Pining For Dad's Best Friend

by Daniella Cole

  Pining For Dad’s Best Friend

  Daniella Cole

  With Lauren Milson

  Copyright © 2020 by Daniella Cole

  Edited by Kasi Alexander

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Pining For Dad’s Best Friend

  1. Bailey

  2. David

  3. Bailey

  4. David

  5. Bailey

  6. David

  7. Bailey

  8. David

  9. Bailey

  10. David

  11. Bailey — One Week Later

  David - Two Months Later

  Pining For My Ex’s Dad

  1. Riley

  Also By Lauren Milson And Daniella Cole

  Pining For Dad’s Best Friend

  Bailey is only twenty-one years old but has had to grow up fast because of who her family is. Her newest responsibility? Organizing a party for her parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

  High on the list of guests, of course, is her dad’s best friend.

  David is a highly respected, loyal, and disciplined man. He hasn’t seen Bailey in years and is looking forward to seeing his best friend’s bright, sweet daughter again.

  Bailey is likewise looking forward to seeing David. He’s always loomed at the forefront of her mind as the kind of man every guy her age should aspire to be.

  Neither could have anticipated the spark between them growing into a burning flame as the night goes on.

  This is the first time Bailey has felt this way about a man. Dizzy and grounded at the same time. Swept up. In over her head.

  She is obsessed with the idea of him being her first. She wants to feel his lips on hers, his hands around her waist — she’s never felt more like a woman than when he turns his possessive gaze toward her.

  And David? He is feeling things he thought impossible. Things he thought he’d never feel again. Feelings that are more than he bargained for. Feelings he cannot deny.

  The obsession goes both ways, and he knows he will not leave until he claims all of her — body, mind, and soul.

  By the end of the party, she’ll be his.

  And if David has his way, the end of the party will not be the end of his time with Bailey.

  It’s only the beginning…

  No matter who tries to keep them apart.

  “Pining For Dad’s Best Friend” is a short, steamy romance with a guaranteed HEA.

  xo, Daniella

  1

  Bailey

  “Oh…oh! I’m sorry!”

  I just brushed shoulders with someone. It was my fault. I’m carrying a bouquet of white roses and I’m barely able to see around them. My entire field of vision is pretty much a wall of soft, fragrant petals, and I wasn’t looking where I was going because I thought I’d be the only one still left in this part of the house.

  “No worries!”

  That’s Lillian’s voice. She’s my mom’s assistant and one of my very good friends. I turn to look over my shoulder. She’s hurrying down the corridor toward the front of the house, and she has a bouquet of flowers in her arms, too, though it’s smaller than the one I have. The one I have is just for me. The card that came with them has my name on it, and anyway, we already have a lot of flowers for the party.

  David, my dad’s best friend, sent these especially for me and I intend to cherish them in the privacy of my own bedroom. I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight with them just a few feet away from me.

  I’m not usually this much of a romantic.

  I climb the stairs as gingerly as possible and let out a deep breath when I get to the top. I drop my flowers off in my room, setting them down on the side of my desk closest to the window. It’s such a gorgeous day, so I push my curtains aside and open the window to let some fresh air in.

  I take the card from the bouquet and read it again, my lips pulling into a small smile. I try not to get too excited. David’s name is there, my name is there, and I don’t even care about the message written in-between. I mean, I do, but in my book, any gesture from David is one that I would accept with open arms. This man could tell me to jump, and I’d ask how high. I trust him implicitly.

  And if he weren’t the man he is, I’d think he was leading me on. If any other man sent me these flowers, I’d wonder why he hadn’t asked me out yet. I place the card on my desk and take another sniff of the roses. The flowers, mixed with the warm breeze coming through the window, are goosebump-inducing.

  I’m nearly shivering with excitement as I head down the hall to my parents’ room. Mom sees me as I pop my head in and pulls me into a big hug before I can even say hello.

  “I have so much to be thankful for,” she says.

  The subtle scent of bergamot and grapefruit floats around us as I put my arms around her.

  “Have you finalized what you’re going to say in your speech?” I ask.

  “Just that I’m thankful for my family.”

  “Um,” I say, “if that’s what you’re planning to say today, maybe you should save it ‘til November and write something new. You don’t want to look like you plagiarized your own speech.”

  She doesn’t answer and just rocks me back and forth instead. Dad’s in the corner adjusting his tie in the mirror with his chin tipped up. His eye catches mine and he gives me a wink. He’s always been like that. Steely on the outside and soft on the inside.

  “Have you decided on the song you want for your guys’ dance?”

  “Whitney Houston, ‘I Have Nothing,’” my mom says, placing both hands on my shoulders. She tips her chin down as though she’s sharing a secret with me.

