Daddy Dearest

Chapter Three

Melody POV

Oh God, how am I going to get through this night without ogling him like a slack-jawed village i***t? Within the enclosed space of his car this afternoon, I could barely keep myself from squirming in my seat. He smelled like a combination of leather, bergamot, sandalwood, and something minty. I wanted to climb over the center console and straddle him, so I could bury my face in his neck and kiss him all over. I couldn't tell if the cramping I felt below my belly was due to my period or the horniness I was experiencing. But my body was overheating and my skin became super-sensitive to the touch. When he put his hand on my leg, I almost begged him to go higher and touch the spot throbbing between my thighs. I'm convinced now that I would have spontaneously combusted had he done that.

We pile into the family van with Mr. and Mrs. Davenport up front, Madison and I in the middle row, and the twins and Noah in the back. I'm sitting directly behind Mr. Davenport because Madison always insists on sitting next to me and holding my hand. I don't have siblings, so I see her as my little sister. She is just the cutest thing, with her big green eyes and curly blond hair. This afternoon, she went into Charlotte's room as I was braiding her older sister's hair and asked if I could do her hair, too.

"What did I say about entering my room without knocking, runt?" Charlotte yelled.

Seeing the stricken look on Maddie's face, I gave my friend's hair a sharp tug and mumbled an unapologetic "sorry" when she yelped. "You are so mean to her. She just wants to hang out with us, Lottie."

Charlotte sighed and looked at her little sister before patting the spot on the bed next to her. "Sorry, Junebug. I'm just in a bit of a bad mood. Come give your big meanie sister a kiss and a hug?"

Madison's face lit up and she ran up to the bed and jumped up on it, so she could wrap her skinny arms around Charlotte's neck and give her a kiss. "I forgive you." She grinned at us, displaying the gum area where her two front teeth should be. "Daddy said you have to help me get ready."

At the mention of their dad, my heart began beating rapidly and I felt this heat come up from my chest all the way up to my cheeks like open flame. Jeez, this crush is getting out of control. I'm sure he's been noticing what a spaz I've been acting for the last year or so. But that's assuming a lot, considering I probably don't rate very high on his scale of things to think about. Ugh, why won't it go away? I love hanging out with his kids and the Davenport house is practically my second home, so it's really inconvenient for me to be feeling this way.

Charlotte says it's because I'm finally coming into my womanhood, for which I bashed her across the face with a pillow. I never really had crushes, even when Charlotte started getting boy-crazy when we were eleven. The boys at school notice me and some have even asked me out, but I've never really been interested enough to take them up on it. Besides, Nancy is a little strict with me when it comes to stuff like that, but she's never really had to worry about it, since I've only ever hung out with the Davenport twins and a handful of other select friends at school, all of whom are geeks and nerds like me and Charlie.

"You need a boyfriend," Charlotte declared as she started to brush her little sister's hair. "And you need to branch out. It's not healthy that you've been hanging out with the same dorks since sixth grade."

"She doesn't need a boyfriend," piped up Maddie. "She has us. A stinky boyfriend would just take her away from us."

"Shut up, runt. If you want to hang out with us, you have to be quiet. And didn't mum warn you about butting into conversations you're not a part of?"

Maddie giggled. "Ha-ha, you said 'butt'."

"Good one, mei-mei," I said, chuckling. "Lottie, you need to chill out about my lovelife. Do you ever hear me talk about it when you don't bring it up? No. I don't need a boyfriend. Besides, you should talk."

Charlotte looked over her shoulder at me with a frown. "You're not saving yourself for my dad, are you? If you are, you're going to be waiting a long time. Mum's grandma didn't die until she was a 105 and mum herself doesn't ever get sick. She comes from a long line of hale, hearty Irish potato farmers."

When she went back to working on Maddie's hair, I rolled my eyes. Mrs. Davenport is a kind and lovely lady, but sometimes I really can't help but hate her. She's never been anything but nice to me and everyone in the community loves her, but I just can't stand how perfect she is. Tall, slender, and always so elegant-looking. She dresses like she steps out of the cover of "Town and Country" every morning and her long, blond hair shines like spun gold. When she stands next to Mr. Davenport, they look like Barbie and Ken, complete with four beautiful kids and a minivan. Charlotte says Mrs. Davenport's maternal great-grandmother was a countess, so she comes from old money, too.

