3. Savvy
IT’S POURING by the time I make it to Dar’s.
There’s no point in messing with my makeup, considering I’ll be soaked the moment I get out of my car, but I can’t resist running my hands through my damp hair a few times, gazing at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
It’s always like this before I see him, an undercurrent of restlessness and nervous energy simmering below the surface. I want to be mature about this, cool, but it’s no use. My heart is doing that half-flutter, half-squeeze thing.
Lately, it’s been happening a lot more often, but my obsession with Darwin Wilder isn’t new. The man has been making me weak in the knees for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately, bouncing back and forth between my parents’ houses, coupled with Dar’s preference for leaving the house as rarely as possible, meant there were sometimes months in between feeling the heady thrill of anticipation building inside me.
Things are different now.
For one thing, I have an actual reason to be here. Thanks to Dar firing his PA (for “gross incompetence” and “being annoying”), I scored the best summer job ever. I also don’t have to wait around, hoping and praying that Dad would think to ask Dar if he’s up for dinner or a game night.
For another, I’m eighteen now.
My stomach somersaults at the thought, and, giving up on my hair, I step out into the freezing rain. It’s midsummer, but by the time I make it up
the stone steps to Dar’s front door, my teeth are chattering and goosebumps have erupted all over my body.
I press the doorbell, rubbing my arms to get some warmth back into my stiff limbs.
The frosted glass beside the door is dark. I frown, trying the button again. It’s hard to tell over the rain, but I’m fairly sure there was no corresponding ring inside.
My knock isn’t answered either, but the room Dar likes to write in is clear across the house, and there’s no way he’d be able to hear. I’ve never just gone in before, but it looks like that’s what I’ll have to do. I’m only here two afternoons a week, and I refuse to miss one of them because of something as inconsequential as torrential rain and a flash flood warning.
The knob turns under my hand, and I poke my head inside. “Dar?” I call, edging into the clean white foyer and stepping out of my sandals. The house is dark apart from the stormy blue light coming in through the windows, and the air is hot and sticky without the air conditioner running.
Outside, thunder rumbles.
“Dar?” I try again, moving into the hall, which leads further into the house, toward the main living area and Darwin’s inner sanctum.
As far as I know, Dad and I are the only people he allows back here apart from himself. As happy as I am to be special to him, it also hurts my heart a little when I imagine Dar going days and days with only himself for company. He says he likes it this way, that he prefers his own company, but I’m not sure I’ve ever believed that the way Dad does.
Does he look forward to me coming? There are days when I think he does, but others when I feel like a nuisance. Still, Darwin Wilder isn’t one to protect other people’s feelings, and he’s never told me to leave.
I push open the kitchen door, and my heart instantly plunges right into my stomach.
My father’s best friend, whom I’ve never in my whole life seen in less than a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, is standing at the kitchen counter wearing shorts. Wearing only shorts.
A haphazard collection of candles cast a flickering, warm light over the room and its only occupant. He doesn’t notice me, too intent on wrestling the cork out of a bottle of wine. It’s a good thing, too, because shirtless Darwin was not on my bingo card for today, and I am woefully unprepared.
His broad chest is scattered with dark hair that trails down from his belly button to below the band of his cotton shorts. He isn’t a model. He doesn’t have a six-pack, or a perfectly tapered waist, or biceps that look like he lifts cars in his spare time. It doesn’t matter. Every inch of him is masculine and perfect and right in front of me.
I squirm, unable to tear my eyes from him as blood rushes in my ears. It’s only been a few seconds, and already my panties are sticky with the evidence of my body’s reaction to him. I’m a virgin—a frustrating side effect from being hung up on a man I can’t have—but the way I’m feeling right now… god. I would let him do anything he wanted to me.
Imagining brusque, uptight Dar coming undone because of the way I make him feel has been my biggest fantasy for longer than I’ll ever admit.
I’ve imagined crawling under his desk while he’s writing and hearing an exasperated sigh from above me as I take his cock in my mouth. “Fine,” he’d say, his voice harsh with impatience, even as his breathing grows ragged and his hands tighten in my hair.
I’ve rubbed my clit to thoughts of him coming up to me from behind, his broad, hard body pressing against mine as he orders me to bend over and take what he gives me.
I’ve come to thoughts of him so many times, I’ve practically trained myself to get wet for this man.
In front of me, Dar turns to put the corkscrew back in the drawer, and his eyes catch on me hovering in the doorway. He jerks in surprise, cursing. “Savvy! Shit, you scared me. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to come in this weather or I’d have left a note on the door. No power, as you can see.” He gestures to the dark house, smiling wryly.
“Sorry.” I edge a little further into the room, doing my best to appear normal. As if anyone could see this man shirtless and not lose some cognitive function. “I’ll go?—”
“No,” Dar says firmly as he selects a wine glass from the nearest cabinet. “You shouldn’t have been driving in this at all. Hang out here, the storm should only last another few hours, then I’ll send you home. Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you for today.”
I watch helplessly as he crosses to the kitchen table and pulls a discarded gray T-shirt over his head. “Okay,” I manage, acutely aware of how ridiculously soaked my panties are, and knowing it has nothing to do with the rain.
God, I need to get a grip. I’m here all the time, and usually I’m marching around like I’ve been coming here for years—which I have—but one sighting of a partially naked Dar has me too stunned to move.
Oblivious, he looks over at me and smiles easily. “Do you want to play a game?”