The Man She Shouldn't Look Twice I
1445 Words
RAIN had already soaked through Stella's hoodie by the time she reached the porch. The sky was split open, the storm wild enough to drown out every thought in her head except one, thought that she needed shelter.
May, her best friend, had texted an hour ago that she wouldn’t make it home tonight.
“Dad will let you in,” she had said, like that was nothing, like that wasn’t the one detail that should have made her think twice.
He opened the door before she even knocked.
Mr. Cole.
Still in the same black dress shirt he had worn to work, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, jaw tense, hair slightly messed like he had been running his hands through it. The living room lights behind him softened the edges of his face, but nothing could soften the way his eyes dragged over her— slow, confused, restrained.
Then concerned.
“You are drenched,” he said, his voice low and steady in a way that made her stomach flip. “Come in before you get sick.”
She stepped inside, dripping on the hardwood. He closed the door and leaned one hand against it for a moment, like he needed that pause, like he needed to recenter himself. And all Stella could do was look at him.
Stella shouldn’t have looked at him the way she did.
She shouldn’t have noticed the way rain brought out the cedar scent from his skin.
She shouldn’t have even felt anything.
But the thing about forbidden things is that they don’t ask permission before they happen.
“I didn’t know the storm would get this bad,” she whispered, hugging her arms, shivering.
“You should have called me,” he said. “I would have come to get you.”
She blinked. “You would?”
He exhaled sharply, looking away, his jaw clenching for a moment.
“Of course I would.”
That shouldn’t have meant anything, but it landed somewhere deep.
He grabbed a towel and handed it to her, his fingertips brushing hers briefly, too briefly, and yet somehow too much.
May’s dad.
Her best friend’s father.
A man who had always been careful around her (Stella).
A man who had always lived with this distance— polite, controlled, distant.
But tonight something in him felt… different.
“Dry off. I will get you something warm to wear,” he said, already heading down the hall.
When he came back, he had one of his shirts in hand, a navy, soft and oversized shirt. Stella shouldn’t have imagined how it would look on her. She shouldn’t have felt heat curl low in her stomach when he said, “Bathroom is down the hall. Change before you catch a cold.”
She nodded and slipped away.
The shirt hung off one shoulder. The hem brushed barely below her thighs. It smelled like him.
And when she stepped out of the bathroom, he was waiting in the hallway, not intentionally, maybe but the way he froze told her he hadn’t expected that.
His eyes swept over her. Not fast. Not accidental.
But slow, and lingering.
Like he was trying very hard to pretend he didn’t see exactly what he saw.
“Better?” he asked, voice rougher than before.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He swallowed, looking away sharply.
“Good. You can sit by the fireplace. I will make you tea.”
Tea. Warm, safe… normal. He was trying so hard to make it normal.
She followed him to the living room, sat near the low flames while he busied himself in the kitchen. But the house was too quiet, too intimate, too full of things unsaid. And the way he kept glancing over, over the counter, over his shoulder, it just wasn’t normal at all.
His gaze wasn’t fatherly. Or protective. It was something he didn’t want to feel.
When he finally brought the mug to her, he set it down, then sat across from her— not beside her, not too close, but close enough that the air between them felt charged.
“You shouldn’t have walked alone in this weather,” he murmured. “Anything could have happened.”
“You have a point,” she said softly. “But… nothing happened. I’m safe.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You think that makes me worry any less?”
Silence stretched, warm, humming, dangerous.
The fire cracked.
His eyes flicked to the way her damp hair clung to her neck. Then to the shirt slipping lower off her shoulder. Then back to the fire, like he was punishing himself for looking.
She didn’t move to fix it.
And he noticed.
His breath caught.
“Does May know you are here?” he asked quietly.
“She told me to come.”
He nodded, rubbing his thumb slowly over his jaw.
“Good. I… didn’t want her thinking…”
He stopped.
Didn’t finish.
Thinking what?
That something could happen?
That something was happening?
That he was thinking things he shouldn’t think about the girl who had grown up in his kitchen, laughed in his backyard, slept over a thousand times, back when he never looked at her like this.
The firelight flickered over his face, shadows carving out the tension there. He looked like a man fighting himself and losing.
“I will get you a blanket,” he said suddenly, standing too fast.
His fingers brushed hers again as he handed it to her, accidental but absolutely not harmless.
Neither of them pulled away fast enough.
She held the blanket.
He held the edge of it.
And for one suspended second, the duo just looked at each other.
Too long. Too close. Too aware.
And then— his breath hitched.
Just slightly. Just enough.
He let go like the fabric burned him.
“I— I will be in the kitchen,” he said, voice strained, turning away.
But he paused at the doorway.
Didn’t look back, didn’t trust himself to.
“Don’t… don’t go upstairs yet,” he murmured. “Stay where I can— where I know you are safe.”
He wasn’t talking about the storm anymore. And they both knew it.
“God damn it!” She exclaimed the minute he slipped away, “is he being serious right now?” She muttered to herself.
A few minutes passed and soon the cold left her, and she took off her hoodie, exposing the blue blouse she wore. She stood to her feet, she needed to do something or else, the fireplace would be where she would remain until May returns, and that isn't what she wanted at all.
“Mr. Cole?” She called as she walked to the kitchen.
There was no answer. She continued calling, walking further into the kitchen. There was no sight of him. She gasped. ‘Where could he have gone to?’ she muttered to herself.
Without thinking it, she took the stairs and headed for his bedroom. She knocked once and tried the door knob, it opened and she entered.
And she found him right on his bed, laid down, his back turned to her. She gasped.
“Are… are you feeling sleepy already?” She asked.
He quickly turned to face her.
“The old man is tired, you can't blame me,” he said, his voice so low.
She chuckled.
“Well, I will just…” she pointed to the restroom, “use the bathroom,” she finished and immediately dashed in.
The sound of running water was heard, and as suddenly as it started, it stopped. She stepped out of the bathroom, naked. She was only in her panties and bra.
“Mr. Cole?” She called. He was already looking at her, his eyes squinting from sleep already eluding him.
“What… what is it, Stella?” He asked.
“Well I'm scared,” she pouted, “I want to sleep beside you,” she said and climbed the bed.
The sleep left him completely.
“May would soon be back,” he whispered.
She laughed.
“No, she won't. Until tomorrow morning,” she replied.
He sat up.
“Huh. How do you know that?” He asked.
“Forget it, Mr. Cole. Just let me sleep beside you tonight,” she said and before he could react or even respond, she yanked the duvet and snuggled up to him, making sure her petite firm ass was making contact with his c**k already throbbing out his shorts.
“God! Stella, what are you doing to me already?” He asked.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD