Page 16 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

I always notice her.

She moves through the department like warmth in a place that survives on adrenaline and sterile metal, and she laughs with the nurses during quiet moments while her curls refuse to behave no matter how tightly she ties them back.

She’s competent, kind, and definitely someone who deserves to date a good guy. That thought settles in my chest every time I see them together in a hallway.

Nate gravitates toward charm and opportunity. Athena gravitates toward children who are afraid. Those two traits do not belong in the same orbit.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my scrubs just as I reach the bench. I pull it out automatically, expecting a message from administration or another consult request.

Instead, the screen lights up with a photo. For a second I don’t understand what I’m seeing. Then my brain catches up.

Athena.

Her tits fill the screen like the photo was taken to ruin somebody’s concentration on purpose, lush and bare and framed in a way that says she checked the angle twice and liked how it looked. Her shoulders are drawn back just enough to make every soft curve look fuller, rounder, more touchable.

There’s the faintest glimpse of pink at the center of it all, enough to hit like a pulse behind my eyes, and her mouth is tipped in that small, knowing almost-smile that makes the whole thing worse in the best way, like she understands exactly how devastating she looks and sent it anyway.

Even for someone who sees bodies constantly, this doesn’t read clinical or ordinary for a second; it lands hot, intimate, and dangerous.

I have to hold on to the sink to steady myself. The locker room feels very quiet.

The caption sits under the image.

Look what you’re missing out on.

I know immediately this was not meant for me. She meant to send it to Nate, but the ass must have done something that sent her off like this. Which immediately makes me wonder—is she safe?

I stare at the screen while something dark and hungry wakes up in the center of my chest. Athena has always been attractive, but this version of her is something else entirely.

I close my eyes briefly and drag a hand over my face.

Delete it, yeah, that’s what I should do. That would be the correct decision. I’m her boss. There are about twenty professional reasons why this conversation should never exist.

My thumb hovers over the screen.

Instead of deleting the photo, I open the message thread.

The locker room bench creaks softly when I sit down.

I type slowly.

Wrong number, Athena. Are you okay?

The message sends. For a moment I just sit there holding the phone while the image burns into the back of my mind with uncomfortable clarity.

She replies a second later with a little Yes omg, I’m so sorry.

I nod and pocket my phone before staring at my hands. I’ve kept the line intact for years. Every hallway conversation. Every staff meeting. Every moment when she smiles at me and thanks me for advocating for a pediatric case.

Still. I remember the way she watches me when she thinks I’m not looking. Curiosity in those gray eyes. Something warmer underneath it.

I remember the way her voice softens when she talks to frightened children and the way she laughs with the nurses when a shift finally slows down.

I remember thinking more than once that my son didn’t deserve her.

Now my phone rests heavy in my pocket while the image sits inside my thoughts like a spark waiting for oxygen.

My shift doesn’t end for a while. By the time it does, one thing is clear. I need to see Athena in person, not as her boss, but a man dangerously close to losing control.