Page 16 of The Daddy’s Girl

And another. And another.

“You’re not usually this picky,” she says with mischief in her voice.

“I’m not usually looking for someone to take things slow with.”

Finally, a woman pops up on the screen that seems more promising. She has long brown hair in large wavy curls over her bare shoulders. She’s wearing a blue strapless dress and has red lips set in a wide, white-toothed smile. Her name is Laura, and she’s forty-four.

So I swipe her photo to the right.

Amelia’s knee is bouncing, and she’s wringing her fingers in her lap. Taking that as a sign that she might not want to watch me pick a date right now, I slide my phone into my pocket.

Glancing up at the map of the track, I see we’re only three stops away from the 16th, where she’ll need to get off. I will walk her to the house, of course. But maybe for the rest of the ride, we can focus on something else.

“What about you?” I ask, nodding my head toward the phone in her purse. “Are you on the app as well?”

“Um…yes, but I haven’t looked in a while.”

When she turns on her phone, I watch over her shoulder as she opens a folder full of dating apps. I don’t miss the Salacious app, and it piques my interest, although I don’t ask. I’m well versed in that app, and I know it’s for people to find matches in their kinks and desires.

Does Amelia have a kinky side she uses the app for? I can’t help but wonder what it might be. Does she have a submissive side? I couldn’t imagine that. Having to sit still, be tied up, or obey orders isn’t her style. Is she more dominant? No, that doesn’t quite fit either.

Perhaps she is into exhibitionism? But seeing the way she reacted when the attention was on her at dinner tonight makes me think that wouldn’t be enjoyable for her.

But perhaps…she likes to be the one to watch?

My curious girl.

There’s an instant arousal in my groin that has me yanking my arm from the back of the seat. She notices my sudden strange behavior.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I reply nonchalantly and quickly adjust myself in my pants.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Show me your dating profile,” I say to change the subject and distract myself from those incredibly inappropriate thoughts.

She opens the same app on her phone that she just used on mine. With her short hair and wispy fringe, her profile picture is cute, making me smile. She’s leaning on a low brick wall in a green skirt and shiny black shoes. The sun is setting behind her with a silhouette of the tower in the distance.

Anyone who swipes left on her can’t see what’s in front of them.

“I haven’t checked it in a while,” she says as she looks through her potential matches. Most of them are young, still in their twenties. And judging by their profile photos, they are more interested in themselves than anyone else. “What about this one?” she asks, clicking on a man in a business suit, standing next to a car I know must be worth half a million euros.

“What does he do?” I ask, leaning in.

She scrolls through his information. “He’s in sales.”

“Left,” I say with a scowl.

“Why? What’s wrong with sales?” she asks, peering over her shoulder at me.

“That’s not his car or his suit. Swipe left.”

With a scoff, she swipes to the next one.

“Left,” I say again.

“What’s wrong with this one?”