"Stop being such a prude, Arlene!"

I can hear the annoyance in my boyfriend's voice, even over the loud music. Leonid used to say the same words in a teasing tone while tickling me, making me blush and unable to hide my smile. But not tonight.

I wonder if it's the alcohol that has turned him more aggressive. Or perhaps his friends.

I only met them today. We had hardly stepped off the bus before he was embraced by his rowdy group of friends. His promise, that they'd all adore me and I would love them, was quickly proven wrong.

I met Leonid a few months ago in college. Me in my first year, Leonid in his third. He plays on the basketball team and is really popular. And handsome too. I couldn't believe it when he started pursuing me.

I'm the shy girl, the one that no one notices, and if they do, then I blush four shades of red. Yet Leonid saw me, flirted with me, and finally started dating me. He said I was different, not like the painted, noisy dolls that normally hang around the basketball team. He told me I was pretty, beautiful even; and the fact that I didn't flaunt it only added to my beauty. He said my shyness made me mysterious. That my inexperience gave me a flair of mystique.

But apparently, he was getting tired of the mystique. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't want his hand under my top in a room full of people. Granted, we are currently alone at the table, but still, there are at least a couple of hundred people in the club. I'm not even old enough to be here, something his friend, Belinda, was happy to point out.

With a huff, Leonid sits back in his seat, taking a big gulp of his beer while scanning the room.

I feel stupid. He's used to girls with no inhibitions, who are happy to grind on the Enzoce floor. Or find a dark corner to do things that I don't even do when we're in private. When I do go down that road, I want the moment to be right. I want to be sure. I want to be sure of his feelings, his intentions.

Drunken groping in a club doesn't have the level of romance or desire that I long for.

Leonid's face lights up in a mischievous grin as his best friend, Goergia, his childhood buddy, saunters over to the table. Georgiaand Leonid-the evil twins, they call themselves. I've been blushing all night while they've retold stories of growing up together. Georgiawill no doubt have another tale to tell tonight, as he has his arm around a beautiful brunette who settles on his lap. Her too-short dress looks a bit skewed, her lips are swollen, and her hair is in more of a disarray than what it would be from only Enzocing.

"Well, what have you two naughty kids been up to?" my boyfriend asks and cups his balls. He seems to do that a lot when he's with Goergia-it's like their bro-code or something.

Georgiaruns his fingers up the side of the brunette's breast. They are almost spilling out of her dress, and I'm mortified by the way my boyfriend's eyes are glued to them. The brunette's eyes are glued to Leonid. I don't know how to react when she licks her lips seductively. With the lack of lighting in the club, I can't be sure, but I think he winked at her.

"We? Oh, nothing you wouldn't do." Georgiasmirks.

Well, that's the thing, isn't it? We wouldn't do it, because of me, and Leonid's sour face confirms that he's thinking the same.

I wish I could just fake a headache and head home to my dorm room, but we're not on campus anymore. We're in my boyfriend's hometown, a sleepy little place a few hours south of Seattle, and we're staying with his dad for three weeks during summer break.

It's another two hours before we finally head back to his father's house. By now, I'm dreading going home. Leonid is very drunk, and despite trying to make me the same, I'm more sober than at the beginning of the night.

I know I'm about to have a fight on my hands.

2ArleneThere's a saying that the bridge between despair and hope is a good night's sleep. I've often found it to be true, but when I wake up in the morning, I can't help but ask myself how on earth I'll survive three weeks here.

The thing is, I've been looking forward to this-three weeks of quiet instead of the constant noise and drama at home. I sent my mother a message yesterday saying I'd arrived safely. Her short Have fun response is probably the only time I'll hear from her until I'm back. We're not close. She'd tried to pretend that she was happy for me when I told her I'd be away for almost a month with my boyfriend, but I know she'd wanted me to help out at home. Although part of me felt bad, I couldn't not take Leonid up on his offer of this relaxing holiday. He's been tempting me with tales of the tranquil town he's from, with the seafront and the forest parks.

Yet from listening to his friends last night, I think he forgot to mention that he would only use the seafront and the forest for drunken bonfire parties.

I also expected this holiday to be when we would bring our relationship to the next level. If things continue like yesterday, that seems less and less likely.

I suspect Leonid will be sleeping off the alcohol for a while still, so I get up with a sigh and head to the kitchen in only my sleep shorts and a flimsy cut-off tank top. I'm twisting my light brown hair in a bun on top of my head when I stop dead in my tracks.

A man I've never seen before is in the kitchen.

And when I say man, I mean man.

