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4
Walt
Iwave to my granddaughter from the other side of the hotel bar. When she smiles and sends me a flurry of fingers in return, I’m swamped by guilt. She has no idea I just dry fucked her best friend up on the tenth floor. Hell, I could barely bring myself to wipe her come off my chin and I have the nerve to wave at Wanda? I should be locked up. Behind bars.
Especially because I want to do it again.
And again.
The bartender slides a glass in front of me, accompanied by a bottle of scotch. I must look like I need a stiff drink—and I do. I slosh two fingers of liquor into the glass and toss it back, immediately regretting the action because it washes away some of her taste.
I shove the glass aside and rake my hands down my face. Of course, Coco’s room had to be joined with mine. The temptation is going to flat out kill me. I’ve been on this earth sixty-three years and I’ve had my fair share of women, but I’ve never, ever had one that compared to Coco. The fragile innocence of her, the way she seems incapable of being anything but purely honest with me, confessing secrets like she can’t help it. Down deep in my belly, I sense this behavior from her is only for me and it makes me possessive. Makes me burn.
Yeah, she’s special as hell, all right. Bright and sweet and magnetic.
And her pussy.
Sitting her in this packed bar, surrounded by family members, I feel like a fucking lecher remembering the way she parted for my tongue, smooth and sugary. Those ripe little peaches she calls tits, all puckered nipples and tan lines. Even her dark hair spread out on the carpet was sensual. She’s built to be ridden wet and often…and I might as well face it, I’d fucking love to be that man. But men my age can’t just go around dating college-aged women. It can only end badly. Maybe she has some daddy issues that she needs to work through, and she’d be sick of me in a few months. Or maybe my family would be disgusted and disown me. Either way, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.
Across the bar, I catch of my smiling son picking his way toward me through the crowd and the guilt storms back into my chest. I’m supposed to be here reconnecting with my neglected family and here I am chasing pussy a third of my age.
Get your head out of your ass, General.
“Father.” My son, Chris, gives me a hesitant hug and pulls back, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Wanda said you’d arrived, but I couldn’t find you until now.”
“Sorry about that. Just catching some shut-eye in my room.”
Wow. Reunited for less than a minute and I’m already lying. Just like all those times I promised I’d make his school play or hockey game, but work took precedence.
“Plane rides always make me tired, too,” Chris says, chuckling. “You look fit as ever. Putting all of us younger men to shame. Are you still boxing?”
“On the weekends, yes. You?”
“Nah, that was always your thing.” He signals the bartender for a glass and pours himself an inch of scotch. “Unfortunately, I’m a lover not a fighter.”
His face deepens in color as he says those words and I feel the need to offer reassurance. “Unfortunately? That’s not a bad thing. The world needs both.”
“No.” His smile is tight. “But I always suspected you wanted more of a fighter. It would make sense in your line of work—”
“My line of work is separate from my family. You.” I clear some of the sudden scratchiness from my throat. “I only wish it hadn’t separated me from you.”
“Really?” He ducks his head. “That’s the first time you’ve expressed any…regret. Over how we never really got to know each other.”
“I’m sorry. And I’m hoping to change that now. It’s why I’m here.”
Slowly, Chris’s smile spreads and he pours me another glass of scotch, handing it to me so we can clink glasses. “To second chances, then, huh, Dad?”
“I’ll drink to that.”
No sooner have I sipped my drink do I spot Coco enter the bar. My reaction to her is instantaneous. Cock swelling up behind my zipper, heart racing in my chest like I’m some wet-behind-the-ears teenager. Ah Jesus, she’s looking hot in a black mini dress that barely covers her ass. I’m not the only one who notices her entrance, either. Several heads at the bar turn to witness the sexy grace of her, the way she self-consciously tugs down her skirt and smooths her hair. Those gorgeous brown eyes skate over me, lids growing heavy and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Oh yeah, she’s looking to finish what we started.
My dick is looking for it, too, my tip already sloppy with precome.
When my son notices my stare, he follows it and nods with understanding. “Ah. Yes. Wanda’s best friend, Coco. She’s…” He drains his scotch. “She’s quite something.”
Just like that, my muscles are in knots, jealousy seething in my blood. My son, like me, is divorced. Has he taken a shot with his daughter’s friend? I couldn’t blame him for trying, but my hands are turning into fists at the image of them kissing. Not a fucking chance.
“Yeah,” I force myself to say. “She sure is. What do you know about her?”
