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

punctual and always arrives in our little corner of Maine precisely when he says he’s going to, right down to the minute.

“Something’s bothering you,” Mom goes on, lifting the chopping board and pushing the tomatoes into the pan. “You’ve been moping all evening. Did something happen at work?”

I laugh dryly. “Nothing ever happens at work, Mom.”

“What is it, then? Is it… have you been thinking about all I put you through?”

I stand and walk across the room, leaning against the kitchen partition so I can look closely at her.

“I don’t blame you. I’ve never blamed you. It’s not your fault.”

She nods shortly, but I can tell she still doesn’t believe me. Even though it’s been almost a year since the paranoia and the arguments and the constant rage ended, she still thinks there’s a part of me that harbors resentment toward her.

“Thank you. That means a lot. I just wish you’d find a nice boy – or girl – and go and have some fun.”

“Boy, it’d be a boy,” I say. “But I don’t need anybody. I’m fine on my own, just me and my camera.”

It wouldn’t be a boy. It’d be a man, a man named Trent Tanner who I’ve crushed on since I was a little girl, a man who’s served overseas and has muscles that look like they are carved out of marble… and probably feel that way too.

Mom sighs. “I don’t like it when you say things like that, Teepee.”

I giggle. “And I don’t like it when you call me Teepee. One time I did that.”

She grins. “And one time was enough.”

Teepee is a reference to the time I covered the whole house in toilet paper when I was a little kid. Mom told me that, as punishment, she was going to call me Teepee for the rest of my life.

Over the years, it’s evolved into a loving nickname, something that calls me back to the simpler times of my childhood.

“There might be somebody, actually,” I say a moment later, the words coming as though somebody else is controlling my lips.

Mom pauses with her hand on the pan’s handle, gaping at me. Her mouth falls open as though I’ve just told her I’ve mastered the art of growing a second head.

“And who might he be?” she asks.

“I don’t want to say. But it doesn’t matter. It could never work anyway. He’s…”

How the heck can I tell her its Trent Tanner without telling her it’s Trent Tanner?

“It’s complicated. But there’s stuff in the way, too many reasons it couldn’t work.”

“Maybe you should spend some time with him.” She speaks carefully, as though aware of how rarely I talk about things like this. “See if there’s any chemistry there. Who knows, maybe you’ll hate each other and the problem will sort itself out.”

I don’t tell her Trent already hates me. He’ll probably no-show tomorrow at the trail, and that’s fine by me – I tell myself – just freaking perfect.

I don’t need Trent Tanner and his irresistible gleaming green eyes, or his thick safety-promising arms, or his smirk, or anything else about him at all.

I’m perfectly fine with my camera and the trees and nothing else.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Mom looks at me for a long time and then turns away.

“What?”

She laughs. “What?”

I smile. “Come on. You were about to say something. Don’t act like I can’t read you, Mom.”

Her eyes meet mine again, seriousness streaked across her features.

“Just because things didn’t work out with me and your father, it doesn’t mean relationships are inherently bad. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” I tell her, even if I’m not sure, I’ve never been sure.

I return to the table, picking up my Kindle and staring blankly at it. The words refuse to come into any sort of order. They shimmer and dance across the page, teasing me, as if they know my mind is going to be Trent’s prisoner for the rest of my freaking life.

I can’t imagine moving on, falling for somebody else, obsessing over somebody else.

But I also can’t imagine him wanting me either.

CHAPTER FOUR

Trent

The next morning, I stand at the gate to the nature trail, my hands behind my back out of habit.

One of the first things I noticed when I joined the military is nervous men tend to twitch and shift their hands, so I vowed to keep mine still, always, to never give a sign I was feeling anything.

I made myself cold.

Maybe that’s why I thought I’d never find a woman, never be hit with this bomb of obsession.

I breathe in the early-summer air, letting it move through me. Youngstone and the surrounding pine forests have a particular, welcoming scent, bringing me back to my younger years before I joined the Navy. I’d run through the forest in a weight vest, my body roaring at me to stop, but I’d keep going, on and on until I felt like I was going to break.

Part of me knows that’s what I should be doing this morning, instead of waiting for my daughter’s best friend.

I should be working out, punishing my body, making it so all I can think about is how badly I’m aching.

I could tell she thought I was joking when I agreed to come. It was in the sassiness of her expression, the challenge glinting in her eyes.

Those eyes… they watched me in my dreams last night, glinting fiery one moment and turned away in shyness the next.

I woke up rock hard, growling out angry, horny breaths.

I shouldn’t want her this badly.

I should leave.

I swear the universe is playing games with me. Just as I think about leaving – even secretly knowing I never could – Tessa pulls into the parking lot in a rundown hunk of crap. The car makes cranking noises as it rattles over the rocks, pulling up next to my black SUV.

A familiar feeling returns to me, the same anger that pricked me when she was worried about her boss finding out about the broken mug. My woman shouldn’t have to