Page 2 of Texting Dad's Best Friend

The bathrooms here are single stalls, and I’m thankful for the privacy as I slam the door closed behind me and lock it. I yank my phone out of my pocket, half convinced that I’ve imagined the whole thing.

But no. The texts are still there.

I want you so bad.

Sent by none other than the girl who hasn’t left my mind in years. Rayna.

Worse, or better, than the message is the photos she sent with it.

Multiple photos, each one making my blood heat and my cock harden in my suit trousers. Photos of her in a scarlet red lingerie set that hugs her lush curves, with fine lace and straps that Iwant to tear off with my teeth. She’s posing in a mirror, her lips parted and cheeks flushed like she’s as desperate for this as I am.

All logic flies out the window, all thoughts of being sensible and responsible evaporate, impossible to even attempt to grab hold of.

I feel feral, a man going mad, desperate to claim her. I don’t give a fuck about right or wrong, can’t bring myself to care about the age difference or the fact that her father is my best friend. None of it matters, not now.

God save me, but there’s nothing that can keep me from her now.

2

RAYNA

The heavy beats of the music make the floor thump beneath my feet. People in varying stages of drunkenness sway and dance around me, and it takes me a few minutes to find my best friend, Serena, in the crowd. She’s making out with a guy I’ve never seen before as they dance together, and I can’t help but laugh to myself. Serena never has any issues finding someone to spend the night with, claiming she’s just living her twenties to the full. While I admire and respect her having fun, no amount of her trying to get me to have the same type of fun ever works.

I’m only twenty-three. I know I should be out meeting guys and having one-night stands and living it up like my friends are but, no matter how many men offer to buy me drinks or chat me up or ask for my number, I can’t bring myself to begin to want them. Even as I have that thought, I feel someone try to put their arms around my waist to dance with me and step to the side, shaking my head at the man who looks at me with a frown.

I sigh, tipsy and frustrated, pushing my way off the dance floor to the bar. I probably shouldn’t have any more to drink, but withSerena occupied and my own thoughts driving me crazy, I need something to take the edge off. I order another vodka coke and down it, cringing at the taste of the cheap alcohol. Even that does nothing to shove away the thoughts of the one man I do want. The one man I can’t have, the only man I’ve ever truly wanted.

Rhett is everything I can’t have. Twenty years older than me, a well-off professional who surely doesn’t want anything to do with a girl my age who’s just barely starting in her career. Oh yeah, and then there’s the teeny tiny problem of the fact that he’s my dad’s best friend.

But God, for years now, he’s all I want. I can’t even bring myself to kiss someone else, can’t bring myself to show interest in anyone else but him. God, I’m still a virgin because the thought of sleeping with someone else makes me cringe. He’s the only one I want, but with my luck, I’ll die a virgin before he ever notices me.

The club feels too loud and too crowded, and I stumble out the door, needing to leave. I text Serena—telling her I’m on my way home and to let me know when she gets home safe and having to concentrate very hard to type because the letters are dancing about—and order a taxi. My flat isn’t far away, and it takes no time at all before I stumble up my stairs and fight to unlock my front door. Thankfully, it clicks itself locked behind me as I fall inside, kicking off my heels and groaning.

I don’t want to be alone, and tears sting my eyes as I picture having Rhett here with me. His fancy suits would look so good on my bedroom floor, and if the outline of muscles I get glimpses of through the fabric is anything to go by, I could trace his abs with my tongue. The picture of us tangled up in my bed together is so real in my head that, for a second, I forget it can never happen.

My pity party gives way to frustration as I slump on my bed, turned on by the images and thoroughly annoyed by the fact that every time I’ve seen Rhett, he seems completely oblivious to the burning attraction between us. Surely, it’s not just me who feels it? Then why has he never given me even a single sign he feels it, too?

The frustration bleeds into determination and, fueled by drunken confidence, I launch to my feet, yanking my clothes off. I have to wrestle to get the tight sequin dress over my head, and it messes up my hair in the process, but I’m too focused on my genius plan to care. I rifle through my drawers until I find the deep scarlet lace lingerie set I bought last year and have never worn because I’ve been saving it for him. Except I’ve never had the chance to show him.

Until now.

The alcohol gives me confidence I’ve never had before, and I dress in a lacy outfit that barely covers anything. My curves are fully exposed, and even in the dim lighting of my bedroom, if you look closely, you can see my nipples through the fabric. A rush of adrenaline fills me, even as my head spins, drunkenness taking over fully.

I sit on the edge of my bed and grab my phone. My dad gave me Rhett’s number years ago in case of an emergency, but I’ve never used it before. I can’t help but grin as I open up a new text thread and click on the camera button, snapping shots of myself in the mirror, trying to pose as seductively as possible. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I want so badly to push him to see me, to see if he’s noticed me the way I notice him, that I don’t even feel nervous, just determined. And horny. Fuck, I wish he was here with me. I want him to show me what it’s like to have sex, to give me pleasure the way I just know he’s capable of. Iwant to make him feel so good he forgets any other woman exists but me.

If this doesn’t work, nothing will.

I send the photos, then tap out a message. I make three spelling mistakes that I have to focus really hard on through the blurry haze to correct, and when I hit send, I feel as smug as ever.

I want you so bad.

“Hah, that’ll show him!” I mutter to myself, but my voice comes out slurred, and the room around me tips sideways. I giggle as I flop back on my bed, my phone falling to the mattress beside me.

“Ugh,”I groan, throwing my arm over my eyes as bright light assaults my vision and rudely yanks me from my sleep. Groggy and confused, I sit up, frowning at the offending sunlight as I realize I’ve left the windows wide open. It’s the sunrise that’s woken me, which means it’s still early as all hell, and I grimace as I force my body to wake up properly.

My mouth is dry as the desert, but I’ve somehow managed to escape a hangover headache, and despite feeling blurry and tired, the worst of the effects of overdrinking seem to have avoided me for now. Thank God.

I rub my eyes and reach for my water bottle on my nightstand, chugging the contents. Usually, my phone is charging beside it, but today, it’s not there. Crap, what did I do with it? My memories from the night before are blurry at best, and I look wildly around my room before realizing my phone is tangledup in my bed sheets. I free it from its prison, and, blessedly, it somehow has twenty percent battery left.

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