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It’s about what I expected. Lanie has it pretty rough at home, from what I’ve seen. An absentee father, a mother who tries to act like she’s Lanie’s age, and all the while, she’s working and going to school, trying to make something of herself.
It’s a tough road with no support. She’s sitting on one of the benches and Daisy plants herself down between Lanie’s feet almost defensively. It’s like Daisy understands that Lanie needs a little protection. Lanie smiles softly and rubs the big dog’s head and gives her some scratches behind the ear—affection that Daisy eats up.
“What were you doing in the gazebo?” I ask.
“Just trying to read,” she says and holds up a Child Psychology textbook.
“That for class?”
She nods. “I’ve got a test tomorrow and I needed to study. And with all the noise in my place, I couldn’t do it there, so I thought I’d get a little quiet out here. Guess I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I say. “Listen, I’ve got a spare room in my place. Why don’t you just go park it in there and get your studying done? You can crash there and just go to school in the morning. I’m just watching a game, so it’s quiet in there anyway.”
She looks down at Daisy, stroking the dog’s big head as she gnaws on her bottom lip—a gesture that, for some reason, gets me harder than iron. I shift on my feet, doing my best to hide the fact that I’ve got a huge hard-on.
I clear my throat. “Listen, call me an old guy out of touch or some sexist pig or whatever you want. I just don't like the idea of you sitting out here alone with the sun starting to go down. I don't want that asshole coming back here."
Lanie laughs. “You’re not a sexist pig. And you’re not an old guy either.”
I shrug. “I’m thirty-nine. I’m like twice your age.”
“Almost. But that still doesn’t make you an old guy,” she says. “I think you’re a gentleman, Mr. Landers. And a lot nicer than you show people.”
“Maybe. Just don’t let that get around. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“Scout’s Honor,” she says with a giggle.
“So? You coming?”
"Yeah. Just let me run back and grab a few things and I'll be right over," she replies. "And thank you for the offer. I appreciate it. I was starting to stress out about getting ready for this test tomorrow. It's kind of important."
“It’s my pleasure. Door’s open, so just come on in when you’re ready.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Landers—”
“And for God’s sake, call me Lane. Please,” I say. “When you call me Mr. Landers, not only am I immediately looking for my father, you make me feel ancient.”
Lanie laughs as she jumps to her feet and darts off to get her things. I watch her go, stiffening even more as I watch that tight, firm ass jiggling in her yoga pants as she moves. I'm trying to do something nice by giving her my room to study in. Well… sort of.
Truth is, I've wanted Lanie since the moment I laid eyes on her and, knowing what sort of shitshow she lives in, have always wanted to offer up my place as a safe harbor for her. A place Lanie can retreat to and find comfort and a sense of peace.
Unlike her mother who treats her like a burden, I’ve always wanted my place to be somewhere she knows she’s wanted. And Christ almighty, do I want her. I didn’t invite her over tonight just to get into her panties—the last thing she needs tonight is me trying to fuck her. But it’s going to be harder than hell to pretend I don’t want to.
Daisy and I walk back to our place and I close the door behind us then look down at the big dog who returns my gaze with a slack-jawed, tongue-lolling expression.
“It’s going to be a long night, girl,” I say. “A long damn night.”
2
LANIE
“Thanks again for letting me use your guest room,” I say.
Lane opens the door and allows me to step inside. As I pass him, I inhale deeply, savoring the bare hint of his cologne combined with a masculine scent that has my head spinning. The room itself is large, with a queen-sized bed flanked by a pair of elegant-looking nightstands. A wide desk, a dark wood top with four steel legs stands beneath the windows, and there’s a tall chest of drawers with a Bluetooth soundbar on top against the wall beside the bathroom door.
The furniture all matches and the walls are adorned with prints of pieces done by some of my favorite artists like Caravaggio, Goya, and Bosch. Even the paint and bedding are done in my favorite muted pastel colors. It’s like the room was made for me.
Seeing how beautiful and well put together the room is making my cheeks flare with the heat of embarrassment as I think about my room. None of my furniture matches—what I do have I bought at a secondhand store. I even have a small table in decent condition I found sitting out on the street on trash day.
