Page 10 of Swiped By My Dad's Best Friend
She scoffed. “Maybe because you get lit too much? Dad’s not going to be happy.”
I scowled. Sure, I liked smoking, but generally I tried to avoid it before family dinners or exams—though I couldn’t deny skipping a few classes to avoid ruining a good high. The point was: I remained functional. Mostly. And I definitely made sure I was sober when I was clambering around on roofs.
I suddenly wished I were back at Geraldine’s, eating rock-hard raisin oatmeal cookies and drinking too-sweet lemonade. Sweating through hard labor seemed more appealing than dinner with dad and some stuffy alumni guest. At least when I felt the burn in my muscles, I knew I was using them for something worthwhile. At dinner, I was more likely to feel the burn of shame, for one of a number of things: showing up late, showing up in work clothes, showing up asme—still not the son my dad really wanted.
But I was here, not at Geraldine’s, so I ducked around my sister and continued to the table. “You’re such a daddy’s little girl.”
“And what are you, daddy’s little rebel?” she shot back just as we reached the table.
“That’s the least badass thing I’ve ever heard,” I grumbled.
“You started it, not me,” she said with a victorious smirk.
I pointed at her. “Hey, I’m rubber, you’re glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and—”
“They’ve yet to grow up, as you can see,” Dad interrupted our sibling stand-off. “Cooper, Lena, sit down for goodness’ sake and say hello to our old friend.”
Distracted from Lena, I finally turned my attention to the table—and felt my stomach swoop as my eyes landed on the alumni guest that Dad had mentioned wining and dining.
“You didn’t say we were eating with Trace,” I blurted.
“Well, not for lack of trying,” Dad said calmly, as if this weren’t an earth-shaking development. “You are very quick to disconnect your phone calls these days.”
I grimaced as I pulled out a chair and took a quick seat. At least the table might hide most of my clothing. “Sorry about—” I gestured to my body.
Trace’s eyes went wide, as if he thought I was about to apologize for baring most of myself to him the night before.
Beside me, Lena snorted. “Isn’t dirty frat boy the look you usually go for?”
“I was working on a project. Didn’t have time to go home and change.”
“What was the project? Dumpster diving?” Lena retorted.
“It’s fine,” Trace said before Lena and I could get going again. “It’s a casual restaurant, and as Matt said, I’m an old friend. No reason to impress me.”
He gazed at me steadily, and yeah, I got the message. I didn’twantthe message, but I got it.
Well, if I had anything to say about it, he’d change his tune before the night was through. I might have given in easily the night before, but now that I had him in my sights again, I wasn’t about to walk away without a fight.
* * *
TRACE
Cooper was stunning—even in a paint-streaked T-shirt and rumpled hair. He rested tanned forearms on the table while holding his menu. That told me he must get outdoors a fair amount because it wasn’t swimsuit weather. His hands were almost delicate despite his strength, with long, slender fingers. My treacherous mind kept imagining how those hands would stroke my skin, how those fingers would curl around my cock. His smile? Devastating. A dimple popped in his right cheek, and his eyes brightened. Cooper wasn’t the type to do anything halfway—even smile. I remembered that about him from when he was younger. When Cooper loved something, he committed, and he committed hard.
Which didn’t seem to match up with the few comments Matthew and Lena had made about him.
But it did explain why he continued to flirt with me right under his father’s nose. Cooper didn’t seem concerned his father would catch on, but it made me nervous.
“Trace?” Lena prompted as my attention drifted to Cooper’s tongue while he thoroughly licked his fork clean. A flush of heat unfurled in me. Goddamn.
I shook my head, forcing my eyes from the captivating sight. “Yes?”
“You’re still working in…yardwork?”
Cooper scoffed. “You make it sound like he’s mowing lawns, Lena. Trace is a landscape architect.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said.”
