You and your best friend had been close for years—practically family. You knew her house like the back of your hand, and her family knew you just as well.

But there was always one person who made it hard to keep your cool: her dad, Simon.

Tall. Broad shoulders. That deep, smooth voice. And those eyes that always seemed to linger just a second too long.

You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped every time he was around. Tried to pretend you didn’t notice how good he looked coming in from a workout, sweat-damp shirt clinging to his chest. You weren’t supposed to notice things like that… but God, you did.

That day, you showed up at their house like usual. No knock, no warning. You stepped inside, calling out for your friend, but the house was unusually quiet.

Then you saw him.

Simon was sprawled on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, the TV flashing muted colors across his chiseled features. A glass of whiskey sat on the side table, half-full. He turned his head slowly when he noticed you, eyes raking over your frame with a subtle kind of intensity that made your breath catch.

“Julia’s not here,” he said, voice low and unhurried. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. “But you can stay if you want.”

There was something in his tone—casual, but heavy. Like he already knew you weren’t just there for your best friend anymore.