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MORGAN

Iclimb out of my car and smooth down my sundress. It’s short, but not scandalously so. Just enough to show off a little leg and make him think about what I’ve got underneath it. I smile to myself and walk to the front door, and knock. I shouldn’t be teasing him this way, but I’ve had a crush on Marcus Hooper for as long as I can remember. Of course, the fact that he’s my best friend’s father has made that a bit … problematic.

Kelsey is horrified by my crush on her dad. But it’s not like I can help it. He’s hot. He’s smart, funny, and there’s just something about him that turns me on. I can’t count the number of my fantasies he’s starred in. It doesn’t help that I’ve caught him looking at me. When he does, I can see the gleam of desire in his eyes. He always makes some excuse to get out of the room, but I’ve seen it all the same. And I can’t help but wonder how many fantasies of his I’ve starred in. Just thinking about it makes me tingle.

The front door opens, and Marcus is standing there in shorts and a t-shirt. His hair is tousled, and his cheeks and chin are coveredin salt and pepper stubble that I find incredibly sexy. Six-three with a lean, fit body and broad shoulders, Marcus’s hair is dark with flecks of gray, making him look distinguished. He’s forty-one, almost twenty years my senior, but he’s got the body of a man half his age. He’s in incredible shape, which I guess is probably a prerequisite for our university’s head basketball coach.

He blinks, startled to see me standing on his doorstep. “Morgan. Hey,” he says with a small smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I left something in Kelsey’s room,” I say sweetly. “Would you mind if I just ran up and grabbed it real quick?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hooper.”

I walk in and dash up the staircase, putting a little extra swish in my hips since I can feel his eyes locked on my ass. Might as well give him a little show.

“We’re all grown-ups now, Morgan. You can call me Mack,” he calls after me.

“Sure thing, Mr. Hooper,” I call back.

Kelsey left yesterday for a summer program abroad. It was only later, after dropping her off at the airport, that I realized I’d left my recorder in her room. As an aspiring sports journalist, I work for the university paper and need my recorder for interviews, so it wasn’t like I planned to pop in while her father was home alone. It’s just a happy coincidence.

I slip into her room and look around, trying to remember where I left it. I spot it sitting on her nightstand, half-buried under her scarf. Scooping it up, I turn around and a squeal bursts from mymouth when I see Mr. Hooper leaning against the door jamb, his arms folded over his chest. His golden-hazel eyes bore into me, making my heart skip a beat.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks.

I hold up the recorder for him to see. “I did, thanks. I’ve got a couple of interviews today and I needed this.”

He nods. “That’s good.”

We stand in silence for a moment, just staring at each other. The air in the room crackles with an awkward tension, and as his eyes roam my body, I feel myself growing wet and warm. Part of me wants to take him by the hand, lead him to his room—because let’s face it, doing it in in his daughter’s room would just be weird—throw him down on his bed, then fuck his brains out. I may be a virgin, but I’ve got a very good imagination, and I’ve watched plenty of porn.

I know I won’t do that, though. I may have an active imagination, but I’m not an overly assertive girl. Not really. In my fantasies, I’m practically a dominatrix. But in the real world, I’m a bit shy and reserved. Probably because I don’t have much experience with men, and I’m terrified that if I make the first move, I’ll be laughed at. Kelsey tells me it’s all in my head and that I just need to learn to go for it, but it’s one of those things that’s a lot easier said than done.

I clear my throat. “So, you’ve got the whole house to yourself for the next couple of months, huh? What are you going to do with yourself?”

I cringe inwardly when I realize just how that sounds. The double meaning in my words wasn’t intentional, but when I see the flash of hunger in his eyes, I know it didn’t need to be. Mr.Hooper runs a hand through his hair and seems to be trying very hard to control himself.

“Well, with the season coming up, I’m going to be pretty busy,” he says. “Lots of film to break down, practices to run. Coaching is a full-time gig and then some.”

Part of me is disappointed he didn’t ask me to spend the rest of the day banging like rabbits, but I know how silly that is.

“How’s the team looking?” I ask.

“Am I speaking to Morgan, my daughter’s friend, or Morgan the sports reporter?”

“Both.”

His smile reveals his dimples, which makes my heart flutter. “Well, in that case, I think we’ve got a pretty good group. They’re passionate, dedicated, they work hard, and have really sound fundamentals. I think this team can do some really special things this season.”

“It’s been a few years since our last championship,” I say. “Do you think this team can get to the top of the mountain?”

“I do,” he answers with a nod. “This is a really talented squad.”

I’d much rather be talking to him about all the filthy things we’re going to do to each other, but he seems to be in coach mode. Mr. Hooper has always seemed happiest when talking about the game he loves so much. He’s a gym rat through and through and was a budding superstar in the pros until a terrible knee injury took it all away from him.