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She nods, crimping her lips and hugging me tight, letting me know all she needs now is for me to hold her and to watch over her while the sleep playing in her eyes takes her for a time.
I’ve already taken my post—to watch over her, serve her, and please her every hour of every day from now on.
* * *
So I fell asleep with her on my first watch, but it’s kind of a figurative as well as a literal thing. We both jump awake with a start, a cell ringing, Beth’s blaring ringtone, and a thundering banging on my office doors. It’s a rude awakening after the magic we shared a few hours ago, Beth’s naked body still clinging to mine as we somehow formed a human knot on the couch as we slept.
“Shit!” Beth gasps.
“Fuck! Shit!” I echo right back to her, both of us sharing the look. It’s the moment we both knew had to come, but by god, did it have to come so soon? An earthquake or alien invasion would be preferable, but being suddenly disturbed causes my clinical side to kick in. A good doctor never loses his cool in a crisis. In a second, I feel in control again.
“Cover up. I’ll answer the phone in a minute,” I instruct Beth point-blank. She gives a single nod, relieved someone could put a plan of action into her brain, the brain I may well have fucked right out of her.
Once I see her moving—scooping up clothes before discovering the bathroom—I slip into my jeans and tug a shirt on. Then I feel the annoyance at being disturbed again boiling up inside me. Throwing the office doors wide, I’m ready to deal harm to whoever dared to interrupt.
“Daddy!” Lucy shrieks, almost making me do the same.
It’s like seeing Cathy’s ghost for a moment as if the image of Cathy and Lucy are superimposed for just a second. Then Cathy’s gone, and it’s just Lucy, but that means Lucy’s… here… at my office… like right now with Beth in the bathroom.
Double-fuck!
I can see the phone in her hand, trying to call Beth, whose name flashes like Morse code, signals of stress incoming, but she doesn’t pick up. I’m hoping Beth can hear Lucy, too. If I can keep her out of sight, we might just get out of this, but Lucy’s far too preoccupied with her own emotions to even give me a second glance, least of all explaining why she’s here, let alone how she got up here.
“The door downstairs was open. I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up,” she sniffs. Her red lids and shivering speech tell me everything I need to know. She’s upset.
So much for high-tech security…
When a girl Lucy’s age is upset, it’s usually over a boy, right? Like a certain boy I met a few hours ago… Josh. Or was it James?
“I-I need to speak to you, Dad. It’s kinda important,” Lucy says, struggling to keep a brave face, but it’s clear she’s falling apart.
I hook an arm around her shoulder, moving her toward the couch before a rapid change of direction is required. I’m not sitting my daughter on that couch, not where I just claimed her best friend.
“You sit here, and when you feel like it, you tell me what’s going on,” I tell her calmly, my insides playing a different tune. A part of me expects Beth to walk out of the bathroom at any moment. The silence from not knowing what she’ll do is more unnerving than if she was still spread-eagled on the couch.
Lucy clears her throat and seems to regain a ton of composure, sitting up straight with both her hands and showing me her knuckles. She reminds me of those school photos they used to get every year, but she’s all grown up now and no slouch at detective work once she has more time to study me and my surroundings.
Her eyes move to the couch and then to me. My shirt. My beltless jeans. My no shoes or socks. She knows. Of course, she knows! Even I can still smell the sex in the air. We were practically drowning in the stuff!
“You still jet-lagged, huh?” Lucy asks, drawing her own conclusions. “You look terrible,” she adds for effect.
“Thanks, I think,” I reply dryly, relieved when the conversation steers away from me, having just fucked her best friend and hiding the evidence in my office bathroom.
Before she draws a breath to tell me, I already know. Call it whatever you want—dad-tuition. You just know sometimes when it comes to your kids, no matter how old they are. I force my calm face, the one I know I should’ve practiced more when Lucy was growing up into a teenage girl. Being the father of an only daughter isn’t easy, and neither is the prospect of the conversation I think I know she’s about to want to have—a fine realization to have so soon after claiming the only daughter of my best friend.
“I-I’ve been dating a boy,” she says, chewing her lip and wringing her hands together, fidgeting on the spot like she needs to use the bathroom.
The thought gives me instant panic, and only because I didn’t break the little prick’s neck when I had the chance earlier.
“Lucy, if he’s…” I hear myself growling, my hands balling into fists and me forgetting all about calm. I almost forget about Beth in the bathroom just long enough for Lucy to shake her head rapidly, even waving her hands before I stop myself from fully erupting into a rage.
“No, no, Daddy! It’s not what you think! I mean, I thought I was, but I’m not. I’mnotpregnant, Daddy, and Josh is a fucking asshole!”
It’s the best kind of slap in the face a father can hear, but it only compounds my edginess about Beth’s dad and my oldest friend, Brad.
“Daddy? Did you hear what I said?” Lucy asks again, almost boasting this time when she says it louder. “Notpregnant!”
My mouth quivers somewhere between a smile and the grimace I might make before screaming. However, my composure is trademark when it’s not flying off the handle, so in a second, I’ve recovered myself, asking Lucy in a firmer tone why that should be good news.