In Happily Ever After Land, where Cinderella and Prince Charming get to middle-age, have four kids, and join a country club, I always pictured Mrs. Davenport as a grown-up Cinderella. Mr. Davenport makes the perfect Prince Charming, of course. I can totally imagine him decked out in armor, atop his silver steed, brandishing his sword of justice over his head as he races to save the princess from ogres or a three-headed dragon. Mr. D just looks like a warrior prince with the brain of a scholar and the heart of a poet.

Jeez-Louise, I'm so stupid.

"Didn't you want to be a nun when we were kids, Mel? I remember when we used to play Nativity, you always insisted on being the Virgin Mary. You wouldn't like being a nun, girl. Those habits are so heavy and itchy. You like your hoochie clothes too much."

I smack her upper arm with my open palm. "I do not dress like a hoochie. I'm in uniform most of the time, for Pete's sake. I just know how to emphasize and show off my best features, that's all." Finished with her hair, I gave her a shove. "And what's wrong with wanting to become a nun? Can't you see me as a Chinese Julie Andrews, dancing around in the Swiss Alps, singing 'Climb Every Mountain'?"

Maddie tugged on my arm. "I want you to do my hair next, Melly."

Charlotte sneered at me. "Oh yeah, because the Nazis totally wouldn't notice that you're half-Chinese, you spaz."

Ignoring my best friend, I gathered up Maddie's curly, red hair into two pigtails and secured them with ribbons. "All done, mei-mei." I bent down to kiss her head. "Do you have your outfit all picked out?"

She looked up at me with a pooched lower lip. "No. I want you to help me do it."

Rolling her eyes, Charlotte poked her sister in the belly. "She's not your nanny, toots, so scram. Go to your room and wait for me there."

"Ugh, stop being a dirtball, Lottie. She's fine where she is." I wanted the little girl to stay because maybe it would stop her older sister from giving me a crap about their Dad.

Charlotte scoffed. "You're such a sucker, girl. I hope you're aware that everyone at school calls you 'Saint Melody'. I heard Tyrone Sykes the other day betting with the other jockstraps that you've never been kissed before."

"Well, you know the truth about that." I sighed. I've never really kissed anyone unless I count that quick smack I shared with Charlie in the seventh grade while we were playing Spin the Bottle at our friend Julie's twelfth birthday. "Look, is it so hard to believe that I have no interest in swapping spit with any of the troglodytes at our school?"

"I'm serious, babe. I really hope you're not waiting for my dad to wake up your womanhood with a True Love's Kiss," she said with a laugh. "You've read 'Lolita'. You know how that s**t turns out. Of all people, you just had to pick Dashing Daddy Davenport to have a crush on."

"Shut up," I mouth at her, widening my eyes meaningfully and pointing down at Maddie. I honestly think sometimes that I could kill Charlotte. She can be such a jerk.

"What's a 'crush'?" Maddie demands to know, looking up at the both of us.

"A crush is what you feel for someone who gives you fuzzy-bunny tingles all over, Junebug, so you want that person to be your boyfriend or girlfriend," her big sister said before sticking her tongue out at me.

Maddie gawked at me, her little mouth forming a perfect 'O'. "You want Daddy to be your boyfriend?"

"What! No, that's crazy. Don't listen to your sister, she's nuts," I said, glaring at Charlotte who was rolling on the bed, laughing her butt off.

"Daddy is super old. You should make Charlie your boyfriend instead."

At this point, Charlotte was clutching her stomach and tears were rolling down her cheeks as she laughed even harder. "Oh my God, stop. You're killing me."

I needed to get the kid out of the room, so she wouldn't witness me suffocating her older sister to death with a pillow. "Hey, Junebug, go on to your room, okay? I'll be right behind you."

Maddie got up on the bed to kiss my cheek before jumping off to run out of the room. "See you soon, Melly!"

