A night with my dad's friends

SCARLETT

“Good morning.”

The voice cut through the haze in my mind, soft and familiar, like it had always been part of my world. I knew that voice. It was the voice I had heard countless times in my father’s house. The voice that sent my heart racing every time I heard it.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. I just lay there, my eyes still closed, hoping—praying—that I was imagining things.

But I wasn’t.

Slowly, I brushed the messy strands of hair out of my face and opened my eyes, blinking against the soft morning light.

And there he was.

Zayden.

Lying in bed.

Next to me.

Oh. My. God.

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart started pounding so hard I thought it might explode. I sat up slowly, clutching the blanket tightly around me, my hands trembling as I tried to process what I was seeing.

Zayden’s face was pale, his dark hair tousled, and his eyes—those deep, intense eyes I’d always loved—were wide with shock. He looked like he couldn’t believe this was happening either.

“What… what the hell?” he muttered, sitting up quickly. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as he avoided looking at me.

My mind was racing, memories from last night flooding back in pieces, like shattered glass slicing through my thoughts. I remembered the fight with my dad. The club. The drinks. The kiss.

Oh, God.

I felt a wave of nausea as the realization hit me. I had just slept with my father’s best friend.

Zayden was forty-six. My dad’s age.

What have I done?

I had always liked Zayden. No, scratch that—I had always been obsessed with him. Ever since I was a teenager, he had been my secret crush, the man I fantasized about late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping.

My friends, Jessica and Clara, knew all about it. They used to tease me relentlessly whenever Zayden came over to visit my dad.

“Scarlett, stop drooling,” Jessica would whisper, elbowing me as I stared at him from across the living room.

“You’re going to marry him one day,” Clara would joke, and we’d all laugh.

But it wasn’t a joke to me. Not really.

I had tried everything to get his attention over the years. I remember when I turned sixteen and suddenly realized that I wasn’t a kid anymore. My body had changed. I had curves, and I knew how to use them.

One time, I wore a tight, low-cut dress when I knew Zayden was coming over. I spent hours doing my hair and makeup, hoping he’d notice. And he did.

“Scarlett, aren’t you a little young to be dressing like that?” he had said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at my outfit.

My face had turned bright red, and I mumbled something about fashion before rushing upstairs. But deep down, I had been thrilled. He had noticed me.

Another time, I had accidentally-on-purpose dropped my notebook in front of him so I could bend down and pick it up, giving him a full view of my legs. I wasn’t subtle, but I didn’t care.

And then there was the time I had walked around the house barefoot, hoping he’d notice my pedicure. I’d heard somewhere that men had a thing for feet, and I was desperate to catch his attention any way I could.

But no matter what I did, Zayden always treated me like a kid.

Until last night.

“Scarlett, say something,” Zayden said, his voice breaking through my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I had been staring at him in stunned silence.

“This… this can’t be real,” I whispered. “Tell me this isn’t real.”

“It’s real,” he said, his voice low and rough. “We… we slept together.”

The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, suffocating me.

“This is wrong,” he added, shaking his head. “I’m your father’s best friend, Scarlett. I’m way too old for you. This should never have happened.”

“But it did,” I said, my voice trembling. “And you can’t tell me you didn’t want it.”

He flinched, like my words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice tight. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Make what harder?” I demanded, my anger bubbling to the surface. “Admitting that you’ve wanted me just as much as I’ve wanted you?”

“Scarlett…”

“No, don’t ‘Scarlett’ me!” I snapped, throwing the blanket off and standing up. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve looked at me all these years? You think I haven’t seen the way your eyes follow me every time you come over?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to meet my gaze.

“I was just a kid back then,” I continued, my voice rising. “But I’m not a kid anymore. And you knew that last night. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He stood up too, towering over me, his face inches from mine. “I was drunk,” he said through gritted teeth. “We both were.”

“So what? Are you saying it didn’t mean anything?”

He didn’t answer.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

“Just admit it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Admit that you’ve wanted me all along.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were filled with something that looked a lot like pain.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said quietly. “It can’t happen. We can’t happen.”

My chest tightened, and for a moment, I thought I might cry. But I didn’t. I refused to cry in front of him.

“Fine,” I said, my voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, then get out.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to find something—some reason to stay, maybe. But then he nodded, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and walked toward the door.

Just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open.

And there, standing in the doorway, was the last person I ever expected to see.

My father.