Page 7 of One Week With My Dad's Best Friend

She laughs. “Of course there is. Now start by telling me how he looked at you? Did his hand linger anywhere on your body for longer than necessary? Did he look at you weirdly?”

“Ugh! He showed me my room, made me dinner, and it was more awkward than I expected. So, I’m going to pretend I’m not living in his house for a week. He looks at me like he’s still embarrassed that I tried to kiss him at the wedding.”

“He would never kiss you in front of all those guests. Just turn on the charm while you’re living with him, and he’ll be eating out of your hand in no time at all.”

“Do you think?” I ask, hopeful.

“Yeah, of course. Just don’t be making it too obvious. Make him see you. Drive him so insane he can’t stop thinking about you.”

I yawn. “It’s not worked up to now.”

“Are you sure nothing happened last night? You sound like you were up all night.”

That was only because I struggled to get to sleep in the strange bed, tossing and turning all night at knowing Anton was in the bedroom next door—his big warm bed.

I listened to his every movement as he moved around his room in the night. It is as though the man is an insomniac.

Which now means I’m going to struggle with sleep this week, but since I found out I was going to stay with him, my stomach has been doing flips. So nothing is new there.

“Nothing happened,” I whisper into the phone, pulling the covers up to my chin. The silk of my pajamas slides against my skin, reminding me of Anton’s sharp intake of breath when I emerged from the bathroom last night.

“You’re lying. I can hear it in your voice.”

I bite my lower lip, suppressing a smile. Maybe I'm wrong. His eyes darkened when they landed on my bare legs, and for a brief moment, something electric passed between us. And the way his fingers had gripped his glass during dinner, his knuckles white.

Maybe I didn’t imagine any of it but I daren't say it out loud. “Seriously, Hetty. We had dinner and went to bed. That’s all.”

“In separate rooms?”

“Of course, in separate rooms.” I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “He’s Dad’s best friend.”

“Which makes him even hotter.”

“You’re impossible.” I shift in bed, the silk rustling against the sheets. The memory of Anton’s stare follows me. How his gaze had lingered a second too long, how he’d cleared his throat and turned away.

“Come on, give me something,” Hetty pleads.

“There’s nothing to give.” But my free hand traces the hem of my pajama top, remembering how his eyes had followed the same path. The heat in his stare had been unmistakable, despite his attempt to hide it.

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Hetty yawns. “But you owe me details later.”

“Later?”

“Remember, we’re going out for drinks. You’re staying at mine.”

“I can’t tonight.” I pull at a loose thread on the hem of my shorts. “I promised Anton I’d help him with some case files.” The lie comes too easy.

“Liar. He doesn’t need your help.” Hetty’s laugh crackles through the phone. “You’re definitely hiding something.”

“I’m not,” I insist.

“Then you can come out. You need a night out. I need a night out. When’s the last time you had fun?”

I glance at Anton’s to the closed door. Last night’s dinner flashes through my mind. The way he’d leaned forward when I spoke, his fingers brushing mine as he passed the salt.

“I have lots of fun,” I argue.

“Studying law books isn’t fun. Garrett and Kyle will be there. You remember Garrett from Sarah’s party?”

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