Once Maddie was out of sight, I picked up a pillow and bashed Charlotte a few times right on the face. "You are such a b***h. You have to stop joking about this, okay? It's not funny. Your dad might overhear and think I'm a horndog."

Still laughing, Charlotte snatched the pillow from my hands and smacked me back. "Oh God. I can't breathe." She wiped the tears off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. "Ugh, I don't even want to imagine you dating my brother. That seems so wrong somehow. I think I'd rather have you as a step-mom."

My jaw dropped open, unable to believe she could say such an outrageous thing. Oh, what am I talking about? Charlotte is the Queen of Saying Outrageous Things. "Seriously, Lottie, you better stop. If your dad overhears you for real, I will never speak to you again."

The door swung open and I swear to God, my heart actually stopped until I saw that it was just Charlie. "Hey, stop gossiping like old women and get ready. You know mum hates waiting."

"Get ready yourself, you nerd." Charlotte chucked a heart-shaped throw pillow at him. "And make sure you take a shower. You smell like a laborer."

"Better than smelling like a two-dollar ho," Charlie retorted with a grin, throwing the pillow back, which hit his twin on the head. "Try to wear something that won't scandalize the old folks, okay? You know how dad is."

Though his facial bone structure is sharper and more pronounced, Charlie looks like a young male version of Mrs. Davenport, down to the pointed, elfin features and big green eyes. All the girls at school think he resembles Orlando Bloom and tell him all the time that he should let his blond hair grow past his shoulders, so that he could look more like Legolas from The Lord of the Rings. He especially hates being called a "pretty boy."

Thirty minutes later, we were all in the living room, all decked out for dinner, except for Mr. Davenport, who was still getting ready. Charlotte is wearing a green velvet dress with short sleeves that has puffy shoulders and a wide pink sash around the middle tied with a bow in the back. With her hair braided into a coronet, she looks like a fairy princess and a lot like her mother, but she's none too happy with her appearance. Charlotte thinks she's overweight, so she's really good at picking out clothes that flatter her figure. Nevertheless, she is obsessed about losing the extra pounds and pretty mean to herself about it. Whenever I try to talk to her, she gets mad and tells me I have no idea what I'm talking about since I'm a size two.

Charlie was telling me an incident in his homeroom this morning regarding Sister Bernadette sending Missy Collins to the Mother Superior's office for altering her skirt so that it's two inches shorter than regulation mandates and Missy throwing a "Missy fit" about it, when Mr. Davenport came down the staircase. Suddenly, Charlie's voice sounded so far away and I couldn't hear him over the choir of angels singing Hallelujah at the sight of Mr. Davenport looking like he just stepped off from the Armani catwalk during New York Fashion Week. I managed to school my expression into what Charlie calls my "poker face" just before his dad's gaze landed on me. I held my breath as he quickly gave me a once-over, hoping he doesn't think my dress is too tight and short. I wore it because everyone tells me that the purple brings out the caramel in my complexion every time I put it on and I think I look damn good in it. I don't know if Mr. Davenport has ever seen me in it or if he has but doesn't remember it, but hopefully, he'll think I look pretty. Like an i***t, I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. "Looking spiffy, Mr. D. New suit?"

This basically caused everyone to tease him, but he took it in good fun. When he looked directly at me and told me I look very nice, I died. Ded.

He gave me another brief smile before apologizing to everyone about being a slowpoke and telling us we better hustle out to the restaurant before we miss our reservation.

I lean back against my seat as I try to concentrate on what Maddie is telling me regarding the latest adventures of Peppa Pig, her favorite character in a Nickelodeon cartoon, but my attention keeps drifting back to the back of Mr. Davenport's head. I had a dream about him the other night that I'm having a hard time keeping to myself, even though I would rather die than let anyone find out that I have fantasies about me and him, the father of my two bestest friends in the world, having happy naked times together.

"Oh Charlie, I can't believe I forgot to tell you earlier. I'm taking charge of the yearbook for the rest of the school year since the administration doesn't know when Sister Adelaide can come back from her medical leave. Apparently, there were some complications during her last surgery." Though he is talking to his son, his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. "Things aren't going to be weird, are they?"

