Page 29 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“Everyone’s just talking shit about everyone this week,” she says quietly, as if to herself.

I immediately feel bad. I don’t want to shit-talk Caleb.

“Look,” I say quietly, “I think Caleb is awesome. He’s my best friend. But you’re my niece, and it wouldn’t be right to let you get your heart broken…even by him.”

“That’s quite a leap. You’re assuming I’d fall for him, that I’m looking for something serious.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that and do the exact opposite.”

“Sure, okay. Thanks for the warning.”

She sounds anything but grateful.

In fact, she abandons the coffee pot and returns to her room, and the door closes more forcefully than necessary.

I’d love to take the brat in hand and make her behave. But I’m not her dad or her daddy.

* * *

Evelyn

Damn Lincoln. I’m really starting to hate that guy.

I came to my dad’s to escape drama. And so far, I’ve been confronted with two one-night-stands (from the same night, but that’s neither here nor there), as well as my half-sister who fucked my now-ex-fiancé, and my mom who is supporting my sister.

Turns out, I haven’t escaped shit.

And now Lincoln is trying to dictate what I do with his friend? Um, nope.

If he hadn’t left for work, I’d be giving him a piece of my mind right now. As it is, I have nowhere to channel my aggression. No, I’m not going to sit at home and drink like I wanted to yesterday. One of the guys put away all the bottles of liquor, and they’re neatly lined up in the cabinet once more.

I spend all day by the pool, swimming and reading. My muscles are pleasantly sore from dancing last night, and stretching them by doing laps back and forth feels amazing.

The guys come home late—so late, I think they must have gone out. Probably to Vice. I wonder if they hooked up with someone like they did with me. The thought has me burning inside and out. I know I don’t have any claim on them, but the idea of them doing those very, very hot things with someone else after doing them with me absolutely incinerates my heart.

Then they’re up early and out of the house before I wake up the next morning. Are they avoiding me? Did I make a fool out of myself by dancing with Caleb on Wednesday night?

Not gonna lie, it kind of hurts. They’re out there, living their lives and having fun, probably fucking around because let’s face it, what woman could say no to whatever they propose? I certainly couldn’t.

I want to be miserable and wallow. But I did promise my dad that I’d reach out to some old friends. I follow a few of them on PhotoGram, and it looks like Maya, Nico, and Sawyer might still be in town. I send out a group DM, asking if they’re free tomorrow night.

For some reason, contacting them feels like taking a step back in my life, but it’s not like they’ve remained stuck at age eighteen. They’ve all grown up, just like I have.

Maya and Sawyer write back saying they’re free, so we make plans to meet at The Dive, which is a bar that lives up to its name. I’m surprised at their choice because we used to always make fun of that place when we were teenagers, but hey, why not.

So Friday night finds my ride pulling up to The Dive. It’s on the outskirts of town and looks exactly the same as it did when I was eighteen and driving past, wondering about the people who came here.

There are only a couple of cars in the lot, which is also just like when I was a teenager. I walk inside, hoping my jeans and low-cut t-shirt don’t stand out too much. From the outside, this looks like the kind of place you’d wear plaid, flannel shirts over white tanks with jeans and work boots.

The place is nearly empty. I see a bartender and a guy who works construction, if the tool belt on the stool next to him is any indication. Neither of them glances at me as I walk in, but my two friends are sitting at a table by the wall and waving madly at me. They both get up before I reach the table and pull me into giant, squeezing hugs.

“Evelyn!”

I laugh, cheered by their obvious enthusiasm. Once we sit down, I look at them, searching for differences, but despite looking less like teenagers and more like adults, they’re about the same. Sawyer wears her curly, blond hair down, the rings springy and perfect. Maya’s dark hair is up in a messy bun. They’re both in t-shirts, like me, looking comfortable and happy.

“Shots to celebrate our reunion?” Maya asks.

“Yes, please,” I say. “First round’s on me. Preferences?”

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