Page 56 of Swiped By My Dad's Best Friend
I cocked my head. “Don’t like it?”
“No, I do.” He grinned, and with a quick glance around, stepped in close, and kissed me one more time.
We’d already had a lengthy love-making session that morning, just mouths and hands bringing each other pleasure in the quiet glow of sunrise, followed by showers and breakfast. Cooper had gone to a class and returned for more lovemaking. Then, we’d made out for a while in the pickup before we stepped out.
But I found myself reluctant to give up the taste of him.
Cooper stepped back. “Drive safely, Daddy. I’ll want you in one piece next weekend.”
“Getting cocky, huh?”
“Always,” he joked with a wink. “Got to give you something to punish me for.”
With a laugh, he spun and jogged up the walk to the frat house. I watched him take the steps two at a time, throw one last smile over his shoulder, and disappear through the front door. Only when he was gone from my sight could I make myself move.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I started the long drive home.
All the way there, my mind was full of Cooper: flashes of our weekend together playing through my mind. The defeat in his posture when I first saw him, the easy forgiveness he gave me that I wasn’t yet sure I deserved, the feel of his heated ass beneath my hand and the sound of his sobs as he finally released his pain, the taste of his cock in my mouth, the look of him bent over the bed with his hands tied behind his back, the feeling of finally being inside him.
Jesus, it had been an amazing weekend.
But most of all, I remembered the look of him hunched over a book, forehead creased in concentration, as he studied so hard. Remembered him pecking those computer keys as he wrote a paper for a subject he detested. Remembered the texts and phone calls he’d ignored—no doubt invitations from friends to go out and have fun—so that he could turn around his grades.
If anyone deserved to succeed, it was Cooper.
No matter what happened with his grades, my boy had impressed me. And I’d make sure he knew just how proud of him I was.
Maybe then, he’d finally start to be proud of himself too.
16
TRACE
Ipulled into a long, winding drive that led up to an old estate. The courtyards to either side of the two-story house were overgrown, the shrubbery lining each side of the drive was sickly colored and in desperate need of pruning, and a number of trees had sprouted up in the oddest of places on the expansive grounds.
It was a landscape architect’s wet dream—and just the ticket to pull Laurie & Sons Landscaping out of the red. Grinning, I mentally rehearsed my pitch. This estate was absolutely gorgeous. I could do stunning work here, if the owners gave me some creative freedom, and from what I’d heard about the new owners, they had money to spare no expense.
I navigated around a curve, and my smile drooped.
A swanky F50 pickup was parked in the circular drive, wrapped in the Legacy Landscapes graphics, a circular logo with brush strokes of green, blue, and orange that somehow all coalesced into a landscape with water, trees, and a sunrise. It put the simplistic Laurie & Sons Landscaping logo—green text punctuated by a simple shovel—to shame.
My mood plummeted. I’d gotten this interview through a client referral. How the hell had those Legacy assholes gotten there before me?
A slim man in a suit stepped out the front door as I parked. I could hear his laughter echo through the air as he shook hands with someone inside, turned, and jogged down the steps. I started up the walk. It was inevitable that we would cross paths.
He raised one eyebrow, shifting his gaze from me to my pickup, an older but reliable model without the extended cab and monster tire action. My pickup was a respectable work vehicle, not an attempt to show off. His lips quirked. “Laurie & Sons,” he said, reading the words on the driver’s side door. “You the owner or the son?”
“Both.” I forced a smile onto my lips. “I’m also the man invited to present a proposal here. Client referral.”
His eyes sparkled with humor. “Ah, well, can’t blame me for reaching out. Look at the state of this place! Besides, you can’t deny that pounding the pavement is an age-old salesman technique.”
I wanted to hate him, but he had such an easy-going demeanor it was difficult. Which probably meant he was a great salesman.Another job, gone.
“I guess that’s the difference between us,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’m not a salesman.”
