My Best Friend's Navy SEAL Dad: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari (feel good fiction books .TXT) 📗

I was at his place late last night, lying in his arms after we made love and watched a movie as his fingers moved through my hair, sending tingling sensations to every part of me.

“Was that Angie?” I ask.

He sighs and nods.

I can read all the emotion stowed up in that sigh, the uncertainty and the need butting heads, his conviction that we’re going to be together forever clashing horns with the knowledge that Angie’s reaction may shatter it all.

“Come inside,” he says firmly. “I need to kiss you. It’s killing me not being able to touch you in public. It’s not right. You’re my woman.”

We’ve agreed to keep our relationship quiet until Angie knows, just in case…

Just in case what? the sizzling in my womb screams. You’re pregnant, Tessa. There’s no going back now.

I try to force the voice away because it’s too messy to think about what we’ll do if I’m pregnant and Angie disapproves. But I don’t even feel as though there is an if.

It feels like a fact that there’s a baby growing inside of me, already changing me.

I nod and make to walk up the steps, and then laughter cuts across the lawn, a peal of laughter I recognize very well.

It’s the throaty mean harg-harg-harg of Derrick Wilson, one of the biggest douchebags my high school ever graduated… and he only managed that feat by copying off anybody who was smaller than him. Which, being a frontline player on the football team, was pretty much everyone.

A chord of anxiety quivers through me and I turn.

Derrick stands at the head of a group of four, all of them in their lettermen jackets, as though they can’t quite let high school go. He’s even bigger than I remember like he’s been using steroids since the last time I saw him. His hair is black and cut spiky, his eyes narrowed, his smile sarcastic and cold.

The men behind him have the same narrowed mean eyes like they’re getting ready for their troupe leader to tell a cruel joke.

“Look here, fellas,” he says, grinning like a jackal. And a jackass. “It’s not-so-little Tessa Tantrum.”

Even after all this time – with three years and mom’s breakdown separating the nickname – it still stings.

They called me Tessa Tantrum because once when they filled my locker with spiders I went to the principal and complained about them. Apparently, to them, that’s the same as throwing a tantrum.

Derrick went to California to work with his uncle after graduation, I’d heard, but I guess he’s back now.

Back and douchier than ever.

“Well?” he cackles. “Haven’t you got anything to say to an old friend?”

“How about fuck off?” I snap. “Freaking hell, Derrick, high school was a million years ago. Why are you still wearing that stupid jacket?”

“Hey now,” he snaps, taking a few steps onto the lawn. “Don’t talk shit about my jacket. I’m proud of this thing. I’m just joking with ya.”

“I don’t find your jokes funny. I never have. Please just leave me alone.”

“Maybe I was going to ask you out on a date. I can see you’ve kept your… eh, figure.”

The men behind him laugh cruelly, letting me know exactly what he means when he says figure.

“Apologize,” Trent growls, striding across the lawn and stopping a few inches short of Derrick and his pals.

My heart quivers in my chest as Derrick’s lettermen buddies stalk up behind their leader, forming a gang of five around my man. Trent remains still, unfazed, focusing all his attention on Derrick.

“What?” Derrick laughs, looking around with exaggerated movements. “I don’t see any backup, old man. Maybe you ought to sit this one out, eh?”

“Tell her you’re sorry,” Trent says, his voice trembling a tiny bit, but otherwise level and calm, “or I’ll make you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Derrick says, staring Trent in the eye.

He’s one of the few men tall enough to do that.

Several of his friends too short, grimacing.

“Says the fuckwit who’s still wearing his lettermen jacket three years after high school,” Trent snarls, and a voice inside of me screams at him to stop.

Derrick’s going to attack him. I saw him leap on countless kids in high school, savaging them with his bullying strength. And there’s five of them against Trent.

I know he’s strong and tough and capable, but five against one are bad odds, against anyone.

“You’re really starting to piss me off, old-timer,” Derrick growls. “So back. The fuck. Off.”

He takes a few steps forward, standing toe to toe with Trent now, both of them glaring at each other.

“Please, just calm down everybody,” I say, but it’s like I haven’t even spoken.

The stink of violence tinges the air.

“You have no right to talk to her like that,” Trent snarls. “So say sorry and I’ll let you walk away.”

“Let me? Let me? Fuck this.”

I scream when Derrick throws a right hook at Trent and it strikes him across the face.

Trent takes the blow, turning his face with the impact, and then takes another to the stomach.

Then he laughs.

It comes out like an alpha lion’s roar.

“That was assault,” he says as Derrick winds up for another punch. “Which makes this self-defense.”

Derrick swings at him again and Trent slides back, dodging the punch like he’s moving at light speed.

He punches Derrick in the stomach and then spins as one of Derrick’s goons tries to grab at him.

It all happens so fast, Trent sliding effortlessly between them like he knows exactly what they’re going to do.

He throws one to the ground and then elbows the other in the nose, causing blood to go flying, and then lifts his hands to block a flurry of blows to his face.

I gasp as another man lays into him, but then Trent explodes with three well-aimed punches.

By the time he’s finished, three of the men – including Derrick – are on the ground groaning. The other two apparently have important appointments elsewhere because they hightail it as fast as they can.

Trent grabs Derrick