Page 13 of Christmas with My Ex's Dad
I try to focus on Iris’s story about her latest work mishap, but my thoughts keep straying to the electrifying sensation of Griffin’s fingers gliding over my thigh.
“Really, Faye?” Iris laughs, oblivious to my struggle. “You should have seen the look on our boss’s face.”
“Sounds... hilarious,” I manage, feigning interest. My responses are clipped and distracted, a far cry from my usual attentiveness.
Griffin’s smirk widens ever so slightly as his teasing touch continues, sending shivers down my spine that make it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. Each time our eyes meet, it’s as if he’s daring me to break—to confess what’s happening beneath the tablecloth.
And I can’t because I’m enjoying it too much.
As we finish the meal, I practically leap from my seat, desperate for any excuse to escape his intoxicating proximity before I alert my sister to what’s going on. But before I can even reach for a dish, Griffin stops me with a gentle hand on my arm.
“I’ve got it,” he says, his voice firm yet kind. He turns to Iris, who’s been watching us with a curious smile. “Are you staying the night? We’ve got plenty of room.”
“Thanks, but the kids are with the babysitter, and I need to get back,” she replies, still grinning. “But I appreciate the offer.”
“Of course.” Griffin nods and excuses himself, saying he’ll let us say our goodbyes in private. As he disappears into the kitchen, I watch him leave, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and arousal. What is he playing at? And more importantly, why can’t I bring myself to resist?
The moment Griffin disappears into the kitchen, Iris is grabbing my arm. “Griffin is something, huh?” Iris says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “He’s hot. Like, way hotter than Elliot.”
My face flames with embarrassment. “Iris! You can’t say things like that.”
“Come on,” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. “Did you see the way he was looking at you? Like he wanted to devour you.” Leave it to my sister to notice something else going on.
I hesitate, torn between the urge to confess and the fear of being judged. Finally, unable to bear the pressure any longer, I admit, “We... kissed once. But that’s it.” I don’t mention catching him earlier or what he did under the table, but even the kiss feels like too much to confess.
“Really?” Iris smirks, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Tell me he was a good kisser. He looks like a good kisser.”
“It was just a short and sweet mistletoe kiss.” I shrug. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s not like anything can happen between us anyways.”
Iris raises an eyebrow at me. “And why is that?”
“He’s my ex’s dad. It feels wrong.”
Iris doesn’t look phased. “It’ll only feel wrong if you let it. I personally say go for it. What Elliot did – cheating – is wrong. Moving on isn’t—no matter who it’s with. You deserve to be happy.”
My chest aches with the weight of her words, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine a life where happiness isn’t tainted by guilt or shame. A life where I could freely explore my desires without fear of judgment.
“Thanks, Iris,” I murmur, my voice wavering slightly. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a warm embrace.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispers, pressing a tender kiss to my cheek before stepping back. “And if you ever need anything... you know where to find me.”
I watch her get into her car. The engine roars to life, drowning out my thoughts as she pulls away, leaving me standing in the doorway.
What am I going to do?I already know the answer to that.
There’s no turning back now. All that’s left is to face the consequences, whatever they may be. And maybe, just maybe, find happiness along the way.
11
FAYE
It’s time to face him again.
I take a deep breath and walk back into the kitchen. Griffin stands there, wiping down the counters with a rag, his silver hair glistening under the dim light. The tension between us hangs in the air, suffocating.
“We need to talk,” I announce, my voice steadier than I feel. I cross my arms to brace myself, but there’s no escaping the heat that floods my cheeks or the moist warmth that pools between my trembling thighs. I can feel my nipples harden beneath the flimsy fabric of my dress, straining against the constraints of my bra.
Griffin sets the rag down, leaning casually against the counter with his arms folded across his broad chest. A flicker of amusement crosses his face, and his eyes lock onto mine with a calm intensity that sets my heart racing even faster. “About what?” he asks, his voice low and direct.
