Page 12 of Easter Daddy

Then again, everyone is different. She might be mature enough to handle being with me, to handle the press badgering her about me. She might have the maturity to face the world with me.

No. Stop it. Stop trying to justify it. You can’t be with your stepsister, Liam.

I pick up five packs of Hot Cheetos. I generally don’t eat junk food, but I love these. It’s my guilty pleasure. With my erection subsided, I turn to take them to the cashier, only to stop cold in my tracks, seeing someone who I wasn’t expecting.

“Lily?”

8

LILY

As I stand in the gas station shop, I see the very person whom I have been actively trying to not think about.

Liam.

He stands there in a three-piece suit, towering over me. He’s so good-looking it’s enough to drive most women mad. And I definitely fall into the category of “most women.”

“Good evening, Lily. What are you doing out so late?” he asks me. He looks at me curiously, and I feel as though he just asked me if it’s past my bedtime. I feel so small and young in front of him.

“Hey. Um, I wanted some Canada Dry. And to go for a drive.” Truth be told, that drive was in an attempt to clear my head of him. And then I find him here. Could this be a sign? A sign to give into my desires? That we both should?

Even if I do… that doesn’t mean that he will, too. He probably sees me as absolutely forbidden and off-bounds. And even then, he might not like me the way I like him. Sure, he’s attracted to me, but does he want more?

Just because he doesn’t want more doesn’t mean he wouldn’t sleep with you. He’s attracted to you. There must be a way to get him to do it.

No. I shouldn’t be thinking about this, be entertaining these thoughts. And it wouldn’t be enough for me, anyway. I want more than that.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to a red object dangling from one of his hands as he grasps bags of Cheetos in his hands.

Not just any Cheetos, Hot Cheetos. My favorite. We like the same foods. Still, I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at myself when I realize I’m using the fact that we like the same foods as a possible sign that we should give in to temptation. Something as arbitrary as food preferences. I really am desperate for an excuse.

“Um, nothing,” he tells me as I inspect the object, recognizing it as a red mask meant to cover only the eyes. The kind of mask that one would wear at a masquerade party.

“Okay,” I say, unsure as to why he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It was for a silly costume party, that’s all.”

“Alright.”

“Would you like me to follow you home?”

“Um, why?”

“It’s late and you’re a young woman.”

“This is a safe area.”

“I know, but someone got robbed here recently.” It was the only person to get robbed here in the past year, but I choose not to point that out.

Should I let him? Then again, what’s the worst that can happen? We wouldn’t really do anything with our parents in the same house as us. That would be stupid. Reckless. We’ll be fine. And how would it look if I said no? He might think I’m hiding something.

“Sure, you can follow me,” I tell him. “Wait, don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says.

“Okay. Um, I just wanted some ginger ale, so I’ll just get some.”

“Sure.”

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