MY BEST FRIEND DAD (2)

Lila

Maya’s question hung in the air like smoke.

My mouth opened. Closed. It opened again.

“No,” I said, too fast. “God, Maya, no. I was just— I was watching something. Some dirty videos. The guy’s name was Dominic. It was a coincidence.”

She stared at me for a long, heavy second. Her eyes flicked down to my still-shiny fingers, then back up.

“You were moaning Daddy.”

My stomach twisted. I forced a shaky laugh and wiped my hand on the sheets like that could erase everything.

“People say that in p**n all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. I swear. I would never— Maya, he’s your *dad*. That’s disgusting.”

The lie tasted bitter, but I pushed it out anyway.

Maya’s shoulders loosened a fraction. She still looked unsettled, but the sharp edge in her voice dulled.

“Okay… okay. Just— don’t ever say that again. Even as a joke. It’s weird as hell.”

“I won’t.” My voice came out quieter. “I promise. Never again.”

She exhaled hard and dragged a hand down her face.

“Good. Because we’re leaving in twenty minutes and I refuse to spend the entire week at my dad’s house thinking about you touching yourself to his name. Gross.”

My heart stuttered.

The vacation.

I had almost forgotten.

Every summer Maya’s dad opened the big lake house for two weeks. This year I had been invited again—same guest room down the hall from Dominic’s, same shared kitchen, same long evenings where he walked around in low-slung sweatpants and quiet intensity.

I swallowed.

“Yeah,” I said. “Twenty minutes. I’m ready.”

We packed in silence. I shoved clothes into my duffel with shaky hands, still throbbing between my legs, still tasting his name on my tongue. Maya kept glancing at me like she was waiting for the lie to crack. It didn’t.

By the time we pulled up the long driveway to the lake house, the sun was already dipping low. The house sat quiet and beautiful against the water—glass and dark wood, the kind of place that felt expensive and private.

Dominic’s black truck was already in the driveway.

My pulse kicked hard.

Maya killed the engine and hopped out first.

“Dad’s home. Come on.”

We grabbed the bags. The front door opened before we reached it.

Dominic stood there in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, sleeves stretched tight over his arms, silver-threaded hair slightly damp like he’d just showered. His eyes landed on Maya first, soft with the quiet affection he always saved for his daughter. Then they shifted to me.

Something darker flickered behind them—quick, hungry, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Hey, kid,” he said to Maya, voice low and warm. He pulled her into a brief one-armed hug, then looked past her. “Lila. Good to see you again.”

The way my name sounded in his mouth made my thighs press together.

“Hi, Mr. Torres.”

His mouth curved, just slightly.

“Dominic is fine. You’re not twelve anymore.”

Maya rolled her eyes and pushed past him into the house.

“I’m dumping my stuff and then Jason’s picking me up. We’re going into town for dinner and a movie. Don’t wait up.”

I followed more slowly, feeling Dominic’s presence like heat at my back. He didn’t say anything else. Just watched me climb the steps, his gaze lingering a second too long on the sway of my hips.

Twenty minutes later Maya was gone—kissed her dad on the cheek, waved at me, and disappeared into Jason’s car with a promise to be back late.

The front door clicked shut.

Silence settled over the house like a held breath.

I stood in the hallway outside my guest room, pulse loud in my ears. I could hear Dominic moving around downstairs—the soft clink of a glass, the low rumble of the refrigerator opening.

I should unpack.  

I should stay in my room.  

I should keep the promise I made to Maya.

Instead I changed.

I stripped out of my jeans and pulled on the shortest pair of sleep shorts I owned—soft gray ones that barely covered the curve of my ass—and a thin white tank top with no bra underneath. The fabric clung to my nipples the second I moved. I left my hair down, lips a little shiny from the balm I swiped on, and walked downstairs barefoot.

Dominic was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of whiskey in one hand. The late light cut across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the silver at his temples. He looked up when I entered—

—and went still.

His eyes dropped. Slow. Deliberate. Over the thin tank top, the hard points of my nipples clearly visible, the long stretch of bare thigh. His fingers tightened around the glass hard enough that his knuckles went white. He didn’t look away. Not right away. When he finally dragged his gaze back up to my face, there was heat in it he didn’t bother hiding.

I felt the power of it like a hand between my legs.

I walked closer than I needed to, stopping just inside his space, close enough that the clean scent of his soap and the faint burn of whiskey wrapped around me. I leaned one hip against the counter, letting the tank top stretch tighter across my chest.

“Maya abandoned me already,” I said, voice soft, almost playful. “Guess it’s just us tonight.”

Dominic’s throat worked as he swallowed. He set the glass down carefully, like he didn’t trust his hands.

“Seems that way.”

I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder. I reached past him for a glass in the cupboard above his head, stretching on purpose so my body brushed his arm, so the hem of my shorts rode higher. I felt the heat of him, the way his breath caught for half a second.

“You always drink alone when we’re here?” I asked, glancing up at him through my lashes as I poured myself water I didn’t want. “Or do you just wait until the house gets quiet?”

His voice came out rougher than before.

“I like the quiet.”

“Do you?” I turned to face him fully, close enough now that if I leaned forward another inch my chest would touch his. I let my eyes drop to his mouth, then lower, to the way his jeans sat on his hips, before dragging them slowly back up. “I always wondered what you do in this big house when it’s just you.”

Dominic’s jaw flexed. His gaze flicked down to my mouth again, then to the hard peaks of my nipples pressing against the thin white fabric. He didn’t step back. If anything, he seemed to grow still, like a man holding himself in place by force of will.

“You shouldn’t wonder about things like that,” he said, low.

I smiled, slow and deliberate.

“Why not?” I took a tiny step closer, close enough that my voice dropped to something intimate. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Dominic. You said it yourself.”

His eyes darkened.

For a moment the only sound in the kitchen was the quiet tick of the clock and the soft rush of our breathing. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand curled into a loose fist on the counter like he was fighting the urge to reach for me. I shifted my weight, letting one thigh brush lightly against his, and felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, voice almost growling.

My pulse hammered between my legs. I kept my eyes on his, soft and daring.

“Maybe I like danger.”

Something raw flickered across his face—lust, restraint, the heavy knowledge of exactly how wrong this was. His gaze dropped once more to my mouth, then lower, lingering on the way my tank top clung to my breasts with every breath I took. He looked like a man starving and trying not to show it.

Outside, gravel suddenly crunched under tires.

A car door slammed.

Maya’s voice—bright, unexpected, too close—called out from the driveway.

“Forgot my charger! Be right in!”

Dominic’s eyes locked on mine.

Neither of us moved.

The front door handle turned.