Page 22 of Fighter Daddy's Girl

He licks his lips nervously and then glances around the restaurant, searching for a way out. This guy isn’t a fighter. He looks more like a guy who’s spent his life finding new and creative ways to avoid confrontation.

“Huh?” I ask again. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Professor Bryson,” he stammers. “I’m Grace’s teacher.”

“You’re her teacher?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Then why the fuck are you putting your hands on her?”

“What? I didn’t?—”

I take a step closer, looming over the man. He stumbles back a step, bumping into the table behind him. He looks even more scared than Grace did.

“I saw you put your hands on her, so don’t try to tell me I didn’t. Don’t fucking lie to me,” I snarl. “So, let me make this perfectly clear, if you ever put your hands on her again—shit, if you ever make her feel uncomfortable again—I will rip your goddamn arms off and beat you bloody with them. Is that in any way unclear?”

“N-no. I understand.”

“Good. Now, get the fuck out of here.”

He bumps into the table again, this time nearly knocking over their drinks. The couple manage to keep their glasses from falling and cast a dirty look at Bryson and then at me. I flash them a crooked grin and watch as the professor scurries out the door.

I turn to Grace and ask, “Are you okay?”

She nods. “Yeah. I’m good. Like I said before, a girl can get used to having a bodyguard.”

I look around the restaurant to find that everybody’s staring at us. Our waitress walks over to us, an apologetic look on her face. She doesn’t need to tell me that it’s time for us to go. I give her enough money for the bill and a healthy tip before reaching out for Grace’s hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

“Good idea.”

11

GRACE

“So, let me get this straight, he’s been creeping on you all semester?”

I nod. “Yeah. He just stares at me in class or shows up when I’m in the student union. He asks all these inappropriate questions and wants me to come by after office hours when it’s just going to be us. It’s … it’s creepy.”

“Have you ever gone to his boss about this? I mean, what he’s doing is totally inappropriate,” he says. “And you’re probably not the only one he’s doing that to.”

“I just haven’t wanted to cause any trouble. I mean, he’s in charge of my grades, and I can’t afford to damage my GPA,” I tell him. “I figured I’d just keep putting him off and get through the semester then maybe say something.”

He frowns but nods. “Yeah. I get it.”

We’re sitting on the sofa in Griffin’s loft. It’s a large, industrial-type space made of distressed red brick with exposed pipes overhead and a row of cantilever windows along one wall. He’sgot a space with body bags and weights to work out, the living room area we’re in now, a large granite island and behind that, a galley-style kitchen, and his sleeping area behind a silk screen. It’s a nice place, and even more surprising to me, it’s immaculate. He keeps a really nice house. Almost obsessively so. It’s just one more thing on the list of Griffin’s surprising traits.

“Anyway, thanks for running him off,” I say. “I have a feeling he’s not going to bother me again after that.”

“You never know. Creeps like him can be persistent,” he replies. “Just make sure you keep your eyes open when you’re around that guy.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good girl.”

A mischievous grin on my lips, I hike up my skirt and climb into Griffin’s lap, straddling him as I lean down and kiss him. His tongue is soft and still tastes like the wine he had with dinner. Griffin’s hands are rough as they cup my ass, squeezing it as he kisses me with a passion that nearly steals my breath. I feel his cock growing stiff against my center, and I writhe against it, rubbing my clit against him. Griffin swallows my shuddering moan as I tease myself.

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