“Well, I care!”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I freeze, almost too afraid to breathe.

Oh, shit. What did I just say?

Her mouth falls open a little, but she shuts up, probably shocked into silence by my outburst. Her eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking with a mixture of confusion and surprise written all over her pretty face.

But instead of regret, my temper quickly rises again. How the hell can he not care?

And why do I?

Jesus, fuck.

She’s grown, isn’t she? And if her boyfriend doesn’t mind, then who am I or anyone else to stake an investment in her decisions. It’s not my place.

No, there’s nothing wrong with what her sister does to support herself or how Jordan’s dressed tonight. She’s fucking gorgeous.

I just don’t…want her body being for everyone.

“You’re special, Jordan.” I take a step closer to her. “You know that, right?”

Her eyes start to glisten, her gaze falters, and she looks away.

God, does she know how incredible she is?

I let myself take in her smooth and glowing skin, and the curve of her waist in front of me that’s perfect for grabbing hold of. One man should see her dressed like this, and it should be the man who appreciates what he has.

“Don’t do things outside of your nature because of money,” I tell her. “You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t change.”

I don’t want you to change.

“It’s just a corset, Pike.”

“Yeah, and then it’ll just be a wet T-shirt contest and a job at The Hook, right?” I fire back.

She rolls her eyes and turns around, grabbing a case of Bud Light and heaving it into my arms. I grab it just in time. Then she then reaches for a case of Budweiser and leads the way out of the room, ending our conversation.

But I follow, hefting the case up onto my shoulder. “You’re not working at The Hook,” I tell her.

“And you’re not my dad.”

I nearly shoot her a dirty look behind her back, but that would be immature. Why ruin the excellent example of a level-headed, responsible adult I’ve set since she’s come into my house?

She plops her case down on the bar, and turns around, taking the case I have, as well.

I open my mouth to try to say something—anything—to smooth over whatever damage I’ve done again and still try to get her to put some damn clothes on.

But she cuts me off before I can say anything. “I need another case of Bud Light,” she orders me over her shoulder.

I shake my head. Damn her brass.

I turn around and walk back to the liquor closet, grabbing another case of beer. After I drop it on the bar, I head to the booth where the guys are still congregating and take out the same bottle of Busch Light I had before.

“Staying?” Dutch inquires.

I shrug, looking anywhere but at the bar. “For a bit, I guess.”

I down the bottle inside of a minute, and it’s not my favorite beer, but I’m suddenly too embarrassed to go to the bar and ask her for a Corona now. I should’ve gotten one when I was up there.

A server approaches, though, and I’m about to flag her down, but I notice she’s already heading my way with a tray of shots. She’s cute in her black miniskirt and black vest, but she doesn’t look any older than Jordan.

She smiles. “Hey, guys.” And then she starts unloading her tray, setting a round of shots in front of us. They’re pink or orange on the bottom with some kind of yellow liquid on top.

“What is this?” Jason Bryant, one of my guys, asks.

“It’s called a Pineapple Upside Down Cake,” she says. “It’s on the house. Jordan says they’re Pike’s favorite.”

A round of laughter explodes around the table at the “chick” shot everyone now thinks I drink, and I shoot Jordan a look at the bar.

She grins, giving me her biggest, proudest smile.

And now we’re not mad at each other anymore.

Taking the shot, I down it, the alcohol going down like a piece of candy, and while it tastes fine, I’m not sure what the point is. There can’t be enough alcohol in it to feel anything.

I’m sure it will be a successful running joke if I ever decide to join the guys for a drink again, though.

After about an hour and another beer, the crowd has thinned a little, and I’m pretty tapped out on 80’s music. Jordan seems fine, and I’m not sure why I thought she needed protecting.

I should just hit the road.

But just then, a Corona appears in front of me, and I look up, seeing Jordan standing over me.

“Hey,” she says, her expression soft and gentle.

I’m sure it would be like that all the time if I would just stop fucking with it.

“You doing okay, sugar?” Dutch asks her.

She glances at him and smiles and then looks back down at me. “I was going to call you, actually,” she tells me, lowering her voice. “I don’t know if you’re staying late, but I was wondering if there was any way you could bring me home tonight. I don’t get off until two. Is that too late?”