  “Good choice.” I’m excited, and this is the last detail I’d needed to gather before the party gets underway. “I’ll inform the DJ.”

  I’d wanted my parents to do a choreographed dance, but they couldn’t get their schedules to align, so they’ll be doing a simple slow dance. I just hope it’s less awkward than most slow dances I’ve seen in my life.

  I shudder at the memory of Eddie Anastasio putting one hand on my shoulder and spilling a baggie of animal crackers on me with the other in eighth grade.

  “People will start arriving soon,” I say. “I should get dressed and head downstairs.”

  I don’t wait for an answer before slipping back into the hallway and going to my room again. I take off my shorts and T-shirt, plop them into my laundry basket, and pull my dress on. I struggle with the zipper a little, but I recover and then I’m good. My makeup was done this morning and my hair is pretty much always just a wash-and-air-dry situation, so the dress is the last thing I need.

  Then I go downstairs to start welcoming people to the party. Lillian is already here, and I join her, making the rounds and shaking a few hands. It’s my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and their lives couldn’t be more different than they were twenty-five years ago. Back when they met, they were both law students. They were scrappy and industrious, and they didn’t live in the best neighborhood.

  Fast forward a few years. Now they had good jobs. They did pro-bono work on behalf of people renting apartments in their native New York who had shitty landlords who engaged in shady practices. They made what small difference they could, given their resources and know-how. Then they came to DC a few years later. Things went quickly from there. They had a kid. The kid was yours truly. They wanted me to have security, so they worked hard to build a f
antastic life for me and they wanted to give back to their roots to help others blossom at the same time.

  Fast forward a couple of decades and here we are. And here I am, fingers twining together anxiously with my eyes watching the door. I shake hands with a few senators and their wives and a few other senators and their husbands. Pleasantries are exchanged.

  I continue to be distracted.

  Where is David?

  My belly drops. Oh, no. Maybe he sent the flowers because something came up at the last minute and he won’t be able to attend after all. When I’d received the RSVP back from him in the mail, my fingers nearly shook as I tore the envelope open and it was like a glitter bomb exploded inside me when I saw the box he’d checked off.

  But David’s not here now, and David is never late.

  That’s when I hear some motion over by the entrance and he steps through the door.

  I suddenly feel funny, like the floorboards beneath me just sank. My eyes are focused on him, but I feel as though I’m somewhere else, too. He closes the door behind him. Someone must make a joke because he laughs and shows off that gorgeous smile of his, and then he nods a few times, gaze cast downward. A few people hold their hands out and he shakes each of them with the genuine eagerness I’ve always admired so much in him, and then he turns, the barrel of his broad chest making the front door of our home look like it belongs on a gingerbread house.

  His eyes scan his surroundings as though he’s looking for something, and they widen slightly as his gaze meets mine. I want to take the first step toward him, but I…can’t. I feel pinned to the ground, my feet stuck in blocks of cement. He approaches me instead, with slow, long strides across the wide, sun-drenched foyer, to meet me at the bottom of the stairs — where I’ve been staring. Stare. Ing.

  I watch as his jaw ticks and he takes me in, his eyes caressing my face like a flame. There’s a little tick in his jaw. His breath seems to lock up for a moment. He isn’t doing anything inappropriate — I know he would never dream of it — but it’s as though his eyes hold the power to reach out and touch me.

  “Bailey, wow,” he says with a courteous smile, “you look great. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”

  Let me have all of your babies.

  “Yes. Thanks,” I gulp, dumbfounded by my own feelings. With a heavy arm I point toward the dining room, beyond the white, ornate arch that separates it from the foyer, and speak bluntly, without color. “I picked out the flowers and silverware.”

  “I’m sure the flowers and silverware are very nice. But I said you look amazing.” He averts his eyes briefly, clears his throat, and looks at me again. “Did you receive the flowers I sent?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying to claw my way back to planet Earth. “They’re gorgeous. I love them. Thank you.”

  “Nervous?”

  “A little,” I confess. “I think I’ve just built this day up in my head so much and I want the reality to match what I’d envisioned.”

  But that’s not what I’m nervous about. I mean, don’t get me wrong — I do want everything to be absolutely perfect for Mom and Dad, but on that front I’m confident. It’s David who’s making me nervous, David who has me sweating like a girl whose prom date is forty-five minutes late.

  Where’s my corsage?

  What is happening here?

  David was always kind, strong, a good role model to everyone around him, from humble beginning like my parents were, met my dad in college, and made a name for himself the way my mom and dad have done. But right now he’s anything but a good influence on me. He looks like he belongs between the pages of a dirty magazine. His classic good looks and subtle charm, combined with his strong stature and disciplined demeanor, act together like a fine mist that you can’t see and also can’t escape.

  He’s making me into an absolute nervous wreck.