He is masculine in a way only someone older can be, with the authority and confidence that comes with age. He has light stubble on his face, defined cheekbones that narrow down to a firm chin. His hair is neatly cut, a few gray strands through the brown at the temple. A thin, white long-sleeved sweater that he has pushed up to the elbows exposes tanned and muscular forearms. The sweater hangs loosely down his torso, revealing a toned chest. Strong but lean legs are hidden behind dark slacks. And he is barefoot. Why that affects me so much, I don't know.

It doesn't even occur to me that I should be afraid. Instead, I let my eyes travel slowly back up, taking in every aspect of this amazing specimen of a man. When I get to his face, I realize he is looking at me the same way. His eyes are traveling up my naked legs, over my tiny sleep shorts, up my exposed torso. Oh my, I still have my arms above my head, so my top has ridden up, showing the beginning of the small swells of my breasts. His gaze slows. My stomach clenches in a way it never has before, making my breath hitch. At a snail's pace his eyes wander over my breasts. Then they go higher, stopping at my parted lips. And then his gaze meets mine.

His hazel eyes are so dark, filled with a longing that I can't explain, yet somehow seems so familiar.

But then he blinks a few times, shifts on his feet, and clears his throat.

"You must be Arlene."

Cold dread is rushing through my body. Oh my God, this is Leonid's dad!

Leonid's dad, who has just seen more of my body than anyone has since I was a kid. Not even my older sister has seen any part of my breasts in years. I quickly drop my arms and fold them across my stomach to hide the bare skin. But then I notice my nipples are poking against my top, and I shift my arms up to cover them instead.

He seems to be amused by my embarrassment, and my cheeks burn. Then I realize he's waiting for an answer.

"Yes," I finally say, all breathy. "I'm Arlene."

"Nice to meet you, Arlene. I'm Machel, Leonid's father." With that reminder, his face shutters.

3MachelI turn my back to the little siren standing in my kitchen.

Was I just lusting after my son's girlfriend?

Disgust rises up in my stomach. I can only blame the lack of sleep. She was a mirage, a vision out of a dirty dream, standing there in hardly any clothes, a heady mix of innocence and temptation with a hungry look in her eyes.

Hungry? No, it couldn't have been. I must have imagined it. She is my son's girlfriend; she wouldn't have looked at me-an old man-with hunger.

"I've just made some coffee. Do you want some?"

"Yes, please."

Her quiet voice sends electricity straight to my cock. This is so not me. I never let emotions or hormones control me; I control them. I learned my lesson with Leonid's mom years ago.

I force myself to talk about Leonid, just to keep my head straight.

"Is my son up yet?"

When she doesn't immediately respond, I turn and find her biting her lip. I quickly focus on her eyes, as her lips will only bring my thoughts back in the gutter.

"No.it was a late night, so he probably won't be up for a while."

I snort. "Yes, he was never an early riser."

She grabs the coffee mug that I hold out to her and sits at the kitchen table, opposite me.

"I-I didn't think you were back from the conference till tonight?" she asks while lifting those big, blue eyes at me.

"I got homesick."

Her laugh is unexpected, and the way her smile lights up her face takes my breath away.

"Homesick isn't something I would expect a grown man to be."

"Grown man, uh?" She's blushing again. "I'm always homesick when I'm away. I love this town. I love my home," I explain with a shrug.

"You have such a lovely house," she responds eagerly. "Leonid tells me you're an architect and designed it yourself?"

"That's true."

"It's really beautiful. I think my favorite part is the patio at the back with the built-in seats and firepit-it's just perfect. All I wanted to do when I saw it was to curl up in one of the seats with a book and stay there all day."

"I'm glad you like it. It's situated so you have the perfect view of the sunset over the bay."

"Oh, I can't wait to see it. Leonid said you built it-the seats and all-yourself?"

"I did, yes." The pure admiration in her eyes does something to my chest. "I was pretty much hands-on when it came to building the whole house, not just the outside. It made the place more mine, you know? The outdoor seating area needs to be repainted, though. I'm doing that this summer."

"I'll help."

This time, I'm the one who's laughing. She's blushing again, looking down at her hands.

"You'll help?"

"Well.if you'd want me to. It's the least I could do, staying for free in your house."

I can vividly picture it: Arlene in a pair of cutoff shorts, working next to me in the sunshine while sweat rolls down her back.

"You're here on your summer break, to relax after finals. There's no way I'll put a paint brush in your hands." When she tries to argue, I add in a stern voice, "No, young lady. It's final."

"Okay, Mr. Wright," she's replies demurely.

"Please, call me Machel."

"Okay. Machel."

How can every single word that comes out of her mouth sound so goddamn dirty? I swallow and change the topic.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

"I'd love some," she says and gets up from the chair. "But I insist on helping with it."

Her top is stretching across her tiny, tempting tits, and I know I can't have her close to me. Not like this.

"Sure," I say. "But why don't you go get dressed first?"

