Page 2 of DILF

Luckily, Charlotte is looking down at her phone and doesn’t notice my shock. Also, I thank God I’m wearing mirrored glasses—they obscure the fact that I’m totally checking out my best friend’s father. He looks so different than the last time I saw him. He used to have a perpetually scruffy face, but now he’s grown out a full beard. It’s more salt than pepper, but he can definitely pull it off. He must have put on twenty pounds of muscle and is sporting a shit-ton of tattoos on his arms. One time, years ago, I remember Charlotte inviting me to her house for a barbecue. Her father had been wearing a t-shirt as he manned the grill, and I’d noticed that he’d had a lot of tattoos then. It had surprised the shit out of me, since he was always wearing suits and seemed so straight-laced. Professional businessmen did not go around with full sleeves. Apparently, Mr. Edwards was the exception. But now there were more, his arms inked to his knuckles.

He was always intimidating. The one dad you were more polite with than you were with your own parents. Always a serious man, he rarely smiled and hardly spoke. At least that’s what I’d always thought. But then again, he had all the cool tats and a kickass Harley Fat Boy hidden in his garage, something that, according to Charlotte, Ms. Edwards detested. Also, he never ever missed any of Charlie’s tennis matches or a parent-teacher conferences, which was one of the reasons my parents liked him so much. They were not tattoos -and -motorcycle kind of people, like Lily’s father was, but they loved him anyway.

He always pulled our garbage to the curb when my father forgot, or mowed our lawn if he was mowing his. My dad was the same way—minus the tattoos and biker badassery. So, my parents saw that under all the ink was the quiet, sometimes broody, Mr. Edwards. But that was then. Now, any softness he had is gone, replaced by a wall of muscles. He is a fucking bear of a man. The more I stare the faster my heart beats. He has this wide, confident gait when he walks, the loose-fitting jeans screaming: I am who I am, and I don’t give a shit what other people think. Yet, he looks fucking fantastic, so of course he doesn’t give a shit. God, the man oozes sex and a little bit of danger, and I can’t stop staring.

I clear my throat. “Mr. Edwards.” I try to smile, but he looks so serious. He always does, but more so today.

He sidesteps me and walks directly to my car, giving me an unobstructed view of his ass.

Has his ass always looked so good? The black tee he’s wearing is tight around the arms and shoulders. Jesus, what the hell has the man been doing for the last three months? “Keys,” he grunts and holds out his palm. I toss them in his hand and avert my eyes. The last thing I need is for Charlie or Mr. Edwards to catch on to my sudden attraction. Suddenly, the sun feels like it’s scorching my skin, yet I erupt in goose bumps. I shake my head and turn my attention to Charlie.

While Mr. Edwards does his thing and changes my tire, Charlie and I sit on the bed of his truck and catch up. She tells me how her mother moved out and how her father seems happier (even though there’s nothing about the man that screams happy). Because her mother’s job was to spend money, not earn it, Mr. Edwards was always working. Now Char says he is dedicating more time to fixing up old bikes, something he’d always loved to do.

As Lily talks, my eyes wander to Mr. Edwards, even though I’m trying not to look. He lifts his shirt and uses the bottom to swipe sweat off his forehead. And damn, he has abs. I thought that they were reserved for models under thirty, but, boy, was I wrong. He’s also hairy. Not in a gross sort of way, but in a manly-man way. I’ve only ever been with guys my age and, for the most part, they’re not at all hairy, and if they are, they wax. It’s just the cool thing to do. Work out, wax, and take selfies. I bet you my right boob that Mr. Edwards has never taken a selfie in his life. And the hair across his chest and arrowing down his abs makes my stomach clench.

“…oh and guess what?” Here’s the thing with Charlie: she gets excited. About everything. It’s part of the drama thing I was talking about.

“What?”

“Randy invited me to go with him and his family to the Hamptons for the weekend.” She claps in excitement. “My dad’s having a conniption, but I’m a grown woman. I can go with my boyfriend and he shouldn’t get a say, right?”

Charlie doesn’t work, she goes to school full-time, her father pays for her car (which she just got, BTW), and she lives at home. I’d say he is entitled to some say, but I don’t voice this. “Yeah, you’re a grown-ass woman. When do you leave?”

“Next weekend. I’m so excited, Lily! You gotta help me pack. His parents are super conservative and I want to make a good impression.”

“They’ll love you, Charlie.” And it’s true—she’s the girl all parents would want their son to date. She’s beautiful and wholesome, sweet and proper, and always says the right thing. Basically, my opposite. She takes after her mother in that regard. Her parents were an odd couple, come to think of it.

“All done,” Mr. Edwards says, tossing my flat tire into the bed of his truck.

“Shouldn’t you put it in my trunk so I can go get it fixed?”

“It’s stripped. No fixing this,” he says, seemingly mad. All he’s done is bark short sentences at me. It’s not as if we’ve ever sat down and had a conversation, but he was always cordial. Lily, would you like chocolate milk? Lily, please thank your mother for the apple pie. Lily, did you have a nice time at the zoo?

“Let’s go, Charlie. Lily, back in the car,” he snaps. “Straight home. That’s a shit spare.”

“Uhh…Yeah, okay. I’m sorry to have dragged you all the way here.” I fidget with the lose string on the bottom of my shorts. “But thank you so much.” I turn and practically sprint to my car.

“Daddy! What the heck—” I hear Charlie begin to reprimand her father for being a dick—even though she’d never call him a dick. As I close the door and am putting on my seatbelt a tap on my window startles me.

It’s Mr. Edwards, so I open my window. “Don’t ever wanna see you sittin’ on the hood of your car, in the middle of the street, dressed like that. Thought you were smarter than that, little girl,” he says and turns and walks away. For a split second, I thought he was coming to apologize. Boy, was I wrong. And why had I never noticed his green eyes before? Or the fact that Mr. Edwards is an asshole? Or the fact that when he gets close to me my nipples get so fucking hard it feels as if they can cut right through my t-shirt?

I start my car, and all the way home I think about how Mr. Edwards is a sexy-as-fuck asshole.

2

LINC

“What’s wrong with you, Dad?” Charlie asks, and I loosen the tight grip I have on the steering wheel.

“Nothing, honey. Just tired.” I lie because I can’t possibly tell her the truth. The truth is that I’m so fucking horny it hurts. Driving up and seeing Lily’s tight little body on display by the side of the road threw me for a loop. I’ve seen my daughter’s best friend a million times. I’ve known her since she was practically in diapers. I may not have been around a lot, since I was always working, but I definitely watched her grow up. The response I’m having towards her makes me feel disgusting. Like a dirty old man.

And, to top it off, I must be going crazy, because every time I turned around, I could’ve sworn she was looking at me, checking me out. I couldn’t exactly tell because of the glasses she wore, but her head was definitely turned my way. And those fucking lips, those thick, cherry lips that she kept licking, or the way she continued to pull on the loose strings on the ratty shorts, Jesus Christ, that girl had sex written all over her, and it had my dick hardening to inappropriate levels. I am, after all, just a man. Even now I can’t stop thinking about her black hair and pale skin, those toned legs, from years of being on the track team, and that flat stomach—fuck, I’m a fucking pervert.

“…and Randy said we’d be back Monday morning. His entire family—” God, I love my daughter more than any person in the world but, damn, she could talk.

“Are we still talking about the Hamptons? I already said no.”

“Daddy!” she screeches. “I’m eighteen. I’m a grown woman. I am not asking for permission.”

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