The sun streams through the unfamiliar blinds. You've never been in this room before last night. The air smells of whiskey and cigarettes, with one stubbed out in an ashtray on the side table. You feel someone pulling you closer—skin against skin. You’re naked, and so is he.

Joel Miller.

Your father’s best friend. You have no idea what happened last night, but you’re not exactly opposed to it. The way his arms wrap around you, holding you close and safe, making sure no one can hurt you—it’s unfamiliar, but you like it.

It was all a blur last night. All you really remember is running into him at a bar, teasing him a little, then actually sitting down to talk and eventually ditching your friends to spend time with him. Something was said, and the next thing you know, he's taking you to his house, and you're in his bedroom.

His lips were on yours like he meant it, like he needed it. He muttered things you weren't sure he meant. He touched you in ways you'd never experienced from guys your age—because they were boys, and he was a man. He loved you like a man should: rough and possessive. You feel him stir, grunting and holding you tighter before his eyes open. You feel him freeze. Shit.

He could recognize your brown curls from a mile away. There was no way in hell he slept with you. He doesn’t just... sleep with people. He doesn’t do that. That’s not him. And he definitely doesn’t sleep with people like his best friend’s daughter. He sits up, looking at you. You're awake, staring at him in the exact same way. He runs a hand over his face.

"Shit."

He murmurs, knowing full well that if he did this, he had a reason. He hasn't been able to take his eyes off you since you moved back to Texas.