That adorable blush is back as she looks down her body and quickly folds her arms over her chest again.

While she is down the hall changing, I muse over the fact that my bone-deep tiredness seems to have vanished. The construction and architect conference I had been attending the last days was interesting, but the closing event wasn't tempting enough to keep me in the big dirty city, not even with the prospect of no-strings-attached company with one of the women attending. Instead, the good weather forecast had me driving all night to get home, and as a result, I've been awake for more than twenty-four hours. I'm probably half-delirious from lack of sleep, and that's for sure the reason for my insane fascination by this way-too-young girl. How old is she again? I think Leonid said she was nineteen.

Way-way too young. And not to mention, my son's girlfriend.

I've cracked four eggs into the frying pan and toasting bagels under the grill by the time Arlene walks back into the kitchen. Her skirt goes all the way down to her knees and the white T-shirt is just that-a white T-shirt. It's obvious that she has put a bra on. It's one of those padded ones that makes your boobs look bigger and hides any hard nipples.

I hate those bras.

But this morning, it's a blessing.

"Leonid still sleeping?" I ask as she helps set the table.

"Uh." She bites her lip, looking uncertain. "I assume so," she says in a low voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I-I didn't look into his room."

"His room? Are you not staying in his room?"

"No," she admits. "I'm in the guest room."

"Did you two have an argument?"

"Well-no, it's not that. It's just." She takes a deep breath, but her voice is a mere whisper when she continues. "I'm just not ready to share a bed with anyone yet."

I'm shocked, on so many levels. Leonid became sexually active at an early age, and for him not to sleep with his girlfriend sounds.just strange. But despite feeling a bit of admiration for my son, the voice shouting the strongest in my head is saying: She's untouched! No man has had his cock inside of her!

My sleep-deprived mind is screaming for me to claim her, claim her as mine, ruin her for any other man.

Jeremie, where are these disturbing thoughts coming from?

"That's very admirable," I say with what I hope is a normal tone. "I'm glad my son is respecting your wishes."

"Yes," is all she says, looking down.

Arlene asks me about the area when we sit down to eat, and I have no problem telling her about this town that I love so much. I suggest places for her to visit, the best beaches, trails for long walks, and where to spot wildlife. She soaks up every word, asking questions, and seems eager to go explore right this moment.

"Why did you decide to come here after your exams? Don't you miss you family and friends?" I ask her.

"I was hoping to relax a bit after all the finals stress. And home is not a place that is relaxing." She laughs, but her eyes turn distant.

"Why is that?"

"Well.there's always some type of drama with my older sister, and my twin brothers-they are younger than me-they always get into trouble. Then Mom will get mad at my dad because he is too lenient with my sister, and Dad will get mad at Mom because she's too lenient with the boys. There's always fighting and never a quiet moment, always drama and arguments." She sighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offload like that."

"And who's the most lenient with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your mom or your dad-who is the most lenient with you?"

She looks taken aback by my question.

"Um.neither. I never cause any trouble."

I would love to find out why my question is making her feel so uneasy, but instead, I ask her about her hometown. She tells me about a park and a couple of walks she likes, but in general it sounds like an industrial town with not much charm or soul.

I can't believe that two hours have passed by the time my son makes his way into the kitchen.

"Dad! What are you doing here so early?"

"I drove back through the night. You know me, can't stand big cities."

"Yeah." His gaze drifts to Arlene, and misplaced jealousy surfaces in me when he puts his hand on her shoulder. I get up from my seat.

"I'll put a fresh pot of coffee on," I offer, mostly just so I don't have to look at them.

Behind my back, I hear my son mumble, "I'm so sorry."

I assume he's sorry for Arlene having been forced to spend time with me on her own.

But I'm wrong.

4Arlene"I'm so sorry," Leonid whispers and sits next to me, the smell of alcohol still strong on his breath. "I was totally out of line last night. I never should have tried to push you into doing something you didn't want to do."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Romantensing, his head turns our way and his expression is hard. I feel mortified that he's overhearing this conversation.

"It's okay," I whisper.

"No, it's not. I was drunk, that's my only excuse. It won't happen again, I promise."

If I could only believe his promise. I think his patience with me is slowly withering away. I've told him before that I don't want my first time to be a drunken hook-up, yet last night, when we got home, he kept trying to push me. Even when I said no, he was all wandering hands, all drunken coercion. I wasn't scared, but still felt very vulnerable. I made sure my bedroom door was locked, and I couldn't help but cry myself to sleep. He's never been that pushy before.

"Okay," I say again, and I smile just to make this conversation end.

"Thank you, sweetheart, for being so understanding," he says and nuzzles his face in my hair. His hand lands on my leg and starts moving up and down, and I wonder how much he really understands.