The Maid Read online

  Charlie winks at me and shrugs at Lars. I swipe the twenty dollars I just won from the pool table and go to the bar and use it to buy another pitcher of beer. I’ve already shown them my fake ID, just in case, and they didn’t hesitate in serving us.

  “I like a chick who can hustle me out of twenty dollars.” Lars grins, standing a bit too close to me. I’ve known Lars for as long as Charlie’s been dating Randy. He’s about six-feet tall, lean with short blonde hair, and really cute. He’s wearing a graphic tee and jeans that fit him well. His face his perfectly clean-shaven and he doesn’t look like he has any tattoos, which makes my mind automatically wander back to Mr. Edwards. Why? I don’t know, and it bothers me. Lars is polite, even if a little too touchy. But he smiles. He’s sweet. He’s attentive. And, a few days ago, he would have been the perfect guy for me. My type through and through. Now, all I can think of is that beard, those green eyes with a hint of crow’s feet around the corners, those tattoos, and those damn abs.

  I come back and set the pitcher down as Lars sets up the table for another game.

  “So how long are you in town for?” he asks me.

  “Two weeks.”

  “Maybe we can catch a movie or something while you’re here?”

  I take a pull of my beer and think about it. A movie? Cute. Sweet. Safe. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  I shake my head and swallow a cold gulp of beer “My parents are leaving tomorrow, so I have a busy day.”

  “Monday, then?”

  “Monday might work.”

  “Finally! I get a maybe from Lily!” he teases.

  We hang around for the next hour, drinking, and laughing. I’m with Lars toward the back of the bar playing darts while Randy, Charlie, and some other friends that I don’t know well are in a booth eating. Suddenly, I hear a commotion. I look over my shoulder, and full-on shock rips through my body.

  Mr. Edwards is standing with both hands flat on the table leaning into our group. “She is not twenty-one!” he roars, all the muscles around his neck bunch up., and Charlie’s lips quiver as he turns to Randy. “Is this the kind of shit you do in the Hamptons, boy?”

  “Oh, fuck,” I whisper and head toward the melee.

  “If my daughter is drunk, so help me God.”

  The group is too shocked to speak, and the silence has become deafening. “Relax, it’s not like you didn’t drink at eighteen,” I say casually, from behind where’s he’s standing. I’ve never spoken to Mr. Edwards this way, but after the way he spoke to me this morning, I feel as if I have the right to. Or maybe, I just don’t give a shit. I’m an adult; it’s not like he can do anything to me. Or maybe I’m drunk and therefore brave. Except that: It’s the Wrong. Thing. To. Say.

  Mr. Edwards straightens, and slowly turns around, his eyes roaming me from the tip of my head down to my toes, and my entire body ignites. He takes a step forward, and I take one back almost bumping into Lars. That doesn’t help the situation either, as Lars steadies me by my shoulders and Mr. Edwards’ eyes narrow.

  “Daddy!” Charlie yells as she slides out of the booth. Lars gets closer, as if he is actually going to protect me. If I wasn’t currently scared of the gorgeous man who looks like he’s going to wring my neck, I’d laugh at the irony of Lars trying to protect me. Linc could bench-press Lars, or break him in half.

  “You.” He points to Lars, but his eyes are locked on me. “How old?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “You know she’s only eighteen?”

  “Yeah, so. She’s legal.”

  Again, wrong thing to say.

  Very. Fucking. Wrong.

  Mr. Edwards’ head whips to the side, and he gets close to Lars as he seethes. “Legal? Legal for what?”

  Oh, jeez. Not legal to drink, obviously. Which only leaves voting and sex, and I doubt that Lars was thinking about politics.

  Mr. Edwards’ eyes narrow, and I see, for the first time, a tall leggy woman, around Mr. Edwards' age, late thirties or early forties, put her hand on Mr. Edwards’ forearm. “Honey, they’re just being kids.”

  “Who are you?” Charlie asks. This brings everything to a screeching halt.

  “Date’s over, babe,” Mr. Edwards says not bothering to look at his…date. His eyes are still locked on Lars, and I’m actually scared he’s going to hurt him.

