Chapter 4

Theo

I shouldn't be here.

I shouldn't be here standing in Erica's living room, trying to adjust my damn jeans because the sight of her—just a sweatshirt, no pants—got me half hard like I'm some horny teenager. I curse under my breath, forcing myself to look away from the stairs she disappeared up, but it doesn't do much good.

I'm here because Joy asked me to help. That's the excuse, anyway. I should've declined. Should've made up some excuse about work or something, anything to keep me from stepping into the lion's den. But instead, I jumped at the opportunity like a fool. And now I'm standing here, alone in Erica's house, with my daughter outside handling some phone call and me trying not to think about how bad I want the woman upstairs.

Minutes later, I'm just getting control of my own body when I hear the stairs creak. I don't even need to turn to know it's her. I can feel her. It's like the air in the room shifts every time she's around, it gets warmer, thicker. I grit my teeth and try to focus on anything but the fact that I'm standing in this damn woman's house, and all I can think about is how good she looks in that damn sweatshirt. It doesn't help that the thing practically covers her whole body, but I can still picture what's under it. She's too young for me. Too much trouble.

But fuck if that makes any difference right now.

"Joy still on the phone?" Erica's voice breaks the silence, and I turn around. She's got some leggings on now, which doesn't make things any better because she's tucked the sweatshirt in making it so I can clearly see the shape of her ass against the stretched material.

"Yeah." We stand there awkwardly, neither of us really moving. I try to stay calm, to not look at her for too long, but I feel the pull. Every time she shifts, every time her hair falls over her shoulder, every damn thing about her just pulls me in.

Finally, I break the silence because I can't just keep standing here like a fucking idiot. "Joy told me to come help," I say, clearing my throat. "Says you've got some big stuff to move and, uh, ‘high potential of spiders.'"

That gets a laugh out of her. It's soft, but it hits me right in the chest. My hand twitches at my side. I force it to stay there.

"She always was scared of spiders," Erica says, smiling. "Any bugs, really. I see that hasn't changed."

I grunt, not trusting myself to speak. That laugh of hers does something to me. Makes the attraction I've been trying to push down shoot right back to the surface. Damn it, this woman. I rub the back of my neck, trying to will away the tension in my shoulders.

Before either of us can say anything else, Joy finally comes barreling through the door, her phone tucked in her back pocket and a grin on her face. "Hey, sorry about that. Work call." She looks between us, completely oblivious to the storm that's been brewing in the room. "Ready to get to it?"

I take a deep breath and nod. "Yeah, let's get this done."

Three hours later, I'm regretting every decision I made today.

Moving furniture? Fine. I could handle that. Heavy lifting, getting things out to the curb, even dealing with a few damn spiders. None of that bothers me. What bothers me is that somehow, in the middle of all this, things went from moving furniture to drinking. And not just a casual drink or two—no, the girls have turned this into a goddamn drinking game.

I should've seen it coming. Joy's a good kid, always has been. She never gave me trouble, always did well in school, even managed to navigate high school without getting caught up in bullshit. I wasn't the kind of dad that laid down heavy rules when I came into her life. By the time I showed up, she didn't need much guidance, just some support, and I gave her that. Now she's in college, still doing well, and I'm proud of her.

But today? Today she's testing my patience.

I'm not gonna be the dad who lectures his adult daughter and her friend about having a few drinks while they go through old stuff. It's not like they're being irresponsible—hell, I'm sure Erica's got some heavy memories to work through. But it's the way they're doing it, the way they're dancing around the damn living room, blasting music, and laughing like they don't have a care in the world. And the way Erica's moving.

Shit.

I'm trying not to watch, trying not to let my eyes linger on the way she shakes her hips, how her body sways to the music. But it's fucking hard. Too hard. I sit back on the couch, doing my best to pretend I'm more interested in the football game playing silently on the TV, but it's a lost cause. Every time I glance up, she's there, twisting and turning, her laughter echoing through the house like some kind of fucking siren call.

I need a break. I need to get out of here before I do something I'll regret.

"I'll go grab us some pizza," I declare loudly and suddenly, pushing off the couch and heading toward the door. It's the first excuse I can think of, and I don't wait for them to agree before I'm out the door and into the fresh air.

Jesus Christ.

I lean against my truck for a moment, taking a deep breath. What the hell is wrong with me? It's just a woman. I've seen plenty of beautiful women in my life, dealt with attraction before. But this is different.

I climb into the truck and head to the pizza place, trying to keep my mind off her. But even as I drive, I can't help but think about the way she looked at me earlier. Like she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. And that fucking sweatshirt. I can't stop thinking about that either. Why the hell did it bother me so much, seeing her in another man's clothes?

Because I wanted her to be wearing mine.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut, and I grip the steering wheel tighter, cursing under my breath. I shouldn't be thinking like this. I'm too old for her. Too experienced. I've got no business, even entertaining the idea of...whatever the hell this is.

But it doesn't stop me.