Page 54 of Desperate Needs

But that was because no one was looking at them but me. Plus, there was that night, at junior prom, when I’d almost lost my virginity to Timmy MacFarlane just to deck the guy when he made fun of what he called my “grandma” panties.

The jerk.

My face burned. And maybe it was Timmy’s fault I was so self-conscious about my panties.

I sure as hell did not try that hard with Steve. But he was an all around asshole, and he didn’t deserve special treatment.

Connor, though. He was a different story. He seemed really into fashion, the way he was always put together so nicely.

Okay, nice wasn’t the right word, more like totally fucking hot. He was like punk rock meets millionaire gentleman meets badass head basher.

I knew the type. Hell, I was raised by one.

Connor Callahan was fire.

Being with him made my body buzz and my soul sing. So yeah, I was putting in a little effort into my underwear game.

So, what?

“Tell! Tell! TELL!” they chanted until they wore me out.

“Okay! Shhhh! My neighbors will complain,” I grumbled and sat on the couch, laundry basket on one side and Lucy on the other.

“Name?” she asked.

“Connor,” I said, biting my lower lip.

“Connor?” Andrea asked, then her eyes went wide. “You mean Connor Callahan who works with ODI!”

“Wait who?” Coral asked next.

“Holy fuck! He is hot!” Lucy said, already having googled the man.

She held her phone up and showed the picture to everyone.

“Where did you get that picture?” I asked, mouth watering at the sight of an unsmiling Connor in a black suit with a deep indigo shirt.

“His website. He owns Callahan Protection Group,” she said, looking at me like I was a moron.

“Oh, yeah,” I murmured, wondering if I did in fact know that. I was sure he mentioned it once.

But in all honesty, I had never bothered to look him up. Why would I when the real thing was so much better than finding out tidbits about his life secondhand?

“Wowza, sis! No capping, the man is hot! But he is kinda old, no?” Coral asked.

“Oh my God. He’s a little older than me,” I hedged and rolled my eyes.

“Try fifteen years,” Andrea said, eyebrows raised as she continued to google the man.

Shit.

“Oh my God! Do you call him Daddy like in Aunt Sofia’s books?” Andrea asked, snorting then pointing when she caught sight of me.

Before I could deny it, the rest of my sisters were giggling and jumping up and down, their fingers waving in my direction.

“She does! She calls him Daddy! Does he call you his ‘good girl’?”

“Shit yeah, he does!” Andrea snorted.

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