Loving My Father's Best Friend

BELLA

I was dreaming about him again.

Alex had me pressed against the cool glass wall of his office, the city lights blurring behind me.

His big hand wrapped around my throat not tight, just enough to make my pulse jump. His other hand slid up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher until his fingers found exactly where I was already wet and aching for him.

"You've been teasing me for years, Bella," he growled against my ear, voice low and rough like gravel. "Now you're going to take what you've been begging for."

I arched into him, gasping as he thrust two fingers inside me, slow at first, then harder, curling them just right.

My hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pressure.

His thumb circled my clit in tight, perfect strokes, and I moaned his name loud, shameless.

"Good girl," he whispered, lips brushing my neck.

"Come for me. Let me know how much you want this."

My whole body tightened. Heat coiled low in my belly, building fast, too fast.

I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging in, and then…

I woke up.

My heart hammered against my ribs. My thighs were slick, my panties soaked, and my nipples ached against the thin tank top I slept in.

I pressed my legs together, trying to ease the throb between them, but it only made it worse. I stared at the ceiling of my tiny college apartment, breathing hard.

It wasn't the first time I'd dreamed about Alex Reed like that. But this one felt different. Sharper. More real.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with the time

4:47 a.m. and a photo I'd saved months ago.

Alex at last year's company holiday party. Dark suit, silver threading through his hair now, that same easy smile he'd always had. Except now, when I looked at it, my stomach flipped in a way it never used to.

I'd seen pictures of him my whole life. Birthday parties, graduations, random family barbecues.

He was always there tall, steady, laughing with my dad like they were brothers. Back then he was just Uncle Alex. Safe. Familiar.

Somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five, that changed.

I dropped the phone and buried my face in the pillow, groaning.

"Get it together, Bella."

But the ache didn't listen.

I had a plane to catch in six hours. Seattle was waiting. Home. The firm. And Alex.

I couldn't decide if I was excited or terrified.

By noon I was dragging my two suitcases through the front door of my parents' house in Madison Park.

The smell hit me first, fresh coffee, lemon cleaner, and that faint cedar scent from the fireplace my dad always kept stocked even in summer.

"Bella!"

My mom's voice came from the kitchen before she appeared, an apron dusted with flour, arms already open.

I dropped the bags and let her pull me into a tight hug. She smelled like vanilla and home.

"You're finally here,"

she said, squeezing harder.

"I was starting to think college swallowed you forever."

"Four years flew by," I laughed, hugging her back. "Missed your cooking the most."

She pulled away, eyes shiny. "You look so grown up. Too grown up."

"Don't start crying yet," I teased. "I haven't even unpacked."

Footsteps thumped down the hallway. My dad appeared, still in his button-down from the office, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked exactly the same salt-and-pepper hair, warm brown eyes, the same proud grin he'd worn when I graduated high school.

"There's my girl." He opened his arms.

I walked straight into them. He hugged me like I was still ten, lifting me an inch off the floor before setting me down.

"Welcome home, kiddo."

"Thanks, Dad." My voice cracked just a little. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed this.

He held me at arm's length, studying my face.

"You look tired. Long flight?"

"Red-eye. I'll survive."

"Come on," Mom said, already tugging me toward the kitchen. "I made your favorite cinnamon rolls. Sit. Eat. Tell us everything."

I followed them, kicking off my sneakers by the door. The kitchen island was covered with food cinnamon rolls, fresh fruit, and a pitcher of iced tea. Classic Mom.

I slid onto a stool and grabbed a warm roll, tearing off a piece.

"So what's new here? Still saving the world one tech contract at a time?"

Dad chuckled and poured himself coffee. "Business is good. Busy. Which brings me to your first day."

I paused mid-bite. "Already?"

"Monday," he said. "Nine sharp. You're starting in marketing, just like we talked about. Digital campaigns, client presentations and the works."

My stomach did a weird little flip. Not just from nerves. But from knowing exactly who else would be in that office.

"That's… fast," I said, trying to sound casual.

"You're ready," Dad replied. "And we need fresh eyes. Alex has been complaining the campaigns are getting stale."

There it was. His name dropped so easily.

I swallowed hard. "Alex is still…?"

"Partner. Best friend. Pain in my ass sometimes." Dad grinned. "He's excited to have you on board.

Said you've got a good head for this stuff."

My cheeks heated. I hoped it looked like it was from the cinnamon roll.

"That's nice of him," I mumbled.

Mom leaned against the counter, smiling. "He's coming to the barbecue tomorrow, by the way. Whole family thing. Emily too. She's ten now, can you believe it?"

Ten. God. The last time I'd seen Emily she was probably six, chasing me around the backyard with a water gun.

"Sounds fun," I said, forcing a smile.

Dad reached over and squeezed my hand.

"We're proud of you, Bells. Really. Coming home, jumping into the firm… It means a lot."

I squeezed back. "It means a lot to be here."

Mom started clearing plates. "Go unpack. Your room's exactly how you left it. I even washed the sheets."

I laughed. "You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did. My baby's home."

I stood, grabbed my suitcases, and headed upstairs. My old room still had the pale blue walls, the bookshelf crammed with paperbacks, the window overlooking the backyard and Puget Sound in the distance.

I dropped the bags and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily.

Tomorrow.

The barbecue.

Alex.

I closed my eyes, and just for a second, the dream came rushing back his hand on my throat, his voice calling me good girl, the way my body had clenched around his fingers like it was starving.

My thighs pressed together again. Heat bloomed low in my belly.

I sat up fast, heart racing.

No.

I was not going to spend my first day home fantasizing about my dad's best friend.

I unzipped the first suitcase and started unpacking jeans, tops, and a few dresses I'd bought senior year.

Practical stuff mostly. But at the bottom was the red bikini I'd thrown in at the last minute. I'd told myself it was for the beach trips that always happened in summer.

Now I wondered if I'd packed it hoping he'd see me in it.

I shoved the thought away and hung the dress I planned to wear tomorrow simple, navy, fitted just enough to feel good without screaming for attention.

But I knew the truth.

I wanted him to look.

I wanted him to notice.

And that scared me more than anything.

Because once he did…

I wasn't sure I could pretend anymore.

I finished unpacking, showered off the travel grime, and changed into soft shorts and a tank. Downstairs, Dad was on a call in his study, Mom humming in the kitchen.

I stepped onto the back deck, leaned against the railing, and breathed in the cool Seattle air. The water glittered far below, ferries cutting slow paths across the sound.

Tomorrow I'll see him.

Not in a picture. Not in a dream.

In real life.

And I had no idea what I was going to do when that moment came.