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“Sorry.”
“You’re right. You’re safer there. Besides, you’re with Andrew. I’d rather you stay there than brave the winds and storm. It’s a long travel.”
“Yup. You? Are you okay there?”
“Yeah. Wind’s not too strong here but the rain hasn’t let up yet. Might clear up tomorrow, though.”
“I hope so.”
“So, listen…”
I hold my breath and wonder if he can hear the guilt in my voice. If he can, no storm will stop him.
“I only promised him an hour of interview, not you staying there until the weather’s better. Andrew is… Well, he’s used to being alone. He likes being alone, especially when he’s just had a rough shift. He always says the silence helps him decompress. He’s supposed to be resting this weekend because he has lots on his plate next week. Seminar or something.”
Dad sighs and I can imagine him pacing the floor of our living room. “I just need you to be… not as chirpy and bubbly as you normally are.” He rushes his speech, probably not wanting me to take offense. “I love you, Ands, you know that. But Andrew’s not used to having someone invade his space. I’ve done enough letting you visit him at his beach house. No one goes there except me. Even then, he’s almost pushing me out the door after a few hours.”
“What I’m trying to say is,” he continues, “your presence might be too much for him. He’s a good guy, an asshole sometimes, but a good guy nonetheless, so there’s no way he’s letting you drive in this weather. But I need you to give him space, enough of a wide berth that he can still relax. Okay, Ands?”
My dad and I have always had a great relationship, owing mostly to him being a great communicator. While other fathers grunt and nod, he’s never been above asking about my feelings and sharing his.
I understand his concern. I really do. Ever since meeting Andrew, I’ve had this impression that he’s not much of a people person and he likes his privacy.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Or not. Depending on how Andrew wants it.
“Okay, okay. Call me if you need anything. Just a super quick warning. Andrew’s an awful cook. Unless you enjoy chewing on cardboard, I suggest you do the cooking,” he chuckles.
I laugh softly. “Got it, Dad. Bye.”
“Bye, Ands.”
“Were you both gossiping about me?” Andrew says from the kitchen.
Remembering what Dad just told me, I jump up and run to him, determined to make my stay as pleasant and fun as possible.
He’s standing by the counter, a couple of ingredients spread out in front of him, hands on his hips.
“Nah. Just Dad being funny. Can I help?”
“Yeah, sure. My housekeeper does the groceries but she still assumes I can cook.”
I chuckle as I slip on an apron. “I got you. I think we can make pasta with that.”
He looks visibly relieved. “Thank you. Trust me when I tell you, I don’t belong in the kitchen. It’s safer that way for everyone.”
I spend the next hour making a simple tomato basil penne pasta while he checks the outside of the house for damages. The wind’s not howling anymore but the rain is still falling in sheets.
Just as I’m plating the pasta, Andrew comes back inside soaking wet even as he peels off the raincoat. He doesn’t notice me watching, and he takes off his shirt, shaking off the droplets of water, and throws it to the small basin by the door. The rain molds his pants to his lap, and my face feels hot at the sight of the enormous ridge between his thighs.
His chest is bare as he speed-walks to the bathroom, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. My mouth waters at the sight of him semi-naked. He’s ripped, like spends-his-rest-days-at-the-gym kind of ripped. The washboard abs that I’d like to touch and lick.
I almost feel disappointed when the bathroom door closes behind him. God, it’s gonna be a long night.
* * *
I’m sittingat the dining table, mindlessly scrolling on my social media, when he opens the bedroom door with nothing but a towel on. I almost drop my phone, jaw hanging loose and mouth open. Somehow, this is so much hotter than him in just his sweatpants, maybe because I know it’s just a towel and he has nothing else underneath. Nothing but his glorious package.
Suddenly, my throat is dry and I’m parched. I greedily drink the water on the table and, of course, end up choking.
