Page 48 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

She shrugs. “Was that a trick question?”

I suppose it’s not.

“I wasn’t expecting that from you because…”

“Why? Because of who my father is?” she cuts me off, laughing. “I’m tired of everyone thinking that just because my father is a police officer, I’m some goodie two shoes that doesn’t know how to have fun.”

I frown. I’m slightly taken aback. I know she just had her mother’s funeral, so I’m not sure about giving her whiskey. Mixing alcohol with sadness always ends badly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

I run my fingers through my hair and grip the back of my neck. “I would have offered you some if…”

“If I didn’t basically call you an alcoholic? I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what’s come over me.” She looks down at the floor, twirling her fingers together.

I nod, moving toward the cabinets, and use my palms to pull my weight up so I’m standing on top of them. I grab the open bottle and hop off the counter like I’ve done a thousand times there.

I fill two glasses halfway and pass one to Summer. Her fingers brush against mine, sending a shock of warmth through my fingertips. I’d give anything to feel those soft, delicate hands run across my bare skin. I’m forced to shake my body slightly, making it look like a quick shiver from the cool air flowing through my apartment. Except, it was only to relax the pulse in my dick.

I take a sip of whiskey. The harsh taste stinging my tongue and burning my throat on the way down leaves me with satisfaction.

She does the same, except she scrunches her face as she swallows. “Sorry, I don’t usually drink this.”

I tilt my head. “You’ve got to stop apologizing to me, Sunshine.”

Her eyes met mine, and for a small second, I could have sworn my soul left my body. Her tongue darts out, running along her bottom lip. My eyes follow the movement, admiring the way she wets her mouth.

“Would you like a tour?” She nods, and I nudge my head for her to follow me into the living room. “There’s not much, but here we have another plain room with nothing but a television, speakers, and one of many guitars.”

She giggles, and my god, what I’d give to hear that sound over and over again. I think I might have a new favorite sound.

“Bathroom is there.” I point to the door on the right. “Make yourself at home.”

I step aside, allowing her to roam around so she feels more comfortable. She does, starting with the tan leather couch in the center of the room, running her fingers along one of the matching end tables. Then, toward the television. I can’t help but notice she keeps making short glances at my guitar that sits neatly on a small podium close to my bedroom door.

Placing my glass on the end table closest to me, I sit on the sofa and rest my elbows on my knees, admiring Summer as she walks up to my guitar. Her free hand reaches up, brushing her fingers gently over the strings. A low melody follows as her fingers sweep each string.

“That’s the guitar I used to sing Callie to sleep every night.” The very reason I don’t let that one leave the walls of this apartment.

Summer turns her head to me with a sad smile. Her dimples crease in the middle of her cheeks. “I think it’s beautiful that you put so much effort into making sure she was alright.”

With a smirk, I watch Summer turn her head back to the guitar, bringing her glass to her mouth. I watch the roll of her throat as she swallows the liquid. She makes the same scrunched face she did in the kitchen, and I smile.

“You know,” she walks toward me, “I’m getting you some art for these walls. They are too bare.” She points around the room.

I huff, grabbing my glass and swishing it around before bringing it back to my mouth. “Here’s the deal. You can fill my walls with whatever you please, but only if I can see your bra.” I’m playing with fire.

Her lips purse and she places her hand on her hip. I stare at her intently, waiting to see what fire she spits out. The best part is I’m not joking.

“That’s pretty bold of you, don’t you think?” She plops down beside me. “So, Alec Sokolov. Are you going to put a shirt on or teach me to pluck some strings shirtless?”

I think about that question for a second before shrugging. “I mean, you can take yours off, too. I don’t mind.”

She shifts on the couch, positioning her leg on the cushions. “You’re cute, but not that cute.” Her nose scrunches in a teasing gesture.

My lips curl downward in an upside-down smile. “Just for that, maybe I’ll take my pants off, too.”

Her mouth parts and her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. I smile, proud that I caught her off guard. Those flushed cheeks of hers don’t go unnoticed. I enjoy the color.

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