Page 34 of For Her Own Good

That’s when I spend on my stomach, a hot mess of release, the aftermath of pent-up desire, a sticky viscous reminder of everything I want from Starla Patrick but can never have.

Chapter 12

Starla

“Wouldit be the worst idea in the world to text Lowry, or the worst, worst?”

“You are not drunk enough to be asking questions that ridiculous.”

I knock back another mouthful of prosecco and scowl at Holden over the Star Wars Monopoly board. “Shut up! It’s not the very worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“No, that would’ve been when you stayed with Tad a year longer than you should have because you wanted to make your father happy.”

“Would you kindly fuck all the way off?”

Holden lands on one of his very few property holdings which is annoying because I’d at least like to charge him money for being obnoxiously right. I’ve always had the impulse to make my father happy wherever I could since it was so rare that I could make him happy.

“No, you pay me not to.”

He’s right again, because I do indeed pay him to argue with me, and to not always give in when I demand something. Yes, we have a code if he does actually need to fuck off, but sometimes I just want to push up against something and it not actually move.

“But…”

Now it’s Holden’s turn to glare.

“No, hear me out, okay?”

He rolls his eyes and makes a go-on motion with his finger in the air.

“But what if this was a good idea?”

“How on Endor would this be a good idea?”

“Because if I drunk text him, I’ll be so mortified I’d never be able to look him in the face again, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about this anymore.”

“Why don’t you stop seeing him and avoid the whole being mortified thing?”

“You’ve met me, you think I have the willpower for that?”

Holden takes a drink of his own prosecco and looks at me, his gaze penetrating. I don’t like it at all. “If this were anything or anyone else at all? Yes, because you’re one of the strongest, most determined, self-aware people I know. But this guy…”

Yeah, I know. Lowry gets under my skin. Or rather got there almost twenty years ago and has never gotten out.

“I worry about you. I know you think Lowry Campbell is some kind of saint, but I’m not so sure about that. Don’t you think it’s weird that he spends so much time with you? He’s what, like twenty years older than you?”

“Eighteen,” I mutter. “What’s your point? Are you saying couples with age gaps can’t be happy? You’ve dated a few cougars and silver foxes in your time.”

“Yeah, but none of them have been my ex-psychiatrist.”

Point, Holden.

“And you’re not dating. It’s some bizarre, maybe-want-to-date-but-guilt-complex thing with some other weird shit thrown in there for good measure. Maybe you should get drunk and go to a bar and pick up some random dude. Should be easy enough to find a daddy type who would take you home.”

“Sure, but A) they might have been friends with my father, and B) I don’t want a daddy type. I want adaddy. Those things are not the same.”

“They sure aren’t.”

Holden doesn’t totally grok my daddy kink, but he gets it well enough to know what I mean. Some random older guy isn’t going to cut it. Silver foxes are all well and good, but just because a man’s got grey hair doesn’t mean he’s going to do it for me. No, my tastes are very particular.

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