  “Date?” Charlie is now visibly upset. “You’re already dating? We only just sort of talked about it yesterday.”

  “Charlotte, you’re drunk. You’re eighteen. You’re with a bunch of idiots. Don’t change the subject.”

  Charlotte turns toward Randy, tears in her eyes. “Take me home.”

  Randy pushes out of the booth, but Mr. Edwards blocks his movement with his big bulky body.

  Randy puts his hands up. “I didn’t drink. I promise, Mr. Edwards. Not one drop.”

  Mr. Edwards assesses the situation, and because of the fact that Charlie, sweet but overly -dramatic Charlie, is moments away from throwing a full-blown tantrum targeted directly at the very attractive woman standing close to her dad, he decides to let her go. “We’ll talk about this when you get home.”

  “You got this, Lars?” Randy asks his friend, clearly talking about me, and Lars gives him a thumbsup.

  Charlotte huffs and walks away with Randy on her heels. I shrug, and turn to go back to the dart board when I hear a bark.

  “Let’s go.”

  I look around and then point to myself. “Me?”

  “Lily. I don’t have the time or the patience.”

  I march toward him. What the hell’s wrong with this man, and why does he hate me so much? And who the hell does he think he is, ordering me around? “Time and patience? For what? For me?”

  “You’re drunk. I’m taking you home, little girl.” The “little girl” is whispered so softly that we’re the only ones who hear. It makes my breath catch, but that doesn’t keep me from firing back.

  “I already told you, don’t call me that. And, yes, I’ve had a drink, or two, but I’m not drunk.”

  We are staring at each other, until he loses patience once and for all and takes my arm and pulls me towards the exit. “Let go of me.”

  “Come on, Gina,” he says over his shoulder, and I hear the clack of his date’s heels as she tries to catch up to us.

  “I’m not drunk, dammit. You’re not my dad. Let me go.”

  His eyes narrow and he says in a low rumble, “I’d bend you over my knee and tan your ass, if I was.” And I don’t know why, but that sends wetness flowing down to my pussy, and I just stare at him in shock as he just pulls me into his truck. “Get in,” he demands. It’s a bench seat, and if I slide in before his date, I’ll be pressed against him—something I do not want. I hesitate for a moment when he picks me up and practically throws me in.

  “Oh my God!” I yelp. I was taught to respect adults. My elders. I’ve never—not once—talked back to my parents or any adult that I can remember and cursed at them. But without hesitation I hiss, “Asshole.”

  “Be careful, little girl,” he whispers and then backs away and gestures for his date to slide in. Unlike with me, he doesn’t manhandle her. Instead, he gives her his hand and helps her up, gently. Rage surges through my body.

  I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore his massive body pressed against me from thigh to shoulder as he buckles in. “Raincheck?” he says to his date.

  “Uh? You’re not going to just drop her off?” she asks as if I’m not sitting in between them.

  “Gotta have a talk with my daughter when I get home,” he explains.

  “Woman. She’s a grown-ass woman,” I add.

  He glares down at me and then returns his eyes to the road. “Neither one of you are acting like grown-ass women.” He then changes his tone when he speaks with his date. “And when I finish with Charlie, I have to go have a talk with her parents.” He gestures toward me with his chin.

  “What?” I know my tone is high, but I’m so
mad. “My parents? You’re going to tattle-tale on me like I’ve been a naughty kid.”

  He ignores my comment and continues to drive.

  “So, tomorrow work for you?” the date asks. She is too eager, and I can’t stand her already. I even roll my eyes and make a squinty petulant face.

  I don’t know if she sees me doing it since I’m facing forward, but Mr. Edwards certainly does because he nudges me with his thigh, the one against mine, and says, “Very adult, Lily.”

  I huff and shut up and continue to stew. Lars had been nice. Cute. Available. It had been a long—long—time since I’d had sex, and I was really looking forward to hooking up with Lars. Now that I’m in college, I don’t want to be the awkward girl with very limited experience. I need to have done it at least two times. At least! My one single encounter was just sad. But now, those plans are blown to shit. My hymen is probably still in the process of growing back right now this very moment.

