Page 8 of DILF

I huff and shut up and continue to stew. Lars had been nice. Cute. Available. It had been a long—long—time since I’d had sex, and I was really looking forward to hooking up with Lars. Now that I’m in college, I don’t want to be the awkward girl with very limited experience. I need to have done it at least two times. At least! My one single encounter was just sad. But now, those plans are blown to shit. My hymen is probably still in the process of growing back right now this very moment.

We arrive at what I assume is the date’s house when he parks his truck “Stay,” he growls at me as he opens the door and slams it shut.

“I’m not a dog,” I mumble and make a face as he walks around and opens the door for the woman who has completely ignored me the entire time. He helps her out of the truck, glaring at me one last time as he slams the door shut. I pull out my phone and send Lars an apology text. Then, I send Charlie a text asking if she’s okay. I know seeing her dad with another woman, even though he’s entitled to date now that he’s single, was a hard pill to swallow.

No, she texts back immediately. I’m not alright. I’m grossed out and mad and embarrassed, and also, I want to throw up.

I’m sorry you’re that upset Charlie.

The throw up is because of the beer and tequila.

I chuckle. Well, we’re on our way. Your caveman father is driving me. So, if you’re at your house with Randy, be warned.

He dragged you out too?

Yes. And threatened to tell my parents. Who, by the way, won’t care since we had Randy driving. But still…it’s so assholeish of him.

Ughh! What has gotten into him? she texts, just as I see the lights to the front porch of the woman’s house light up. I put away my phone and squint toward the couple. Is he going to kiss her? Why do I care? She puts a long red-nailed hand on his chest, a clear invitation if I ever saw one. With the other, she plays with her hair. She moves in closer, and this is it. I’m going to see Mr. Edwards, the man I’ve known all my life, kiss another woman. One who is not Mrs. Edwards. A surge of jealousy rages in my body and I want to jump out of the car and stop them.

Instead, I’m surprised as he takes her hand off of him, kisses the top, and lets it go. As he does this, I reach over and honk the horn in an annoying way that causes his date to startle and also probably wakes up half the neighborhood. He looks over at me, and I can see him glaring. He says something to his date that I can’t hear and she goes into her house, seemingly upset. As he stalks back to the truck, I quickly divert my head and start playing with a loose string from the hem of my skirt.

Shit, I should’ve unbuckled and slid to the other end of the bench. But now that he’s back in, unbuckling and moving over seems odd. As if I’m uncomfortable sitting next to him.

Which I am.

And I’m not.

“You didn’t have to honk. I wasn’t going to kiss her.”

Is that what he thought? Arrogant asshole. “I don’t give a crap if you kissed her or not. I just want to get home already.”

He looks at me suspiciously, but I keep looking forward, my arms crossed over my chest.

We drive in silence, until it’s deafening, and I have to break it. “Why did you make me leave?”

He doesn’t answer.

“My parents trust me, and we had a DD. They wouldn’t have cared.”

He still doesn’t answer. “I’m not drunk, you know. And you have to start giving Charlie’s leash a little slack. She’s going to go crazy and do something stupid if you don’t.”

Still, nothing. As we drive, my anger starts to subside as I think of Mr. Edwards raising his daughter as a single parent, even though she’s an adult and doesn’t need him in that way—and how he doesn’t have a clue how to handle her now. But he’s trying his best, so I soften my tone a little.

“Was that your first date? Since the divorce, I mean?” I ask, my voice a little calmer. When he still doesn’t answer I nudge him with my knee then put my hand on his thigh. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” I ask incredulously.

We’re stopped at a light, and his eyes drift down to where my hand is on his leg. Again, I see that tick in his jaw and his nose flare. I go to pull my hand away, but he grabs it and places it roughly back on his thigh, this time higher up, practically in his lap.

And with that one gesture, we’ve crossed the line.

This is not just about my best friend’s father trying to save me from a drunk night of bad decisions.

This is about my best friend’s father being the bad decision.

This is about a man who is conflicted. He’s not mad at me. Well, maybe he is. But really, he finds me attractive, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Otherwise, why would he want my hand on him?

“Mr. Edwards?” He is looking forward; his jaw is clenched so tight I’m afraid he’s going to break a tooth. Shit, I’m right. I can see the outline of his hard cock through his jeans. I swallow nervously, but I continue to rile him up because—damn, I’m still mad, and there’s something so erotic about the way he’s fighting the attraction. “Did I mess up your night? You were going to fuck her, weren’t you?” His eyes widen, and he turns his head to look at me.

“Would that have been your first?” I ask, bravely. “Since your divorce?” This is way out of line, but I just continue yapping. “I was. Going to fuck Lars, I mean.”

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