My Daddy’s Best Friend

Sophia

“Mom, I’m in college now. I can take care of myself.”

“We know, sweetie. But we’d feel better if you stayed with Ethan. Just for a week.” Mom gives me that pleading look, the one she knows I can’t refuse.

I glance at Dad. He’s checking his watch, already mentally gone. They have their “urgent business” trip, and I just got home last night. Perfect timing.

I let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. If you insist.”

Mom beams. They think they’ve won. They have no idea.

Ethan Brooks. My dad’s best friend. The man I’ve been secretly obsessed with for years. And now I get seven whole days under his roof.

My heart is doing backflips, but I keep my face neutral. “I suggested staying with Lily, but—”

“She shares a room with her sister, honey. It wouldn’t work.” Mom pats my hand. “Ethan’s the logical choice.”

Logical. Sure.

I watch them leave, then immediately grab my phone.

Lily: Wait, THE Ethan? The one you never shut up about?

Me: The very same. One week. Alone with him.

Lily: Soph. What are you going to DO?

I bite my lip, grinning at the screen.

Me: Whatever it takes.

Thirty minutes later, Lily’s across from me at our usual café, hazel eyes wide. “You’re actually serious.”

“I’ve been in love with him forever, Lily. He just never sees me. Not really.” I stir my drink. “But this time? He’s going to notice.”

“And if it blows up?”

I ignore the twinge in my chest. “Then at least I tried.”

Lily studies me. “You know he’s got experience. Like, a lot. And you’ve never even been properly kissed.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll figure it out.”

She sighs. “Just… be careful, okay? And for God’s sake, bring protection.”

I laugh despite myself. “Noted.”

Back home, I’m packing when the reality hits me. I open my underwear drawer and freeze. Cotton. Boring, beige cotton.

“Seriously, Sophia?” I mutter, grabbing whatever’s there. It’s pathetic. I’m planning to seduce a man, and my arsenal includes granny panties.

My phone buzzes.

Lily: Break a leg. Or your hymen. LOL.

I laugh, tension easing slightly.

That night, I barely sleep. My mind runs through every scenario. What will he be wearing? How will he look at me? Will he finally see me as a woman, not just Daniel’s kid?

I’ve imagined this so many times. Ethan in his suits. Ethan with that rare smile. The way his green eyes crinkle when he’s amused. The strength in his shoulders, his hands…

Heat pools in my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut.

One week. Make it count.

Morning comes gray and pouring rain. Great. Florida hurricane season doing me zero favors. I dress in a long-sleeve top and shorts, grab my suitcase, and head downstairs.

Mom and Dad are already at the kitchen table, bags packed.

“This rain is insane,” I complain, sitting down.

“It’ll probably stick around.” Mom sips her coffee. “You have everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We’ll drop you at Ethan’s first. Our flight’s at eleven.”

I force down some coffee, stomach too tight for food. Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the car. Each street we pass knots my nerves tighter. By the time we pull into his driveway, I’m a mess.

“Oh no, we forgot an umbrella!” Mom exclaims.

“It’s fine. I’ll run.” I grab my bag, already reaching for the door handle.

“Call us if you need anything, sweetheart.”

“I will. Love you guys.” I kiss them both, then I’m out, sprinting through the rain.

Cold water soaks me instantly. My shirt clings, my hair drips. By the time I reach his front door, I’m breathless and drenched. I wave goodbye to my parents, watch their car disappear, then ring the bell.

The door swings open.

And there he is.

My knees go weak.

Ethan stands in a robe, fresh from the shower, water still glistening on his skin. His chest is bare where the robe gapes. Broad shoulders. Defined muscles. Dark hair damp and pushed back. Green eyes that widen slightly when he sees me.

He’s even more striking than I remembered. At thirty-two, he’s everything. Those eyes, the color of pine forests. That jaw. Those lips I’ve imagined far too many times.

And right now, he’s looking at me. Really looking.

His gaze drops. Just for a second. But I catch it. He takes in my wet clothes plastered to my skin, the outline of my body beneath the soaked fabric. His jaw tightens.

My heart slams against my ribs.

He noticed.

“Sorry,” I manage, gesturing at myself. “No umbrella.”

He doesn’t speak for a beat too long. Then he reaches for my bag. “Come in. You’re soaked.”

His voice is rougher than usual. Lower.

I step inside, shrugging off my wet coat. Water drips onto his floor. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back, and turn to face him.

He’s staring.

Not the way he used to. Not the way a family friend looks at his best friend’s kid. This is different. Hungrier. His eyes trail down my body—my wet top clinging to every curve, my nipples hard against the fabric—and when they meet mine again, something has shifted.

I know what I look like right now. And from the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw works…

He likes it.

“I was in the shower,” he says finally. “Sorry I wasn’t down sooner.”

His voice is controlled, but his eyes give him away. They keep dropping, keep returning to my body like he can’t help himself.

Good.

“It’s okay.” I smile, soft and innocent. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Don’t worry about it. You should get out of those clothes. Before you catch cold.”

Practical words. But the way he says them—rough, distracted—tells me exactly what he’s thinking.

He’s imagining me naked.

Heat floods through me. My nipples tighten further beneath my wet top. I see him notice.

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Good thing my bag is leather. Everything inside stayed dry.”

I hold his gaze a moment longer than necessary. Then I smile again.

He swallows. I watch his throat move.

“You know where the guest room is,” he says. “Everything you need is there. I’m going to make coffee. Get settled.”

He turns quickly. Too quickly. But not fast enough for me to miss the way his robe tents slightly at the front.