I think i have a crush on my stepdaddy

I realized I had a crush on my stepfather the exact moment he walked out of the swimming pool wearing nothing but wet black shorts.

It wasn't just a mild, passing thought either. It was a full-blown, throat-drying, heart-hammering realization that made me want to slide right off the sun lounger and sink into the concrete.

To be fair, I hadn't wanted to come back here in the first place. After spending the last two years away completing my degree and trying to carve out a life of my own, my job hunt had hit a spectacular standstill. With my bank account dangerously close to triple digits, I’d been forced to accept my mother’s invitation to stay at the sprawling estate she now shared with her new husband.

The catch? My mother, Miranda, wasn't even here.

Typical Miranda. As one of the city’s most sought-after event planners, her life was a blur of international flights and high-society galas. She had married Vincent Cole, a fiercely successful, notoriously private businessman in a quiet ceremony abroad while I was buried under final exams. I’d only met him once, briefly, and had spent the last year imagining him as a cold, arrogant tyrant who bought my mother’s affection with diamonds and real estate.

I had prepared myself for battle when I arrived at the mansion earlier that afternoon. I expected icy glares, rigid house rules, and the overwhelming sensation of being an unwanted guest.

Instead, Vincent had met me at the door himself.

"Olise," he’d said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards. "It’s good to finally have you here."

He didn't look like a tyrant. He looked like a man who commanded a room simply by breathing. At forty-three, Vincent was a towering presence, with sharp, aristocratic features, a neatly trimmed beard dusted with silver, and eyes the color of dark espresso. He had taken my heavy suitcase from my hands before I could protest, offering me a warm, genuine smile that caught me completely off guard.

"Your mother is devastated she couldn't be here to welcome you," Vincent had explained as he led me up the sweeping staircase to my room. "But I told her I would take good care of you. Make yourself at home, Olise. My house is yours."

He had been so calm, so disarmingly kind, that my defenses had crumbled instantly.

Which brought me to my current predicament.

Needing some fresh air to clear my racing thoughts, I had wandered out to the second-story terrace overlooking the backyard. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting a golden, amber glow over the pristine, Olympic-sized swimming pool below.

The steady, rhythmic sound of splashing drew my eyes downward.

Vincent was swimming laps. He moved through the water with effortless, powerful strokes, his broad shoulders cutting through the blue surface like a predator in its natural habitat. I stood frozen by the stone railing, unable to look away.

Then, he stopped.

Vincent slicked his wet hair back with both hands and stood up in the shallow end. As he walked up the steps and out of the water, my breath hitched in my throat.

Jesus.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of wet, clingy black swim shorts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. His chest was broad and heavily muscled, glistening with droplets of water that caught the sunlight. A light dusting of dark hair trailed down his sternum, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. He possessed the kind of mature, rugged physique that only came from years of disciplined strength—not the gym-bro aesthetic of the guys my age, but something raw, commanding, and utterly masculine.

I felt a sudden, heavy heat coil in the pit of my stomach. My eyes traced the line of his collarbone, the curve of his biceps, the dangerous dip of his hips—

Vincent suddenly paused, grabbing a towel from a nearby lounge chair. As he wiped his face, his gaze drifted upward.

Directly toward the terrace.

Directly at me.

My heart did a violent flip. I tried to move, to step back into the shadows of the doorway, but my feet felt glued to the floor. I had been caught red-handed, staring like a starved man at a feast.

Vincent didn't look angry. Instead, a slow, amused smirk spread across his handsome face. He draped the towel over his shoulders and tilted his head up, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

"Something wrong up there, Olise?" he called out, his voice laced with a teasing, lazy warmth. "Or are you just making sure I don't drown?"

My cheeks flushed a furious, burning crimson. "I—no! Just... getting some fresh air!" I choked out, my voice squeaking slightly on the last word.

Vincent’s smirk widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good to know. Let me know if you need anything."

"I will! Thanks!"

I didn't wait for him to reply. I spun on my heel and bolted back inside, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I shut the glass doors behind me and leaned against them, my chest heaving as if I had been the one swimming laps.

What is wrong with me? I thought, pressing my cool palms to my burning face. That is your mother's husband. Your stepfather. You cannot be looking at him like that.

By the time night fell, the embarrassment hadn't faded.

I had skipped dinner under the guise of being exhausted from my travels, opting to hide in my room instead. Now, it was past midnight. The mansion was dead silent, wrapped in the quiet stillness of the late-night hours.

I lay awake in the massive king-sized bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The air conditioning was humming softly, but I felt stifled, flushed, and restless.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the image of Vincent standing by the pool, water dripping down his abs, his dark eyes looking right through me. It was a dangerous, forbidden loop, and the guilt of it was eating me alive. My mother and Vincent's marriage was already a fragile thing—I had picked up on the quiet distance between them during their brief phone calls—but that didn't give me the right to covet the man.

I rolled onto my side, groaning into my pillow. Just sleep, Olise. Tomorrow, you'll find a job, get an apartment, and get the hell out of here before you do something incredibly stupid.

Suddenly, a soft, deliberate sound broke the silence of the room.

Knock. Knock.

I froze.

I sat up slowly, my eyes darting to the heavy wooden door of my bedroom. Had I imagined it?

Knock. Knock.

No. Someone was definitely there.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slid out of bed. I was wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey sweatpants. I padded across the cool hardwood floor, my hand trembling slightly as I reached for the brass doorknob.

I pulled the door open.

Vincent stood in the dimly lit hallway. He wasn't in his tailored suit, and he wasn't in his swim trunks.

He was wearing a dark, silk charcoal robe, tied loosely at his waist. The lapels hung open just enough to reveal a tantalizing strip of his bare, muscular chest, still faintly smelling of expensive sandalwood cologne and the clean scent of the outdoors. His hair was slightly damp, falling casually across his forehead.

He looked down at me, his dark eyes scanning my face in the shadows.

"Vincent?" I whispered, my voice barely carrying in the quiet hall. "Is everything okay?"