“Let me help,” Angela says, standing. “And obviously I won’t tell our manager. Jeez, who do you think I am?”
Angela shoots me a look of apology and then moves around the bar, both of them fussing with the mug. I sit back in my seat, gripping the table, trying to stop my hands from shaking so I don’t betray how badly this is messing with me.
Even across the room from her, she sends confusing impulses through me.
But no, that’s bullshit.
The only confusing part about this is that she’s my daughter’s best friend. If I’d walked in here and laid eyes on her – and felt this soul-thumping need – and she was somebody else, I would be fucking her over the table right now.
Bent over, with her ass bare and pricked red from my possessive spanking, fuck, I bet she looks like heaven bare.
Soon the mug is cleaned away and Angela returns to the table. Tess brings my coffee over, her hand trembling as much as mine. She lays it down and glances at me with a fleeting smile.
“Sorry for the wait,” she says, with a tinge of sarcasm.
I smirk and stare at her, hard, and then I have to force my gaze away so my daughter doesn’t get suspicious.
What the hell am I doing?
This is so wrong.
“How’s the acting going, Angela?” I ask, trying to remember why I’m here, who I’m here for.
I force myself to focus as my daughter tells me about the amateur production she was recently a part of, and then goes on to tell me about her YouTube skits. I know a lot of this information, but it’s good to hear it in person, instead of over the phone or on video chat.
And anything is better than gazing at my woman, her curvy body pressed into that tight-fitting waitress’s outfit, like a gift begging to be unwrapped.
Chapter Three
Tessa
I sit in the back seat, my hands clasped in my lap, as the man of my dreams guides us through the forest bordered road toward our hometown. Relief washes through me when my eyes move over Angie in the passenger seat.
If I were sitting up there, I might lose control and lash my hand out to Trent’s leg, squeezing onto his firm muscles, the oak-like solidity of his flesh.
I turn to the window and watch nature flit by, the setting sun making it hazy and magical. It’s easier than staring at the rearview mirror, at Trent’s face.
He was so pissed back at the diner, glaring at me like he resented my existence. I understand he wants some alone time with his daughter, but does he really have to make me so self-conscious?
When Angie asked me if Trent was fitter then most men our age, I’m so happy I dropped the mug. It was the perfect distraction. Otherwise, I might’ve screamed how I really felt.
Yes, he’s fitter than most men our age, and his age, and any age. He’s all rippled muscle and I’ve touched myself to images of him more times than you’d believe, Angie. You’d hate me if you knew how many times I’ve touched myself just thinking about your dad.
I rest my forehead against the glass, trying to focus on the feel of it against my skin and nothing else.
“So when do you start work on your business?” Angie asks.
“A couple of weeks,” Trent says, in that husky, rumbling voice. “I’m going to relax for a while first. Well, try to relax.”
“You’ve never been very good at that,” Angie says.
He laughs gruffly. “Exactly.”
“Maybe you should go on a nature walk with Tessa,” Angie says.
I squeeze my hands into a tight fist, digging my fingernails into my palms. I’ve read that phrase so many times in books. She dug her fingernails into her palms. But despite all the bullying I’ve experienced in my life, all the heartache with mom, I don’t think I’ve ever actually done it before.
My temples pulse and my heart hammers.
“What do you think, Tess?” Angie goes on. “Or would my old dad cramp your style?”
“There isn’t much style,” I say, trying to laugh. It comes out strangled and wrong-sounding. “I traipse through the forest and try to take as many photos as I can. I mean, heck, if I take a thousand, a couple of them have to be good, right?”
“I’m sure Tessa doesn’t want me to intrude,” Trent says, with that growling quality beneath his voice.
Does this man ever just say anything? Does he always have to sound so angry?
Rage flares inside of me at his attitude, unfair, unearned, but no less real for all that.
I understand he’s annoyed that I’m even here, intruding on the closeness with his daughter, but the least he could do is show me some basic human courtesy. There’s no reason to act so angrily all the time.