by Olivia Fox
Sizzling Hot Daddy
Olivia Fox
1
Gracie
At first, my shower hit the spot and the strawberry Lush D’Fluff shaving soap felt amazing against my skin. The splurge was totally worth it: $12.49 for 2.4 ounces. I had shrugged to myself; “Oh wellsies,” as my best friend, Sofie, would say. It smelled so delicious that I almost forgot the internal fat-shaming about my oversized thighs that I subjected myself to as I applied the fluffy soap to those ample appendages.
Remember the mantra that Sofie gave you.
I can do epic shit.
I banished the chubby-thinks from my mind, sending them to the impenetrable imaginary dungeon far removed from my thought processes, where they would be hogtied and rendered speechless by the likes of Ursula, the octopus from Little Mermaid. My mental picture of Ursula stuffing a fat tentacle into the imaginary mouths of my fat-shamers worked.
They shut up.
Since moving into Sofie’s place three months ago and settling into the charming cow town of Briarville by the Sea (just “Briarville” to locals), located behind the “Redwood Curtain”, I had relied heavily on online shopping for the required beauty products. The selection in town was pretty slim pickings.
“Not sure what all the maintenance is about. It’s not like you’ve been within throwing distance of an eligible male since you got here.”
But at least this cow town was safe.
An eligible male is the last thing I need right now, I told myself a mere three seconds before the lights shut off, plunging the bathroom into total darkness.
Oh, no, I’m so screwed. My fear of the dark was epic.
Then the water turned to ice on my skin.
I screamed.
At least I had my phone with me in the bathroom to serve as a flashlight and rescue equipment all in one.
“What should I do?” I asked Sofie, who was far away up the mountain, in her remote palace of happy ever after.
Shit. My heart started racing, and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.
“Hang on a minute.” Sofie was very familiar with my coping mechanisms. We understood each other like no one who hadn’t lived through our childhoods ever could.
“You’re okay, Gracie. It’s going to be okay. Look at five things around you.”
I had started using coping mechanisms at Wisteria Village for girls when, Katie Jo, our mentor, shared them with me years ago. When I had first entered the home I suffered from fierce panic attacks on a regular basis. Each time I went to bed, I would wake in the middle of the night, unable to catch my breath.
“You’re okay, Gracie. It’s going to be okay. Use the 5,4,3,2,1 tool that Katie Jo taught us remember? While you are doing that I will stay on the line and call Luke to come over and help you out. You’re going to be okay.”
I ran through the 5,4,3,2,1 exercise, a necessity for calming my ass down in any anxiety-laden sitch.
The steps for the tool were so familiar that I could take them in my sleep: identify five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can feel then two things you can smell. And finally, one thing you can taste - which can even be your tongue as long as you can taste it.
Amazing that something so simple could work every time.
Once my breathing had returned to normal, I was able to rant at Sofie. “Look at five things around me? It’s practically dark. How am I supposed to do that? And I have no idea how to fix a freaking solar system! Why can’t you have a real power setup like everybody else?”
Okay, I was bleating like a baby goat. Even I could admit that.
“Don’t worry, Gracie. I’ll share Logan’s friend’s contact information with you. He has a solar business in town. Just give him a call, and Luke can be right over to see what’s up and help you out.”
“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with some hick stranger coming to my door in the middle of the night!”
Unlike Sofie and her computer-building, nerdy ways, tinkering with mechanical stuff made me cranky.
The bozo was insistently pressing the door buzzer as if I didn’t have ears. I turned my phone flashlight on, threw a robe around me, and made my way to the front entry. Without illumination, the house beyond the small semicircle of my light was immersed in total darkness.
How was I supposed to know if it was solar dude or not at the front of the house?
I swung open the door and, naturally, shined my phone’s flashlight up into his face so that I could see him better.
The stern-looking friend of Logan’s swung his arm up to block his eyes from the bright light. Before I could lower the phone, he instinctively reached out with the other one and snatched my wrist up in his hand.
“Yowch! Let me go.” It didn’t really hurt: the exclamation was more out of surprise at being grabbed. I attempted to yank my hand out of his without success. It was like trying to push over a refrigerator with my finger. “What are you doing?”
His already dark features were immersed in the shadowy uplight of my phone. Still, I could tell that he was handsome. In a very cheekbone-jutting, huge and firm lower lip, lower half of the face swathed in dark stubble sort of way.
God. He was yummy. He wore a short brimmed, rain-drippy hat over his brown hair, which just touched the fisherman’s collar of his blue-grey sweater, and a blue-and-white checked stripe shirt underneath.
This was no cowboy hick. Dude had style. And the way he still firmly held my wrist in his hand made me want to pant ridiculously.
I think my mouth might have been open.
C’mon, Gracie. Get it together. This is Logan’s friend, not some hero from a romance novel. What do you think he’s going to do? Sweep you up onto the back of his horse? He’s here to fix the solar system, not to flick your switch.
He let go of my wrist suddenly, and it dropped to my side. I could still feel where he had grabbed me.
