Daddy Crush - Adriana Anders Page 0,14

on my daughter. Or anyone I care about.

No. No way is Dave fucking Green going to be this woman’s first anything. He’s the absolute definition of a prick; the kind of guy who pushes and wheedles and gets away with as much as he can. I’ve heard the stories—mostly straight from his mouth—and he’s never met a woman he didn’t want to treat like shit.

When I don’t answer within an acceptable time limit, Jerusha clears her throat. “We’re neighbors.”

I give a quick nod and walk away to refill a wine.

Harper comes back with another order. While I make her cocktails, she meanders back over to the pair at my bar. A look passes between the women and I wonder if Harper’s somehow expressed how inadvisable Dave is.

Even so, she doesn’t leave. He’s moved his stool closer. Harper comes back to me, all business.

“You need to do something, Dad.”

“Do something?”

“Don’t play dumb, Pops. Even Mom says you’re one of the smartest people she knows—and she hates your guts.”

“She’s here of her own free will, Harper. What do you want me to—”

“She asked you out, didn’t she? Before this.”

I open my mouth to deny it and then think better of it. Harper’s super power is seeing through my lies.

“What? And you told her you’re too old or some Boomer crap like—”

“I’m not a Boomer, Harper.” Which she knows very well.

“So, you’re saying you’re okay with—”

My eyes focus down the bar, where something’s happening. Dave’s standing up, looking at a wet spot on his lap. Jerusha’s glass is empty.

Oh, shit.

He yells something, which I can’t hear through the rushing in my ears. And that’s a good thing, because whatever he has to say, it’s better if I don’t hear it.

And then the dam bursts.

So full of adrenaline that I can’t feel my fingers, I leave the bar and stalk over to where she’s sitting, eyes on fire, color high. Whatever the fucker did to her, he’ll regret it.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” Her lips are tight, the skin around them white. “But he tried to put his hand on my… My…” She waves a hand around her thigh.

“Little bitch threw her wine at—”

I lose it completely. Dave weighs nothing when I grab him by the collar and drag him behind me, ignoring his protests, barely registering his hands clawing at mine.

To the front door and outside, where I throw him to the sidewalk and watch him land like a side of meat.

It’s clear he sees—or feels—that I’m not the amiable guy he’s dealt with up until now, because when I squat and get right in his face, he shrinks back, uncharacteristically silent. Scared.

“You never set foot here again.”

“I’m still part owner, you can—”

“I’ll call my lawyer, make the a final payment soon as I can. Buy you out early.” I’ve got no idea where I’ll find the cash, but I will. I’ll sell a goddamn kidney if it means never seeing this bastard again. “Go.”

He scuttles back on all fours like a crab and lurches up, then takes off down the street at a quick clip. I hope it’s the last I ever see of the prick.

Without another word, I turn. She’s there, in the open door, wide-eyed.

I walk up to her, hating that she’s seen my inner monster, but maybe relieved that she no longer thinks I’m the right guy for the job.

“You still want me to…show you?” Fuck, I sound rough, out of control.

Her tongue flicks out to lick her lower lip. She nods.

“Fine.” I bend down, tangle my fingers in the hair at her nape, and press my forehead to hers, imprinting myself on her, though I’m the one who’ll come out of this burned. She snares my gaze and doesn’t let it go, proving how firmly I’m already hooked. “I’ll do it.”

6

Mysterious ways

Jerusha

Everyone stares when I get back inside, but I’m not bothered by that. I’m feverish from the contact with Karl. I’m angry and excited, full of emotion. Alive.

I meet Karl’s eyes.

Adrenaline—or is it fury?—looks good on this man, like he was born in another era, one where men swung sledgehammers to settle disputes, and came home painted in blood, smeared in dirt.

I’m not the violent sort, but something’s happening between my legs right now and I can’t deny the pull.

I grab my bag and take out my wallet to pay for the wine—not even a little regretful at where it ended up.

“What do I ow—”

“Nothing. As my Nana used to say, ‘Put that purse away’”

“What accent is that supposed to