  We arrive at what I assume is the date’s house when he parks his truck “Stay,” he growls at me as he opens the door and slams it shut.

  “I’m not a dog,” I mumble and make a face as he walks around and opens the door for the woman who has completely ignored me the entire time. He helps her out of the truck, glaring at me one last time as he slams the door shut. I pull out my phone and send Lars an apology text. Then, I send Charlie a text asking if she’s okay. I know seeing her dad with another woman, even though he’s entitled to date now that he’s single, was a hard pill to swallow.

  No, she texts back immediately. I’m not alright. I’m grossed out and mad and embarrassed, and also, I want to throw up.

  I’m sorry you’re that upset Charlie.

  The throw up is because of the beer and tequila.

  I chuckle. Well, we’re on our way. Your caveman father is driving me. So, if you’re at your house with Randy, be warned.

  He dragged you out too?

  Yes. And threatened to tell my parents. Who, by the way, won’t care since we had Randy driving. But still…it’s so assholeish of him.

  Ughh! What has gotten into him? she texts, just as I see the lights to the front porch of the woman’s house light up. I put away my phone and squint toward the couple. Is he going to kiss her? Why do I care? She puts a long red-nailed hand on his chest, a clear invitation if I ever saw one. With the other, she plays with her hair. She moves in closer, and this is it. I’m going to see Mr. Edwards, the man I’ve known all my life, kiss another woman. One who is not Mrs. Edwards. A surge of jealousy rages in my body and I want to jump out of the car and stop them.

  Instead, I’m surprised as he takes her hand off of him, kisses the top, and lets it go. As he does this, I reach over and honk the horn in an annoying way that causes his date to startle and also probably wakes up half the neighborhood. He looks over at me, and I can see him glaring. He says something to his date that I can’t hear and she goes into her house, seemingly upset. As he stalks back to the truck, I quickly divert my head and start playing with a loose string from the hem of my skirt.

  Shit, I should’ve unbuckled and slid to the other end of the bench. But now that he’s back in, unbuckling and moving over seems odd. As if I’m uncomfortable sitting next to him.

  Which I am.

  And I’m not.

  “You didn’t have to honk. I wasn’t going to kiss her.”

  Is that what he thought? Arrogant asshole. “I don’t give a crap if you kissed her or not. I just want to get home already.”

  He looks at me suspiciously, but I keep looking forward, my arms crossed over my chest.

  We drive in silence, until it’s deafening, and I have to break it. “Why did you make me leave?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “My parents trust me, and we had a DD. They wouldn’t have cared.”

  He still doesn’t answer. “I’m not drunk, you know. And you have to start giving Charlie’s leash a little slack. She’s going to go crazy and do something stupid if you don’t.”

  Still, nothing. As we drive, my anger starts to subside as I think of Mr. Edwards raising his daughter as a single parent, even though she’s an adult and doesn’t need him in that way—and how he doesn’t have a clue how to handle her now. But he’s trying his best, so I soften my tone a little.

  “Was that your first date? Since the divorce, I mean?” I ask, my voice a little calmer. When he still doesn’t answer I nudge him with my knee then put my hand on his thigh. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” I ask incredulously.

  We’re stopped at a light, and his eyes drift down to where my hand is on his leg. Again, I see that tick in his jaw and his nose flare. I go to pull my hand away, but he grabs it and places it roughly back on his thigh, this time higher up, practically in his lap.

  And with that one gesture, we’ve crossed the line.

  This is not just about my best friend’s father trying to save me from a drunk night of bad decisions.

  This is about my best friend’s father being the bad decision.

  This is about a man who is conflicted. He’s not mad at me. Well, maybe he is. But really, he finds me attractive, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Otherwise, why would he want my hand on him?

  “Mr. Edwards?” He is looking forward; his jaw is clenched so tight I’m afraid he’s going to break a tooth. Shit, I’m right. I can see the outline of his hard cock through his jeans. I swallow nervously, but I continue to rile him up because—damn, I’m still mad, and there’s something so erotic about the way he’s fighting the attraction. “Did I mess up your night? You were going to fuck her, weren’t you?” His eyes widen, and he turns his head to look at me.

