A collection composed exclusively of men with dark hair, green eyes, and Derrick’s strong, square jaw…
Said jaw, my favorite jaw ever, is currently sporting a short, tidy beard that’s new for Derrick, and that has ramped up my forbidden fantasies to Threat Level Super Duper Dangerous.
Who knew a beard could make your ovaries threaten to explode?
Not me. I didn’t realize I had a thing for facial hair, in fact, until Derrick walked by half an hour ago with that new fuzz. Suddenly, I could think of nothing but what that beard would feel like on my lips, my neck, my inner thighs…
I remind myself that Evie will lose her mind with shock and horror if she learns I came onto Derrick. No matter how that bold, and probably insane move plays out, our friendship—my most important friendship—might never be the same. I remind myself that Derrick will almost certainly laugh in my face, and then I’ll never be able to go over to Evie’s again for fear of running into the source of my greatest shame.
I remind myself of all the reasons I should stay right where I am—do not leave the circle of lawn chairs gathered around the portable fire pit my friend Leslie brought from home, do not mortify myself mere months from graduating and leaving small town life behind for good.
But when Leslie leans over and murmurs, “Are you having ‘yes, daddy’ fantasies right now? Or is it just me?” I don’t pretend I have no idea what she’s talking about, the way I usually would.
“That beard,” I murmur instead, the words emerging as a low purr.
“I know, right? Jesus,” Leslie hisses, propping her feet up on the empty chair across from hers. Chelsea and Theresa, our other party friends, are off making out with their boyfriends in the woods, which means we probably won’t see them again tonight. They have a bad habit of ditching us to get laid, lending credence to my theory that maybe other teen girls think about sex at least half as much as I do.
“I mean, he was hot as hell before, but that beard,” Leslie continues with a wistful sigh. “I just want him to turn me over his knee and tell me what a bad girl I’ve been.”
Shocked, but intrigued, I swat her knee. “Leslie Hobbs, how long have you been hiding this kinky side?”
“Since eighth grade,” she says with a giggle. “I used to get rope burns on purpose so Coach Platt would rub antibiotic cream on my thighs after gym class.” She shrugs. “Until he figured out what I was doing and started sending me to the nurse because he was married and not a creep who liked thirteen-year-old girls. But it was fun while it lasted. Older men are just so much hotter than guys our age. As soon as I’m eighteen, I’m going to get a thirty-year-old boyfriend with a real job and hobbies aside from playing video games and setting his farts on fire and I’m never looking back.” She glances toward the larger bonfire again. “And he’s going to have a beard. Daddy Olsen just made sure of that.”
“You shouldn’t call him that. He’s Evie’s brother,” I say, more because I don’t care for the moony look in Leslie’s eyes than any real concern for what Evie might think about this conversation.
Evie and Leslie have nothing in common and rarely speak. Leslie is my party friend and Evie is my everything-that-really-matters friend. The chances that Evie will find out Leslie and I were sitting around drinking beers and lusting after her brother’s beard, are slim to none.
But still, I add, “And he’s not really ‘daddy’ material. He’s only twenty-six.”
“Daddy-hood isn’t determined by age. Being a daddy is a state of mind,” Leslie says. “And Derrick is totally the bossy, daddy-knows-best kind of guy. Remember how he yelled at us that time he caught us trying cigarettes behind the ice-skating rink in ninth grade? I thought he was going to murder you and Evie both with his eyeballs.” She fans herself as she hums low in her throat. “So hot. I remember wishing I were Evie’s bestie so Derrick would have grabbed my arm and hauled me to his car like I was a bad little girl.”
Starting to suspect Leslie is every bit as obsessed with sex as I am—and in a much kinkier way—I can’t help asking, “So, is that really what you like? Did you and Greg do stuff like that when you were together?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, God no. Greg was way too in awe of my pussy to get bossy with it. I swear, every time I let him go down on me it was like I’d given him the keys to the holy kingdom or something.” She laughs but a beat later her lips turn down in an exaggerated frown. “Which was pretty adorable, really. I miss that big dummy. And his tongue.” She sits up straighter in her chair, scanning the group of senior boys playing horseshoes and taking turns doing keg stands on the other side of the bonfire. “Maybe I should go check in with him, make sure he’s hanging in there after the breakup.”