One night stand with my daddy's best friend
135

BECCA

I knew he wouldn't be able to stay away, I thought as I looked in the mirror.

The white yoga pants did it. I'd picked them out especially, and boy did they work better than I could have hoped.

Now, as I glanced over my appearance, I knew I looked hot as hell. The red dress I'd picked out on my way home from work reached up to my neck. It didn't show off my cleavage, neither was it short. But my God was it tight. And as I swayed my hips from side to side, I felt as though I was wriggling around in a giant rubber band.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I checked there were no smudges around my eyes and added one final slick of lip gloss. As I reached for my purse, I heard a car horn blaring from the street. Looking out the window, I saw Matthew's Porsche Cayenne parked out front and butterflies took off in my stomach. I sent him a quick text not to come up, that I'd meet him outside.

As I walked outside, I tried to hide my excitement. Play it cool. Remind him you are a woman. A sexy, beautiful woman.

"Hey," I said, climbing in the passenger seat.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head when he saw me. "Whoa, you look incredible," he said, leaning over the

console to kiss my cheek.

"Thank you," I replied, wondering if he could see my blush in the dark of the car.

As he pulled away, I relaxed back into the luxury of the seat. I was aware that as we drove, people looked at his car, wondering who the big shot behind the wheel was.

He's mine, I thought as we raced through the city center.

He's my big shot.

We arrived outside the restaurant, and a valet was immediately on hand to park it.

"Mr. Banks! My favorite customer!" beamed the young man as Matthew stepped onto the sidewalk and handed him the keys.

"Hello, Chad. Thanks for taking care of her." A moment later, Matthew walked around to my side of the car and opened my door. "Wow, a gentleman," I commented. "No one's ever held a door open for me before. But I've always had the full use of my arms."

Sensing my sarcasm, he said, "Hey, there's nothing wrong with being chivalrous."

Slipping my arm into his, I let him guide me inside the restaurant. He wasn't wrong about it being cozy. Only lit by candles, it was so dark it felt more like I was in someone's bedroom. As we snaked our way through the tables, I looked around at the other diners but could barely make out their faces in the candlelight.

We were seated in a booth at the back of the room, a dark and private table in an already mysteriously dark place.

"Like it?" he asked.

"Definitely," I said, inhaling the garlicky smells all around us as my stomach rumbled.

"Hungry?" "Always."

"I love a girl with an appetite. Olivia never ate. She was always panicking about her weight." He chuckled. "You know, once, she went for lipo because she'd eaten more than her designated carb count during the week and put on two pounds." "That's pretty extreme."

He picked up his napkin and placed it over his lap before picking up the wine list. "I'm sorry. We just sat down and I'm babbling about my ex. Forget I mentioned her."

"Already forgotten."

He smiled and relaxed back in his seat. "So, what are your plans for Christmas?" he asked. "It's hard to believe it's right around the corner."

"I know, time really flies. I'm just having dinner with my dad. Nothing fancy. You should come," I said, not sure it was a good idea but not liking the thought of him being alone on the holiday either.

Matthew shook his head. "Thank you but no. I'm not sure being around you and your father is a good idea right now. Besides, I'm looking forward to my day of solitude and the ridiculous amount of food I've ordered for myself."

A waiter appeared out of the darkness as though he'd been summoned from the shadows. "Good evening. Have you had an opportunity to look at our wine list?"

Matthew nodded, turned to me, and raised his eyebrows. "What do you fancy?"

"Bottle of red?" I suggested. "A Bordeaux or a Bergerac?"

His expression said this girl really knows her shit. She's no silly chick looking for a Smirnofl Ice.

"We have a Bordeaux Cru Bourgeois," the waiter replied. "That'll do nicely."

He gave a curt nod and returned to the shadows from which he came.

"Wow, you really know a lot about wine," Matthew said. "I take it you didn't learn it from your dad."

"I studied in France for six months during my last year at college," I explained. "Learned a whole bunch of stuff there."

"You studied in France? I didn't know that. Where were you? Paris?"

"Lyon," I replied. "It's an amazing place. Everyone's so cultured there. I had to learn how to keep up pretty quick. Believe me, there's not a single bottle of Budweiser in that city. And all the kids know their wine."