“You’re Gracie.”
“Last time I checked.”
Impossibly, he scowled even more sternly.
“I presume you would like my assistance with the lights, since you’ve called me up in the middle of the night? Although I’m not really sure why anyone would take a shower at 2 a.m.” He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and crossed his arms, cocking one eyebrow at me in disapproval.
His brawny forearms. Sigh. My weakness.
“Um, I’m sorry. Mechanical failures make me cranky. Thanks for coming so late.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Such difficulties used to be my bread and butter. Since you’re a friend of Logan’s, I’m lowering my standards a little to serve as your maintenance man.”
He came up from the basement where the solar batteries were located. “Looks like the batteries need replacing. I wasn’t able to get the generator started, which means it has probably been defunct for a long time. It’s going to take a few days for the batteries to be delivered. Is there anyplace else you can stay in the meantime?”
“No. I don’t really know many people around here in town. My best friend lives way up the mountain.”
“Well, it’ll be pretty rough without a working generator, and I could do without Logan on my ass for leaving you without power. You can stay at my place until it’s sorted. There’s plenty of room, and you’ll hardly notice I’m there. Sound good?”
2
Luke
“I can’t stay with you!” She crossed her arms and scowled at me. “I don’t even know you!”
If the whole situation wasn’t so irritating, she might actually be kind of cute.
Even with the adrenaline of annoyance pumping through her veins,
I could see that she was trying to control her shivering. She was cold, underdressed, and I’d be damned if she was going to stay in this house alone with no lights and no power.
No way, no how.
It was not in my Daddy DNA to let a little girl go unprotected.
I pretended that she was my sister and asked myself, What would work with Louisa?
First, calm her down. Make her feel safe, then she might actually listen to reason.
Louisa would probably let me know that, once again, she thought I was being an “overbearing control freak. A byproduct of being raised by a dysfunctional, alcoholic father. I should check out an Al-Anon meeting.” Blah, blah, blah. Broken record that Louisa was, I could always hear her favorite lyrics playing out in my head.
I tried the soft approach with Gracie nonetheless. “Look, I get that it’s weird, but I don’t want to leave you here like this. The only other option is splurging on $400-plus a night at the Tiger Lilly Inn. Why do that? I’m a friend of your best friend’s husband. You will be completely safe at my place, and even though you don’t know me, I can assure you I’m trustworthy.”
“That’s exactly what a psycho would say.”
Okay, she had a point. I smiled. “Do I look like a psycho to you?”
Her brow was unfurling, and she tapped her foot and started to shiver in earnest. At least I could tell that she was considering it. “I guess I can bring my pepper spray. And I’ll be locking the door.”
“Absolutely.” Although I was appreciating the view of her lush curves and the tops of her thighs, just kissed by the flimsy silk robe, I needed to get her into some warm clothes.
“Look, get dressed and pack your hair dryer so that you can get warmed up at my house. Might as well throw a few changes of clothes in your bag while you’re at it.”
How could packing an overnight bag take so long?
“Do you need some help up there?” I asked impatiently.
“I’m fine! And you don’t need to yell at me. It isn’t easy packing in the dark, you know.”
That’s it; she’s getting my help, whether she wants it or not.
I took the stairs two at a time. “Where are you?”
“I’m in here. I told you not to come up. I can do it myself.”
Less than half of her gigantic suitcase was filled with a jumble of clothing, and it seemed like the rest of her closet surrounded her on the floor where she sat. The lighting was dim and I could barely make out what was what, other than it was all brightly colored fluff, sparkles, and lace gathered around her.
“Look. You are only going to be gone a couple of days. No need to bring your entire closet.”
“How am I supposed to know what to pack? Is it going to be sunny? Cold? I need to be prepared.”
“Oh my God. You are making me crazy with all these messy piles. Haven’t you ever heard of folding?”
What was actually making me crazy was the sight of her pink ruffled panties peeking out from beneath her robe, which were riding up from the way she sat cross-legged on the floor.
Ruffled panties like a “little” might wear.
Nah, I couldn’t be that lucky. If I showed her my domineering Daddy side right now, I’d frighten her off.
Frighten her off? From what? Doing her the favor of fixing her solar system? It wasn’t like she was dating material. She was best friends with my best friend’s wife. No future there. Not with the possibility of things going sideways and living forever with the awkward aftermath. That was a road better left untraveled.
“Let me help you,” I insisted. “My house is literally a ten-minute drive from here. If you need something later, we can come back for it.”
I made swift work of sorting her clothes by type: skirts; ruffle panties; lacy contraptions that had my imagination racing enough to make me hard; t-shirts; sweatshirts; leggings… “Good God, you have enough clothes in here for two weeks!”
At least they were now stacked into neatly folded piles, which I could then start placing into her suitcase.
“Like I said, I need to be prepared,” she said. “Can you come to the bathroom so that I can get my stuff from there? Then the last thing will be my laptop.”
We made short work of collecting the rest of her things: an equally ridiculous amount of lotions, potions, and hair accessories was apparently in order.