  “Would that have been your first?” I ask, bravely. “Since your divorce?” This is way out of line, but I just continue yapping. “I was. Going to fuck Lars, I mean.”

  Deep in his chest, he growls. Actually fucking growls, and it sets me on fire. I take his hand and put it on my thigh, which is pretty much bare since my skirt has inched its way higher as I wiggle restlessly on the bench seat. He pulls it away, but I press my hand on his more firmly this time.

  “It’s fine,” I whisper. “I know you want me, Mr. Edwards. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me since coming home.” I move his hand up my thigh almost to the hem of my skirt, and he squeezes as if that would stop its ascent. “No one has to know,” I whisper again as I unbuckle my seat belt and part my legs a little and push his hand up, his pinky is now skirting the silky panel between my legs.

  “Mr. Edwards, I might be wrong, but I don’t think I am. You haven’t had sex in a long time. Probably since Mrs. Edwards, and no offense, she always seemed frigid. I’ve only had sex one time, and that was two years ago. I need it. I want it. And if you don’t help me out, I know someone else who will.”

  He turns abruptly into an empty and completely unlit parking lot and parks the car. His face is masked with fury. He grabs hold of both my wrists and shakes me. “You’re playing with fire, little girl, and you’re going to get fucking burned. You’re being completely inappropriate.”

  I lean close to him and drop my voice to a whisper. “I want to get burned. And let’s not pretend you talking about my nipples this morning wasn’t inappropriate.” Even though I want to sound confident, I know my voice is shaky. I pull my hands from his grip. “It’s not wrong. We’re both adults.”

  “It’s very fucking wrong,” he says, running a hand down his face. “You’re too young. You’re Charlotte’s best fucking friend.” He looks out the front window, avoiding more eye contact, and that tick is getting worse.

  “It’s not wrong if it’s just your fingers, Mr. Edwards.” I take his hand and suck on his index finger. His breath is now labored. “Just one. One of your fingers in my pussy would work. It’s so thick. I bet I could come with just that one finger. I’ve never come that way before.”

  He shakes his head. “No.” He jerks his hand away. “You’re just a kid.”

  “I’m eighteen
. And I’ve had sex before, it’s not like you’d be taking my virginity.” I shift in the seat and lean back against the door. “So you think it’s wrong to touch me?” I ask him, innocently inching my skirt up further. He’s still not looking at me.

  “Yes,” he says through gritted teeth.

  I part my knees, exposing my panties to him. “So, don’t touch me.”

  He looks over at me, and then a little lower to where he can see my legs part wide open and his eyes widen in disbelief. “Lily!” he barks.

  “You said it was wrong for you to touch me. So, don’t touch me,” I repeat, and begin to slide my panties to the side. “Just watch me touch myself.”

  “Jesus Christ, Lily!”

  “I’ll just picture that thick finger sliding inside me,” I say, moving the panel from my underwear aside, exposing my pussy lips to him. He doesn’t look away, and his eyes are heated.

  “I’m your best friend’s father.” It comes out hoarse and strangled. I’m not even sure why he’s still fighting it. Clearly, he wants it as much as I do.

  “You’re hot. You also happen to be a dad. A hot dad I want to fuck.”

  He groans again and closes his eyes as if completely tormented. “I’m also too old for you.”

  “You’re perfect. You have experience,” I say. “I want experience. I want someone who knows what do to my pussy.”

  “You’re too young.”

  “I’m not.” I begin to rub my clit. “And you want soft young pussy, don’t you? Come closer and look at it.”

  He licks his lips and a deep guttural sound escapes his lips.

  “You can touch me yourself too, Mr. Edwards,” I say with a moan and close my eyes, his eyes on me. Touching myself with him watching is the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m too far gone to worry about it. I’ve never felt so powerful and in control before. This man lost to his lust because of me. It’s a heady experience, which fuels my courage.