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Amber gave her a sly little grin. “I couldn’t see very well from the window, but it looked like a dude driving it. An… older dude.”
Oh, wow!
Knowing him though, this wasn’t going to be an ‘oh, wow!’ situation. He was probably there to deliver bad news.
Fuck.
She was wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt emblazoned with the university’s football team logo… and not much else.
Quickly finding her flip-flops, she checked herself in the bathroom mirror to make sure her hair wasn’t a complete rat’s nest. She decided just to pull it back in a haphazard ponytail. At least it would stay out of her face.
Cringing at how much of a fucking slob she looked, she knew there wasn’t much to be done about that. He was probably already waiting out there for her.
She had this strangely powerful aversion to making Max wait. It had been that way for a while. It was almost as if, to her mind, it was wrong, somehow. She couldn’t really explain it, other than maybe being related to her need to please? Whatever it was, it was real—and it was gnawing at her in that moment.
He was pacing slowly in front of her truck, his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks. His navy button-down and the classy gray tie were impeccable, rendering in mouthwatering detail the broadness of his shoulders, the depth of his barrel chest, and the narrowness of his waist.
She walked down the long driveway out to the street where he’d parked along the curb.
“Um, hi, Uncle Max.”
He frowned at her a moment, but laid an arm on the hood of her truck. “She’s all fixed. Took her for a test drive, and all checks out. Shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”
“Thank you so much! I got my truck back!” The urge to hug him was strong, but she resisted it. Being watched by her sorority sisters—as she was certain she was at that very moment—made it more than a little awkward, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
She took a different tack, needling him a little bit. “I think it’s so cute how you call the truck her. Like it’s a ship, or something.”
Max rolled his eyes. “I’m old. This is one of those things old dudes do.”
Can you show me a few more things old dudes do? Like, with younger girls? Or… to them?
The thoughts actually made her cheeks heat, and she couldn’t help but put her hand to her face.
To his credit though, he didn’t comment on her fierce blushing beyond a momentary tip of his head to communicate that he most definitely had noticed it.
He held out the keys, dangling from his fingers. “You can repay me for my generosity by driving me back to my place.”
“N-now?” She looked back toward the house. “I’ve got… I’ve got a mess in there to clean up…”
“You can clean it up when you get back.” He dropped the keys into her palm. “Now, let’s go.”
* * *
It was exceedingly odd being behind the wheel, Max reclining a bit in the passenger seat, the crotch of his slacks pleasingly tight over the bulge of his cock.
Yes, she really had no business noticing such things, but there was no real reason for her to feel self-conscious about it, either. Especially once she learned how many other young women held similar views about older men.
That said, a tiny bit of shame had taken up almost permanent residence in her head since the day she’d begun to see a certain man in her life as nowhere near a surrogate ‘uncle.’ And instead, something quite different, indeed.
That she continued to refer to him by that moniker was mostly just a cheap and easy way to tick him off, to get him irritated and grumpy with her. Something that she also had to admit was a turn-on.
But there was more to it… something dark, forbidden, driving her to call him that. A man whom she had more than a few sexual thoughts about, a crush that was now a lot more akin to a… fixation.
Or an obsession.
How many women actually got excited at being given a stern lecture, a deep, male voice rumbling its displeasure and disapproval of her behavior? The close proximity of that dangerous masculine energy making them almost tremble with fear and… something else entirely?
Okay, maybe that’s a dumb question.
