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In the shoes, she's taller than I am. There's something about looking up to her. Something more than thoughts of the angle, of her runner's thighs pressed against my cheeks—
Though I'm not sure why I need more than that particular thought.
Daphne Webb coming on my face.
What a perfect fucking world.
Keep it in your fucking pants.
The mantra. The purpose of the weekend. Celebrating the impending wedding of our family friend Nathan Denton and his fiancé Kenji. And keeping an eye on my sister and her best friend.
A favor for Dad—he doesn't trust Cassie's boyfriend—and a favor for Cassie—she's worried Daphne is feeling left out now that Cassie is partnered with Daphne's brother, Damon.
Yeah. It's complicated. And I know Cassie hates my distrust of her boyfriend. Even if I trust him more than I did this time last year.
I know it's all patriarchal bullshit. Who am I to tell Cassie who to date?
But as with my desire to throw Daphne on my bed, the knowledge I should follow logic does nothing to ease my feelings. I want to protect my sister from harm.
I want to fuck Daphne.
Incompatible desires.
I need to lean into the former. To be the guy everyone expects me to be. The guy I try to be. The hard-working family man.
Daphne's smile fades as she looks me over carefully. "Are you okay?"
Can she see the traces of desire in my expression? Or is it something more? The longing for a real connection with someone. The fear I'll never have it. "I just got off the phone with my ex." That's the truth. Minus the parts that invite thoughts of me naked.
Daphne picturing me naked.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I need to stop inviting myself to think off-limit things.
"You have an ex?" Daphne's voice stays curious. It's her default. She wants to know everything about everything.
But my body doesn't hear Daphne Webb, future medical researcher. It hears Daphne, woman who wants to know about my love life, woman who pictures me naked.
It's like trying not to think about a pink elephant. All I can see is the animal.
The more I tell myself not to picture her shorts at her ankles—
I need a distraction. A focus.
"Come in." I pull the door open for her. "Can I get you something to drink?"
She looks at me funny, but she still steps into the house. "Do you have coffee?"
"In the kitchen."
She nodsgreatand follows me through the foyer. She pushes her sunglasses up her head, leaving them resting in her long hair.
She looks like a picture-perfect California girl. She has the blue eyes and light hair. Sure, her features are sharp, not soft, but she still wears her casual clothes without effort. And California is more than beaches and sunshine and avocado toast. We're UCs and medical research too.
Like my sister, Daphne exudes effortless style. She looks like she was dressed by a costume designer on a TV show. One who knew exactly how to expressa smart woman who spends most of her time studying, barely tries to look great, looks fantastic anyway.
I don't know what it is. The long line of her body. The sharp nose. The red lips and subtle eyeliner. The strong contrast of her bright white top and her deep indigo shorts. The pink shoes against her blue eyes.