The waiter returned with a bottle and poured a taster glass for me. I took a sip and nodded, and after pouring us each a glass, he set the bottle on the table graciously. I waited until he disappeared before I turned back to Matthew. "Have you traveled much?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," he said. "I mean I've been to all the cool spots. The Bahamas, Ibiza, Thailand."

"Aw, so you've been nowhere then," I joked.

"I mean, I've never been anywhere off the tourist trail. I always thought it would be so cool to just take off with nothing except a heartbeat and two feet. You know, just backpack around the world meeting people and living life." "Sounds wonderful," I mused, and I really meant it. "I mean, apart from the living out a backpack thing. A shower would be cool now and again."

I looked down at the menu and read the Italian words as my stomach growled with hunger. When the waiter returned for our order, I picked the most carbtastic thing I could find.

"It's cheat night," I said as I stabbed into my lasagna joyously sometime later.

Dinner passed quickly in a haze of wine and chit chat. The food was good and the company even better, and soon giant

plates of pasta were polished off, desserts came out, and the bottle of wine was drained.

"I feel so naughty eating this," I said, licking the coffee flavored cream off my spoon.

"You've done a lot naughtier things than eat that," he winked and my stomach flipped.

I watched him lick a blob of ice cream off his spoon, a small smattering of vanilla landing on his top lip. Leaning over, I pressed my finger to his lip before resting it against my tongue to taste it. He laughed and playfully poked his spoon at me, leaving a glob of ice cream on the end of my nose.

"Hey!"

He laughed harder when he saw how annoyed I was, and he dived closer to quickly kiss it off. I was laughing now too as I wiped away the wetness on my nose.

"You're a devil," I chuckled.

Below the table, his hand was making its way up my thigh, slowly, squeeze by squeeze, until I could feel his fingers teasing the hem of my dress.

"I wish we didn't have to hide away like this," he said, looking into his empty wine glass.

"Me either." Looking around the room, I noticed most of the diners had departed. "I didn't realize how late it was," I said, noticing it was almost midnight. "We've been talking for hours."

His hand on my leg told me he wanted me to stay with him for many more, but the look in his eyes was hesitant.

"Come on," he said. "I'll drive you home. Remember, we have a meeting early tomorrow."

Bringing the conversation back to work left me feeling flat and hollow. I'd had such a good night seeing him as not my boss or my dad's best friend, but as a date. After paying the bill and generously tipping the waiter, he helped me into my coat. Slipping his arm around my waist, he guided me outside into the darkness of the empty sidewalk.

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For a fleeting second, as we walked to the car, I felt as though we were just a normal couple out for a night on the town. But I knew the feeling would soon come to an end. We could never be a normal couple.

And were we even really a couple at all? Could this go anywhere?

"Thank you," I said as we drove toward my neighborhood. "I had a great night."

"Me too."

He drove slowly, and I hoped it was because he didn't want the evening to come to an end. But eventually, we arrived at my building and he pulled up outside the main entrance. I climbed out of his car and paused for a second with my hand on the door, not sure what to say. All I knew was that the last word I wanted to utter was goodbye.

"Would you like to come upstairs for a drink?" I asked.

He pondered the question for a second and looked up toward my window as though he was imagining us up there. He knew what I wanted, and from the lust in his eyes, I could see he wanted it too. So why was he stalling? "I'd love to, but..."

He moved around to my side of the car. There was an intensity in his eyes I didn't quite understand, like he was about to say something he knew he'd regret.

"Becca..." he began.

Oh, here we go. It's the we can't see each other thing all over again.

He shifted nervously, taking my hands in his and squeezing them.

"I want to see you again," he said. "But can we take things slow?"

My insides were burning. I wanted him so much, but at the same time, taking things slow meant he didn't want this to burn out fast. It meant he wanted to stick around.

"We can take things slow," I agreed, resting my hand on his jaw before sliding it down to his chest.

Reaching up, I kissed him gently for a second before brushing my tongue against his. As I pressed myself against his body, I could feel his hardness. Between my thighs, I began to throb with a liquid hunger. Pulling away, I stroked his cheek. "So I suppose a drink's out of the question?"

He nodded regretfully. "Not tonight."

"I understand," I said, slipping out of his grasp. "Good night."

His eyes lingered on my body for a second, taking in what he was saying goodbye to.

"Good night,” he replied. "See you tomorrow."