my age. Only time can fix that, or a fake ID.

“So, I took the liberty of booking us a room upstairs,” he says, closing the bill caddy after signing it. “There should be a bottle on ice for us, along with our dessert.”

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