Page 65 of My Best Friend's Dad

Starting with ham, corn on the cob, and a very naughty piece of lingerie that I’m not even sure how to properly put on. It looks like it’ll give me the pussy wedgie to end all pussy wedgies, but it’ll be worth it.

I hope.

And just to be clear, the ham and corn on the cob are a separate surprise. For after. Or before. Preferably after the pussy bisecting lingerie has been shed.

Chapter sixteen

Bellatrix

Providence isn’t a city dominated by towering buildings, each competing with the other to block out the sky. That said, there are still a few towering monoliths. Most of them overlook downtown and the water, and of course, Rowleigh lives in the prettiest one. Its shape isn’t modern. It resembles something that would have been right at home in the Art Deco scene of the Roaring Twenties. The outside is tasteful stone, the roof rolling into two peaks with a central point done in bright green metal.

I see basically none of it as I follow Rowleigh’s instructions and pull into the underground parking on the south side of the building. I’m shit at directions, but he told me to look for the restaurant with a dancing squirrel surrounded by two massive trees on the sign, and that helped.

I find the entrance and punch in his code, and a huge metal door slithers up silently. I was instructed to drive straight, take the second right, and put in another code at the scanner. It’s wild that whoever designed this place bisected the parking intoprivate bays. It’s a maze of concrete and metal garage doors. All very efficient.

I forget all about efficiency when the door rolls up, and I find Rowleigh in the middle of his parking area. He’s standing there like a statue. A very handsome, delicious, good enough to devour statue in black slacks and a black button-up shirt. All tailored, expensive, and well-fitted to his body.

My mouth goes bone dry before I even park.

The ridiculous lingerie that’s dividingmylady garage is basically nothing more than a string. It’s supposed to serve as panties, but it’s not doing the trick. This car is ancient, but thank goodness the seats are leather. I have nothing on but a short little black miniskirt and a white, tight-fitting T-shirt. The black top part keeps my nipples from view under the T-shirt, but I still throw my vintage black leather jacket over the top. I slayed my makeup, doing it dark and edgy with scarlet lipstick. Very un-Bellatrix.

I slam the car into park in the middle of nowhere, kill the ignition, and throw open the door. I was anxious just thinking about getting here, and Rowleigh is clearly on the same wavelength.

He hoists me into his arms. I wrap my legs around his lean waist, and he steers me to the hood of the car. He claims my mouth in a scalding kiss, pouring all the days we went without seeing each other into it, although it hasn’t really been that long.

It felt like an eternity.

And he clearly agrees.

“I thought we were supposed to get hot and dirty on your car,” I say between kissing him. Maybe this isn’t the right kind of first date, but we were officially on our first date a while ago.

“I’m getting there. Unless you’d rather stop and relocate right now.”

My legs tighten around his waist, my heels digging in as my nails bite into his shoulders. “I’m not sure I ever want you to stop. Mine is good.” I kiss him deeply, wild for the taste of him. I swear that every time he touches me, my brain both scrambles and clarifies. What do they call that? An altered state of being? Maybe not, but it’s definitely accurate. “Don’t let me forget that I have ham in the trunk for you.”

His surprised laughter echoes off the concrete, giving the whole area a cave-like feel. “Is that a metaphor?”

“No. I brought you ham. We had some leftovers from dinner. Dinner was excellent, but not nearly as delicious as this.” I kiss his lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He groans, the sound vibrating through me. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it under your jacket?”

“It is. And I’m incredibly anxious for you to get it off me.”

“The jacket?”

“The surprise. It’s quite uncomfortable.” I wriggle my hips, both to get closer to him and to try to escape the crack wedgie of double-crack death. Lingerie clearly isn’t always designed to be practical. It’s meant to be put on and stripped off in two point eight seconds.

His pupils are blown, his lips slightly swollen from my hungry kisses. His new beard is bearding, and it’s even fuller than the last time I saw him. He clearly has excellent facial hair genetics. I want him to rub that beard all over my body.

We both make an effort to get my jacket off. His noises of appreciation as he takes in the white T-shirt with the little black scraps of fabric covering my nipples below make all the discomfort worth it. He out and out groans loud enough to echo again after several hard tugs free me from the tight T-shirt. The beginnings of the onesie piece are clear. Two straps loop over my shoulders but become one strap as it heads south. That’s where the string part comes in, looping around to the front, where itturns into two again just below my belly button and widens at the top to cover the essentials. Barely.

“Take my skirt off,Daddy.”

We both freeze and look at each other. I nearly gag, and he does too.

“So wrong,” I mutter. “But also hilarious.”

“I concur. So wrong.”