Falling for My Boyfriend's Dad

By: Cassandra Dee

I almost snorted then. Sarah was the girl my son had had a crush on since seventh grade, unrequited of course. Sarah was about ten feet tall, towering over Jonah and thin as a whip, the kind of skinny blonde that most girls got surgery to emulate. And Jonah was more of a hanger-on, a groupie as far as I recall, than a real friend to the woman. But I shrugged. Things change so fast with teens, maybe their relationship had morphed as well. And at that very moment, Jonah showed up, hair done up in small spikes, wearing a striped sweater.

“Hey son,” I said. “Nice to have you back.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, barely looking me in the eye. “You’ve met Ally, right? Ally’s my new girlfriend,” he said with a meaningful glance at the girl. She blushed but if my instincts were right, it wasn’t a flush of pleasure. It was a blush of embarrassment, that my son was so ungracious, so small, instead of being the commanding, assertive man he should have been.

But I nodded, calmly taking it all in.

“Sure, we met,” I said in a smooth voice, giving nothing away. “But where are you kids headed tonight?”

Jonah didn’t meet my eye again.

“It’s a party at Sarah’s parents’ place,” he said quickly. “Supervised of course, you’ve known them for ages.”

I did know the Joneses. They were your usual Manhattan folk with too much money, jetting off to Gstaad or the Caribbean on a moment’s notice, leaving their kids with unlimited resources and the run of the city. But I didn’t want to bust the bubble, didn’t want to ruin their first night out, so I just nodded.

“Take care and be home at a reasonable time,” I said smoothly, body relaxed, eyes a clear blue, giving nothing away. “Mrs. Larson is making an amazing Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow and you don’t want to miss it.”

Jonah just let out a gusty sigh.

“Mrs. Larson makes Thanksgiving lunch every year, and it’s always the same, turkey, cranberry sauce, pecan pie,” snorted Jonah. “it’s never different.”

I raised an eyebrow then, coolly neutral.

“I believe that these are traditional Thanksgiving foods, but if you don’t like it, maybe next year we can ask her to make something different.”

And Jonah just pouted, his sullen face like a spoiled little boy.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, turning away. “Ready Ally?”

The brunette had been silent all this time, watching our exchange while biting her lip, unsure what to say. And it was the smart move, the waters between my son and I were so treacherous and deep that there was no way to navigate them safely, better to leave them alone. So I turned to the girl and said with a friendly smile, “Have a nice time tonight.”

She smiled tentatively back at me.

“Bye Mr. Martin,” she murmured, swinging her purse over her shoulder. And with that, the two of them were gone, the door swinging shut, the elevator dinging in the hall. It was only then that I let my shoulders slump in the privacy of the kitchen. There was the problem of Jonah, sure, and his surly demeanor, the way he was so ungrateful for everything he had in life, even though he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But that was going to take years to change, I couldn’t mend our father / son relationship so quickly, with a snap of my fingers. I could only go at it again and again with patience.

But there was also the issue of Ally, because like it or not, my body was aroused around the female, even during this short encounter. Sure, she’d been standing off to the sidelines as Jonah and I sparred, a mere observer, but I’d been keenly aware of her, every nerve aroused, every sense attuned to the beautiful brunette. How could I not be? The woman was stunningly beautiful, fetching and tempting in that red dress, her curves busting out to there, those brown curls framing that angelic face. And shit, but the temptress was here for five days … five days living under my roof, and I didn’t know how I was going to survive.



The music pounded as we neared the apartment.

“Are you sure this is it?” I asked hesitantly.

Jonah just nodded, his face brightening as we drew near.

“Yep, this is the place,” he said with a smirk. “The Joneses never care if their apartment gets trashed, they always let Sarah do whatever she wants.”

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