She used to think of him as the safest man in the neighborhood — the dad with the corny jokes and the steady presence. Mr. Suburbia. The one who grilled burgers every summer, who cheered at every soccer game, who was always the first to volunteer snacks and the last to leave the stands.

But after that night, she couldn’t look at him the same.

She’d gotten up for water, half-asleep, when his bedroom door opened. He stepped into the hallway wearing nothing but sweatpants, hair mussed, chest bare for a moment before he tugged on a t-shirt. Her mouth had gone dry, eyes wide. He wasn’t the goofy suburban dad she always pictured. He was ripped. Strong. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, the kind of body that belonged in a gym, not behind a grill.

Ever since then, her curiosity had spiraled into something else. She found herself staring longer, wondering more. Testing him.

Like tonight.

They were on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering across the living room. Her best friend had gone upstairs to grab snacks, leaving her alone with him. He sat on the far end of the couch, casual but upright, a “safe” distance. Still, she edged closer, just enough that he noticed.

“You know,” she said, voice light, “you really don’t look like the dad type.”

He turned, brow arched, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty sure I’ve been one for over eighteen years.”

“Yeah, but…” Her eyes dragged down, then back up, deliberate. “You don’t exactly fit the stereotype. Most dads aren’t… built like you.”

For a moment, his jaw tightened. He leaned back, pretending to focus on the TV. “Guess coaching soccer keeps me in shape.”

She smirked and leaned her chin into her hand so her elbow brushed his arm. “That’s one way to put it.”

His breath caught — barely, but enough for her to notice.

“You’re very flirty tonight,” he said finally, his tone even, but his eyes flickered with something heavier.

“Maybe I just like making you blush.”

“I don’t blush,” he replied too quickly. But the faint color rising in his cheeks betrayed him.

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head, lowering her voice until it was almost a whisper. “You know, you don’t have to act like I’m still ten years old.”

That made him look at her — really look. His gaze lingered a beat too long before he forced it away. “You’re my daughter’s best friend. That’s… different.”

“Different doesn’t mean impossible,” she murmured, lips curving in a knowing smile.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, like he was trying to get control of the moment. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

Her smile deepened. “Maybe I do.”

The sound of footsteps upstairs broke the tension. He straightened quickly, shifting a few inches away as if distance could erase what had just happened. But she noticed the way his fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, the muscle in his jaw tight.

And she knew — for all his restraint, all his carefulness she’d managed to crack his composure eventually.