Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bob eyeing Cynthia with a hungry gleam. There’s a taut, ready energy to him that I can just sense, as if he’s fixing to jump on her. She uncaps her bottle and watches us back with a half-smile.
“Well,” I say, hoisting my mug. “Back at ‘er, I guess. See you both later.”
Cynthia smiles at me, but Bob doesn’t take his eyes off her.
***
When I pull up to the school that afternoon, Hazel is waiting by herself on a bench near the curb. I’m pleased to see she’s alone-pleased especially that there’s no sign of Kye. Her hair is in the two neat braids I set it in this morning, and she’s the agonizing picture of innocence: white knee socks, black shoes, plaid skirt and white blouse. She’s the quintessential innocent schoolgirl. Her face lights up when she sees me, crystal blue eyes shining, and her uncomplicated joy, her pure love for me, makes me feel raw, tender, and sensitive.
When she gets into the car, I lean over and kiss her cheek, inhaling the cotton candy scent of her hair, and scan the school’s sprawling lawn quickly. There are pockets of students here and there, but none of them are looking at us. I speak in a low voice in Hazel’s ear.
“Show me your panties.” The soft pink that blooms on her cheeks in response satisfies me.
“Dad.” It’s a protest. She’s shocked. But I need to know that she’s my good little girl who does what she’s told. I need to know that she’s as perfectly innocent as her little school uniform and her two neat braids.
“No one’s looking. Show me.”
She casts a quick look out the window and then lifts up her skirt, making blood rush to my cock. The small triangle of white cotton is perfect, perfect, against the tender, soft flesh of her young thighs.
“That’s good,” I say softly. “It makes me happy when you’re a good, obedient girl.”
I shoot another quick look out the window and then kiss her on the cheek again, this time placing a hand on her thigh and giving it a squeeze.
I’m actively trying to ignore the voice in my head that’s shouting at me about making a habit of checking my stepdaughter’s panties, about letting her sleep on my wife’s side of the bed, about fucking her mouth, while telling myself I can still somehow rein things in.
I don’t want to listen to that voice. I’d much rather listen to the delusional one that’s telling me I have everything under control. Hazel and I have always been affectionate, that’s all. I have limits in place-at least, I have one limit in place left-and I won’t cross it.
I straighten up and start the car, clearing my throat, and Hazel lets out a small, happy sigh.
“I want you to finish any homework you have when we get home and then put in an hour of studying, okay?”
She rolls her eyes. “An hour? Dad, I put in an hour every night. Like, I’m ready to take my exams now.”
“Do as you’re told, and then after your bath we can spend some special time together. Would you like that?”
I look over at her to see a small smile playing on her lips. “Yes, Daddy.”
“That’s good.”
I pull onto the 99. Everything’s under control. I won’t go too far. But just being in the car with her is enough to send me over the edge. Tonight we’ll just play a little. Daddy and his little girl.
My phone buzzes several times in my pocket before we pull up to the house. I can’t check it while I’m driving, but my mind starts running, linking together irrational thoughts. It’s enough text messages to be worrisome. What if Bob called his P. I. already and he found something?
What if it’s the police?
More likely, I tell myself, as I grab my briefcase and the water bottle Hazel left in the car, it’s Cynthia texting after seeing Bob and I talking in the kitchen this morning, wondering if I’ve told him anything-because I’ve been a fucking idiot to keep calling her when I know she’s in a…situation with my friend.
We get inside and Hazel sets herself up at the dining room table and when I finally pull out my phone, all the blood drains out of my face.
Six text messages.
All from Melanie Holland.