Lie.
I’d like to put Lyssa over my knee and spank her sexy tush as punishment. As soon as she’d had enough, I’d rub the sting from her flesh and patiently explain to her that I’m not easily deceived. My ability to cut through bullshit is only one of the reasons I received so many army promotions. I really don’t like her lying to me—and I might be crazy, but I don’t think she liked lying to me, either. It’s in the way she shifts in her seat and refuses to meet my gaze suddenly.
“Is that so?” I say, satisfied when her eyes snap to mine. “Good man.”
“Thanks,” Mason responds, seemingly unaware that I’m hard as a fucking rock for his supposed girlfriend under the table. “When we found out we were both freshmen at NYU, we couldn’t believe it.”
She’s eighteen. I already guessed she was the same age as my son, but the confirmation is a gut punch. I’m twice her age and then some. Old enough to be her father. Unfortunately, that knowledge does nothing to soften my cock. “Where do you live, Lyssa?” I ask, watching her soft mouth pop open at my use of her name.
“I…um.” She shifts in her chair. “W-we live together. I live with Mason.”
“Yup!” A smile spreads across Mason’s face. “We’re roommates.” Immediately, he backpedals. “I-I mean, not just roommates, obviously…”
“No, we’re much more than that,” Lyssa supplies, nodding at my son encouragingly. This is like watching a bad sitcom. They’re both terrible liars.
“We’re like, all the things,” Mason says finally.
Lyssa smiles brightly. “All of them!”
And then they high five.
Christ.
“So…” Lyssa begins, clearly looking for a way to change the conversation. Finally, she gestures back toward the living room. “Did you carve all those wooden figurines on your bookshelves?”
I grunt a confirmation.
What did she think of them?
“They’re good, right?” Mason chimes in. “My dad is a kickass whittler, in addition to, like, being able to snap bones with a flick of his wrist.” He scoops a bite with his spoon, keeping it suspended in front of his mouth. “Are you still making the walking sticks?”
I nod once. “Some.”
Lyssa perks up. “Walking sticks?”
“Uh-huh,” Mason says. “You have to see them. The carvings are so intricate. Really, Dad. You could make them professionally.”
“I don’t do it for money.”
“My mother has a bad knee,” Lyssa says, arresting me with her big, gorgeous eyes. Everything around me fades. Everything but her. “She’s was riding a city bus one afternoon when it collided with a speeding ambulance. Surgery followed, pins were left behind. But it’s never been the same.” She wets her lips and my dick surges in my jeans. “I’ve actually been meaning to buy her a walking stick. Maybe I can purchase one of yours.”
“No,” I bark, before softening my tone. “You’ll pick one out and take it. I don’t want your money.”
I want you. All of you. Thighs spread, pussy wet.
Lyssa seems to read my mind, or maybe me thoughts are written all over my face, because she pinkens right up to her hairline, her spoon dropping into her bowl with a miniature splash. “If you insist,” she breathes. “Thank you so much.”
Too much time passes before I realize my son is watching us with baffled interest. It’s a struggle to stop staring at Lyssa, but I tear my attention away and finish my stew, all of us silent.
At least until Mason jumps up from the table in alarm, rattling the plates.
“Oh. My God.”
Lyssa gapes. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t turn in my econ paper. I completely forgot to even write it.”
Lie.
My eyes narrow on my son. What’s he up to?
“When is it due?” Lyssa asks.
“Tomorrow. And it’s worth fifty percent of my grade.” He plows both hands through his hair. So much drama. “Dad, I’m so sorry. There’s no way this professor will give me an extension. I have to go work on it now.” He lays a clearly platonic hand on Lyssa’s shoulder. “Will you be okay without me?”
Her face pales. “How about I come help you?”
“Sorry, babe, but I need total silence to concentrate.” Mason is already jogging to the car, probably to get his laptop. He’s back within thirty seconds, a MacBook tucked under his arm. “Thanks for understanding. Don’t forget to show Lyssa the walking sticks!”
Just like that, I’m alone with temptation herself.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my son orchestrated this.
That’s a ridiculous notion, though. No one would purposefully leave this sweet, young girl in the presence of a war-hardened loner over two decades her senior. It makes no sense.
And when Lyssa’s gaze finds mine through the fading sunlight, I can see the attraction makes little sense to her, too. But it’s strong as a hurricane—and it’s building with every second that ticks past.
Can we control it?
I’m the experienced adult here. It’s up to me to make sure we don’t hurt Mason’s feelings. Whether their relationship is real or fake, I’m supposed to believe it’s real. If I act on my hunger for Lyssa, my actions would amount to calling my son a liar or exposing a secret he doesn’t want me to know yet.