It struck me that, for a least a moment, Gracie’s initial distrust of me was nowhere to be found as we walked together through the dark house. She forgot herself and clutched tightly at my elbow in the dark.
I surprised myself by smiling down at the top of her head in response to her holding on to me. It was like realizing my body was thirsty only after finally remembering to drink water: an essential need was met that had long gone ignored.
And it shocked the hell out of me.
3
Gracie
“Yes!” I leaned back on the cozy, tall bar stool in Luke’s kitchen and shot my fist in the air.
150,000 Instagram followers and 50,000+ Facebook Likes for the Bali-Wood luxury travel magazine account. More than I had promised their share holders as their social media manager ten weeks ago.
It had been two days since Luke picked me up from Sofie’s place on that dark night. It was hard to believe how long it was going to take just to get the lights working again.
The Lost Coast wasn’t called that for nothing. People said it was “behind the redwood curtain”, and they weren’t kidding. The upside of having to wait over a week for the new solar batteries to be delivered was that I had nothing to do but focus on tending to Likes, Comments, and Shares, which were leading to the conversions and revenue that I had forecast for my clients.
It didn’t hurt one little bit that the Kardashians had hash-tagged one of the five-star spa resorts in the Bali-Wood portfolio.
As a result, I was sure that my clients would be more than happy with the social media performance I was boosting for them in order to help achieve their business goals. In my line of work, goal-getting led to bonuses. Bonuses meant security and a nicely padded bank account.
The bigger my balance, the less afraid I felt of the possibility of living on the streets. That was a reality that kept me working very hard indeed. I grew up there for a short while, long enough to make me vow that I would never experience homelessness again.
Luke had let me know that morning that he needed to go out and inspect the progress on a project and would be gone until the afternoon.
The downside of having to wait a week for the damn batteries is that I had to ignore the tingles that he gave me 24/7—yes, I had hot dreams about him, too—and pretend not to notice the way that he caught and held my gaze as I went about my business in his home.
He didn’t look away when he talked to me. Sometimes it felt like being a rabbit spotted by a coyote, frozen still in a field, hoping not to be seen.
Only difference was I wanted to be caught.
I fantasized about him pushing me against a wall and kissing me. Grabbing my hair in his hands and pulling my neck back so that my lips lifted towards his. The other day, he stopped what he was doing and raised an eyebrow at me. I had been staring at his hands forever while he was doing the dishes.
His deep voice. It thrummed downward through my belly and warmed up my lady bits.
If I admitted it, I had missed his hulking, heavy-footed presence in the house since he had left this morning. The flip side of that longing was that I could work without him distracting me.
Being attracted to Luke was a recipe for disaster. He was Sofie’s husband’s best friend. If we were to go out, or even have a fling, the inevitable repercussions would be uncomfortable for everyone involved. I needed to stop fantasizing about his big, strong body pressed against mine. I needed to stop imagining his chest under my palms; how unyielding it would be.
I needed to stop thinking about him saying to me, “You sound sleepy, princess. I think it’s time I ran you a warm bath. Then Daddy will feed you be
fore he puts you to bed.”
That’s it! It was time for a pie and ice cream celebration in order to stave off this other, unfed hunger.
“Tomorrow, I’m so giving up carbs and calories,” I muttered as I headed for the bathroom to get ready.
I took my second shower of the day and slathered myself in Fleurs de Cerisies (cherry blossom) shimmering lotion. Girly smells were good, and girly smells with sparkles were one hundred times better.
Once dry, I grabbed my favorite thigh-length camel hair coat; a bulky, cable-knit cream-colored fisherman’s sweater to wear underneath; a pair of camel-colored corduroy shorts; taupe tights; cream ankle socks; and a pair of brown leather ankle boots. I had to admit that I looked semi-adorable after topping the whole outfit off with my caramel-streaked messy bun perched on the top of my head.
Thankfully Luke had taken me back to Sofie’s house for my car yesterday, so I didn’t have to walk the whole way back into town. I climbed into my ice blue Mini Cooper and headed to the Lost Coast Pie Factory.
“You sure you wanna eat that?”
I was sitting outside at one of the the sidewalk tables out front of the pie factory when this nasally voice question came from directly behind me. I could see the shadowy outline of a cowboy hat cast across my table as I enjoyed the yummy warmth of blackberry pie topped with melty vanilla ice cream.
I stopped short, the forkful of goodness parked halfway between my plate and my mouth.
“I mean, you’re really pretty for a plus-sized girl. You don’t want to push yourself over the edge to faaaaaaaaaaat.” The annoying voice became increasingly high-pitched until it reached a squeak and petered out like a choked rooster.
The shadow of the cowboy hat went sliding up the wall to my right, and I turned around to see Luke holding the boot-kicking perpetrator up by his Levi jacket, shoving him against the exterior brickwork of the store. The jerk comically kicked the heels of his cowboy boots against the wall and wriggled his shoulders ineffectively in a feeble attempt to break free of the bulging arms that held him in place.