Page 8 of Hidden Desires

I put on an innocent expression. “Stop what, Uncle Jack?”

He gives me the world’s most withering look, but it’s tinged with something else—desperation, maybe. “You know what.”

I lean in, closer. “You mean, being friendly? I’ve always been a friendly girl though.”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand balls into a fist on his knee, and I decide to up the ante.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Uncle Jack,” I whisper in his ear. “You can treat me like an adult.”

He closes his eyes, lets out a long exhale. “That’s the problem,” he mutters, just as Dad thunders back in.

“Did I miss anything?”

I’m already back on my side of the couch and smile winsomely at Gerald.

“Not at all, Daddy. I was just thinking that the Gophers are really going at it today. Hard.”

Jack throws me a glance as I sit back, triumphant. I’m winning this game, and I know it.

The second quarter is a test of nerves, and I escalate with every play: brushing my leg against Jack’s, tucking my hair behind my ear and letting my fingers trail down my throat, sitting cross-legged so my thigh presses hard against his. Jack starts drinking more, and faster too. He says less, but his cheeks are flushed, and the vein in his temple is pulsing like a warning light. Of course, Dad is oblivious, shouting at the refs and wolfing down Cheetos like it’s a timed event.

I live for this. I love risk, and I love tempting Fate, in all aspects of my life. If Mom walked in now, she’d see nothing but a girl and her “uncle” watching a dumb game, but under the surface there’s a simmering tension between an innocent nymphet and the older man she wants to entrap.

At halftime, Dad stands and stretches, his back popping audibly. “I’m going to grab more beer. Jack, you want one?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack says, voice gruff.

Dad disappears into the garage where we keep a second refrigerator, and I pivot on the cushion to face Jack, pulling my knees up under me. The handsome man stares at the TV, refusing to look at me, his jaw like granite.

“I saw you watching me,” I say, soft but impossible to ignore.

He swallows before growling, “You’re making this very difficult, Eliza.”

“But I want you to look,” I say. “I want you to see how much I want you.”

He finally meets my eyes. The blue in them is electric, dangerous.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he says. “Your dad⁠—”

“I don’t care about my dad,” I shoot back, my voice trembling with the effort to keep it together. “I want you.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in, just a fraction. “You have no idea what you’re playing with, little girl.”

I smile, slow and innocent. “Yes, exactly, Uncle Jack. That’s the problem, so why don’t you show me what I’m missing?” I lean in, let my shoulder brush his arm, and pitch my voice just for him. “You know I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Jack’s whole body goes still, and for a second, I think he’s going to bolt. But he just stares ahead, jaw working. “Eliza, your dad is ten feet away. He’ll kill me.”

“Dad’s in the garage,” I murmur, tilting my head so my hair brushes Jack’s bicep. “You know how long it takes him to find anything out there.”

Jack finally looks at me, and for a second, it’s just us. Blue eyes, harsh and masculine, searching my face for any sign I’m joking.

I’m not.

“I’m forty-five,” he rasps. “You’re—what, twenty?”

“Twenty-one,” I say, letting my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Old enough to know what I want.”

He tries to shift away, but the couch is too soft, and my hand is already on his thigh. I feel the heat of him under the denim, the corded muscle tensing under my touch. The power is intoxicating, better than any drug, better than the private cam shows where I am untouchable and invisible. Here, I have him trapped.