  “I’m sure it’s going to be a fantastic party.” His eyes are big, bright and blue, and paired with his strong jaw and prominent brow, he looks inherently trustworthy. His eyes flicker past me and he squares his shoulders, standing up a little straighter, but I see the smirk at one corner of his sexy, smooth lips. “Sir.”

  I turn to see my parents coming downstairs. My dad’s in his suit and he finally got that tie to look right, and my mom’s in a red dress like the ones she wears to work, but this one has a pink belt and is slightly shorter. I shuffle aside to accommodate them, and after David has taken my mom in for a hug, he shakes my dad’s hand. Dad slaps him on the back, David lets his shoulders relax a little, and they start talking like the pair of college guys they used to be.

  My mom pulls me away to tend to something. I think she wants me to make the rounds to greet the guests that have come in after David, and before I know it, Dad’s dragging David off in the opposite direction, toward one of the rooms in the back of the house. They’re probably going to smoke cigars in there before the party formally starts.

  I turn to grab a final look at David before we part and our eyes catch each other’s.

  My palms are sweaty. My heart is racing.

  And there’s a delicious, tingling warmth crawling up between my thighs and into my belly…

  2

  David

  Bruce is pouring me a drink and gesturing for me and a couple of guys I recognize to take a seat. I probably seem composed on the outside. Bailey wouldn’t have given me a pass if I’d acted strangely. She calls things like she sees them. I take a seat and Bruce hands me a glass.

  I take a sip of my scotch and try to get comfortable, but I can’t get the picture of Bailey’s gorgeous face out of my head. Her beautiful eyes, the cute little dimple in her chin, the amazing hand-full breasts. I chuckle to myself, take another sip of my scotch, and try to relax. Put my old, sorry ass in a room with a pretty young woman and I’m acting like I’ve never been around one before.

  She’s changed so much.

  “How is New York treating you?” Bruce asks me as he sits, leaning to grab the box of cigars in the middle of the coffee table. He offers one to each of us, and I take one gratefully.

  “New York is good,” I reply. “Work is terrific.”

  I moved to New York from DC about two years ago. I’d gone to college for architecture and was able to get a job in urban planning back here in DC right out of college, but when I got the opportunity to work on a new housing development in New York I was all over it. DC had sucked the energy from me. I gave my heart and soul to this city, but I was married to work and didn’t carve out much time for dating.

  Didn’t have much luck in New York, either. Turned out that turning over a new leaf in a new city was pointless. You can move if you want a change and you can travel if you want a new perspective, but the one thing you can’t outrun is yourself. Wherever you go, there you are.

  My lack of a dating life. Yeah, maybe that’s why the first beautiful woman I’ve seen in ages has my mind reeling. One of the other guys takes a cigar, but the last guy offered refuses.

  “No, my wife would kill me if I went back out there smelling like smoke,” he says.

  “Fair enough.” Bruce puts the box down as he looks over at me. “We’ll abstain until after introductions are made.”

  That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. One of the guys in this room is the president of a mid-sized real estate development firm, and he’s itching to meet the right people in the industry. I’m supposed to be that guy from the industry. He’s supposed to bring capital.

  “David Shaw, this is Maxwell Corbin. Maxwell, please meet David.”

  We reach out to shake hands. He starts his elevator pitch, and I’m nodding and trying to listen, but I just cannot focus on him. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat, feet askance, elbows on his knees like he’s sharing something really juicy with me, but I can’t reply. My mouth is dry. My brain feels fuzzy. I take a sip of my scotch. Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead, and I rub my hand on my gray slacks, but my mind keeps going back to Bailey.

  What the hell
has gotten into me?

  Thankfully there’s a knock at the door that cuts off Maxwell’s spiel.

  “Yes, come in,” Bruce says.

  The door swings open softly to reveal Bailey, fingers curled around the edge of the smooth wood.

  “Dad, I’m sorry, but Mom wanted you for something. I tried to get her to tell me what it was because I didn’t think you’d want to be disturbed while you’re trying to catch up with your old friends.”

  Her eyes flicker over to me, her features softly angular, her lips full and her eyes wide and bright. Out of pure instinct I grip my armrest and feel my nails dig into the worn, buttery brown leather as I begin to stand.

  “Oh, I don’t mind. Please, stay,” Bruce says as he stands. He puts his hand on my chest and I lower myself back into my seat, my eyes locked on Bailey’s. She takes a few steps back to let her dad out and then closes the door again.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Maxwell says in a deep exhale. He stands and plows a hand through his hair.

  “I know,” the other guy quips. It’s like I’m on the outside of an inside joke, which is fine. I didn’t get to where I am by wishing I was on the inside of something I didn’t give a shit about. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure what they’re discussing is something I give a shit about.