Her eyes are apologetic like she’s afraid she’s being an inconvenience, but of course, I told her to tell me if she needs a ride home. I’m happy to do it.

“No problem. I’ll be here.”

But Dutch nudges my elbow. “We gotta be at the site by five a.m., just remember.”

“It’s fine,” I say curtly, barely looking at him.

Of course, I’d love to get more than a couple hours of sleep, but this isn’t a choice.

Jordan takes a step back. “Are you sure?” she asks again. “I could ask Shel. It’s a little out of her way, but I don’t want you losing sleep.”

“It’s fine,” I assure her. “I’ll be here.”

“Well, why don’t you just give her your keys?” Dutch speaks up. “I’ll drop you at home, and she can have your truck. I’m getting out of here soon anyway.”

Mother— What is his goddamn problem?

But Jordan rushes in, making her apologies. “No, no, it’s okay. I can—”

“Fuck, I said it was fine,” I blurt out, shutting everyone up. Then I glare at Dutch. “Would you shut up?”

He turns away, pursing his lips, because he wants to fucking smile like he knows something.

Everyone is still for a moment, and I shake my head, pulling my keys out of my pocket. There’s no logical reason to wait around for her if Dutch is offering me a ride now.

I hand her the keys. “Here you go. It works out perfectly.”

“Are you—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell her. “It’s fine.”

She slides the keys into her pocket. “Thank you.”

“Truck’s parked just around the corner.”

She nods and heads back to the bar, glancing back at me once. I check my phone, seeing it’s nearly midnight, and if Dutch is giving me a ride, I’d rather get it over with now.

I take a long swig from the Corona, drinking about half. It didn’t escape my notice that she remembered what beer I like, too. Pulling some money out, I toss a few bills on the table for whatever I drank and tell Dutch, “Let’s go.”

He hauls himself out of the booth, his scruffy buzz cut mussed as he yawns. We make our way toward the door, and I pass the bar, tossing a few bills on it in front of Jordan.

She gives me a knowing look. “Didn’t we talk about this?”

“I’m just a customer.”

The look in her eyes says she’s not buying my reason for tipping her, but the humor in her gaze says she’ll let it go. This time.

We leave and walk across the street to Dutch’s Tahoe and climb in.

“You didn’t really want to wait around until two, did you?” he asks as we fasten our seatbelts.

Actually…

“No,” I tell him, deciding I don’t have the energy to get into it. “Thanks for the ride.”

He pulls away from the curb, and I slouch down a little, moving the seat back for more leg room. His wife is usually in this seat. I lie my head back, and into my hand, closing my eyes.

I feel the car make a U-turn and then he speeds down the street, heading home. It’s quiet for a few minutes as he finds a satellite station, and the glare of the street lights glow through my closed lids. It’s a short drive home, but even still, I would’ve liked to have been the one to bring her. Who knows if that shithead ex tries to come around in the next hour? Will she be walking to the car with anyone?

I’m not just worried about her safety, though. I have this urge to make sure she’s okay and taken care of, and while I’ve tried to morph it into a “fatherly” type of responsibility, it’s not.

It never will be.

I like what I feel when I see her and talk to her and think about her. Even when we fight. And I have to admit it to myself—I am attracted to her.

I hate it, but I can’t ignore and pretend it’s not there anymore. I need to deal with it.

It doesn’t have to be a big deal, though. We go through life running into people we’re attracted to all the time. It happens, and you can’t help it. It doesn’t mean I’d try anything. I just feel guilty it happened with her.

And the fact that she’s in my house makes it harder.

Cole really did get the shit-end of the stick with parents. What a fucking piece of work I am.

I can’t help it, but I can make sure I don’t act on it.

She doesn’t make it easy, though, getting into it with me as easily as she does. She knows how to press my buttons. Almost as if she was made for it.

“She seems like a good kid,” Dutch breaks the silence.

I open my eyes, the lids heavy from the long day. “Yeah.” I sigh. “She’s quiet. Clean. I barely know she’s in the house.”

“That’s great.” I can see him glancing over at me from time to time. “Getting along okay?”