Teach Me, Step-Daddy (2)
The morning light felt wrong.
I stood at the sink holding a glass of water I didn’t want. I wasn’t drinking it. I wasn’t even really awake. My thumb traced slow circles along the rim, over and over, while I stared through the window at nothing. My head throbbed—not from alcohol, but from memory. Not blurred memory either. I remembered every second.
Every word.
I remembered the weight in Cal’s voice when he told me not to say those things. I remembered the edge in his tone, how it fought with something rougher hiding underneath. I remembered how close I got to him. The heat between us. The flash in his eyes when I told him I meant it. I hadn’t been drunk. I hadn’t been playing a game. I knew exactly what I was doing.
And now he was gone.
I hadn’t seen him all