Charlie and I have been serving the yearbook committee since the tenth grade. This year, I am the features editor, while Charlie is finally the head photographer. Sister Adelaide has been the lead advisor since the beginning of time and her ideas are dated and super cheesy. Tessie Kwon, our editor-in-chief, has been doing a great job leading the staff, but I guess the school thinks we still need a supervising adult, even though the majority of us are already eighteen, except for me, Charlie, and a few kids from other grades. Ugh, I can't believe they got Mr. Davenport to do it. He's a logical choice because he's an English and Creative Writing instructor but from where I stand, this is going to be a disaster. He was my British Lit teacher in the eleventh grade and I was a big, sloppy mess for the whole year because I couldn't concentrate in class.

"It'll be fine, dad," Charlie says from the back of the van. "You can't possibly be any worse than the old gorgon. I had to run all of my shots by her last year and she criticized everything I did. She was always saying, 'This is the school yearbook, Charles Michael Davenport, not some salacious girly mag'. She made my job practically impossible."

"Pervert," his twin pipes up. "There are other clubs in school other than the Girls' Swim Team, Chuck."

As soon as we reach the restaurant's parking lot and stop, I practically jump out of the van. I need air and water and maybe a freezing cold shower. Gosh, Mr. Davenport looks so fiiiine tonight and smells so damn good. How can Mrs. Davenport stop herself from wanting to jump him all the time? I guess if you've been married to someone for twenty years, all of the fire and horniness eventually dies down, but if I were her, I would just be on him twenty-four seven. I'd probably die from hunger and sleep deprivation because all I'd want to do is make sweet, sweet gorilla s*x to him all the time.

He escorts us to the foyer of Chez Nous and tells the hostess, whose eyes practically pops out of her sockets as she ogles him like he's a big slab of Grade-A steak, that we have a reservation. I look at Charlotte who rolls her eyes and mouths, "So embarrassing."

"All of them are your kids?" the hostess repeats in disbelief. "Aw, handsome, you must have started young because you don't look a day over thirty-five."

Even Mrs. Davenport seems annoyed by this because the hostess is blatantly ignoring the rest of us. She clears her throat softly and glowers at the woman who is setting the menus on the table in front of each of us. The hostess must have caught Mrs. Davenport giving her the stink eye because she just lifts both of her super thin eyebrows and tells us our server will be right with us before turning on her three-inch heels to leave us, her blond hair swinging behind her.

"Gross, Dad, why do women flirt with you all the time?" Noah grouses loudly. "Can't they see you're with your wife and a bunch of kids? It's so rude."

I catch Mrs. Davenport's eye and she smiles briefly at me before switching her attention to her husband, who looks totally at loss for words. I feel a little bad for him because how the hell do you explain something as complicated as unspoken social contracts between adults to your precocious eleven-year-old son? For some reason, Mrs. D appears to be enjoying Mr. D's discomfort.

Charlie, who is sitting next to me, is laughing softly. "Busted," he says under his breath. Out loud, he adds, "Yeah, Dad, why don't you explain to us why other adults feel compelled to flirt with you even when it's obvious you're a married man with a bunch of kids."

Poor Mr. Davenport. His neck as well as his cheeks, up to his ears, are now completely red like he's experiencing a bad allergic reaction. To other people, maybe. He palms the back of his neck and lowers his gaze to the table, as though he could find the answers on the menu. "Ummm, to be honest with you, son, I don't know the answer to that."

Mrs. Davenport chuckles and shakes her head. "All right, children, that's enough. Quit giving your father a hard time. It's not his fault he's a chick magnet."

Maddie, who is sitting next to her mother, scrunches up her face in confusion. "What's a 'chick magnet'?"

The whole table laughs at this, except me, because Mr. Davenport really does not know what to say and looks miserable, so I totally just want to sit next to him and cradle him in my arms, whisper to him that everything is going to be okay.

My breath gets caught in my throat as my eyes meet his across the table. I shrug in commiseration. He smiles at me and nods in acknowledgment before telling the rest of us, "Okay, I demand a change of topic. Who wants to help me organize the homecoming dance?"