Page 1 of Her Father's Best Friend

one

Delilah

The summer heatwraps around my bare legs like a lover's hands as I step out of my car. Home looks exactly the same—pale blue siding, crooked mailbox, and the sound of hammering from the backyard. That familiar rhythm makes my heart skip. Mitch is here. Just like my teenage fantasies, only now I'm not sixteen with braces and a training bra. I'm twenty-two, armed with a college degree and enough courage to finally take what I've wanted for six years.

Dad's not home yet—his truck is missing from the driveway. Perfect. I drop my suitcase just inside the front door and follow the drumbeat of Mitch's hammer through the house. My fingertips trail along the familiar walls, past the height marks penciled in from my growing years. The last one, at eighteen, sits just below the five-foot-seven line. I wonder if Mitch ever looked at those marks and thought about how I was growing up.

The back door sticks in the same spot it always has, and I have to shove my hip against it to push through. Then I freeze, my breath catching somewhere between my lungs and my lips.

Holy. Shit.

Mitch Lawson stands with his back to me, shirtless in the June heat. Sweat glistens between his shoulder blades, running down the ridge of his spine. He's even bigger than I remember—shoulders that could block out the sun, arms thick with muscle, and a waist that tapers into worn jeans hanging indecently low on his hips. His tool belt clings to him like a lover. Every muscle flexes as he brings the hammer down on a nail, securing a new plank to Dad's weathered deck.

My journal entries about him didn't do him justice. Not even close.

I lean against the doorframe, purposely arranging myself. One hip cocked, chest pushed slightly forward, hair swept over one shoulder. I applied lip gloss in the car—the cherry kind that makes my lips look like I've been sucking on something sweet for hours.

"Hey, stranger," I call out, my voice deliberately lower than normal.

Mitch turns so fast he almost drops his hammer. His blue eyes widen, then narrow, taking me in from head to toe. Heat blooms between my thighs at his gaze. I'm wearing cut-off shorts that show the full curve of my thighs and a white tank top that clings to my breasts. No bra. I made sure of that.

"Delilah." He says my name like he's testing the sound of it. "You're home."

"Just got in." I smile and push away from the door, walking toward him with deliberate steps. I've practiced this walk in my dorm room mirror—hips swaying just enough to draw the eye. "Miss me?"

His throat works as he swallows. The hammer dangles from his hand, forgotten. "Didn't know you were coming back today."

"Surprise." I stop just a foot away from him, close enough to smell the sawdust and sweat on his skin. Close enough to see that his beard is trimmed shorter than he used to keep it, revealing more of the hard line of his jaw. "Dad knew. He must have forgotten to mention it."

Mitch sets the hammer down on a nearby sawhorse and reaches for his discarded t-shirt. I almost whimper in protest.

"Don't cover up on my account," I say, letting my gaze linger on his chest. "It's too hot anyway."

His eyes darken, and for a moment—just a fraction of a second—I see something dangerous flash across his face. Then he pulls the shirt over his head, muscles bunching with the movement.

"How's your dad's deck coming along?" I ask, pretending I care about carpentry when all I want is to trace the contours of his forearms with my tongue.

"Almost done." His voice is gruff, deeper than I remember. "Just reinforcing some of the weak spots."

I can't help myself. "I bet you're good at finding all the weak spots."

His jaw tightens. He takes a step back, creating distance between us. "You've changed, Delilah."

"Four years of college will do that." I tilt my head, exposing the curve of my neck. "I'm not a kid anymore, Mitch."

"I can see that." His eyes drop briefly to my chest, then snap back up to my face. Self-loathing flashes across his features, quickly masked by a neutral expression.

I step closer, deliberately invading his space. "You've changed too. More... everything." My hand lifts of its own accord, hovering just above his chest before I let it fall away. Not yet. Don't push too hard too fast.

The screen door slams from the front of the house. "Dell? You here, honey?" My dad's voice breaks the moment.

Mitch steps away from me like I'm on fire, guilt written all over his face. I want to tell him not to feel bad for looking. I want him to look. I want him to do more than look.

"Out back, Dad!" I call, not taking my eyes off Mitch.

My father appears in the doorway, his face breaking into a smile when he sees me. "There's my girl! Come give your old man a hug."

I turn and bound over to my dad, throwing my arms around his neck. Over his shoulder, I catch Mitch watching us, his expression unreadable. I deliberately press my body against my father's in a way that makes my ass look particularly good from Mitch's angle.

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