Sinning with My Bestie's Dad

Ashley

His grip lingered a second longer than necessary before releasing my hand. My palm tingled where his skin had touched mine.

"You've grown into quite the woman." His blue eyes swept over me with an expression I couldn't decipher. Appreciation? Simple observation? Whatever it was made heat crawl up my neck.

"Thank you, Mr. Ford." I forced my voice to remain steady, professional. My treacherous gaze wanted to drop back to those swim trunks clinging to him like a second skin.

"I'm looking forward to you tutoring Tyler." Arthur reached for the towel draped over his shoulder, running it across his chest. Water droplets caught in the dark hair there. "His grades need work before college applications start. You were always the smart one between you and Chelsea."

"Hey!" Chelsea protested beside me.

Arthur's lips curved. "You have other talents, sweetheart."

"Damn right I do."

I needed to leave. Right now. This was a terrible idea. The worst possible idea. How was I supposed to tutor Tyler when his father looked like walking sex, and my brain kept supplying me with vivid images of what lay beneath those obscenely tight trunks?

Bad idea. Horrible idea. Run away and take the burger-flipping job.

But my mouth betrayed me. "I'd be happy to help Tyler however I can."

"Excellent." Arthur's smile widened. "Chelsea mentioned you're studying pre-med. That's impressive."

"Just trying to keep my head above water with the course load."

"I'm sure you'll manage brilliantly." He tucked the towel around his hips. It did absolutely nothing to help my situation. If anything, it drew more attention to the V of muscle disappearing beneath the fabric. "I'll let you two catch up. Chelsea, your friend is welcome here anytime."

He walked past us toward the house, and I caught the scent of chlorine mixed with something masculine and clean. My knees went weak.

Chelsea grabbed my arm the moment the glass doors closed behind him.

"Come on, I still need to show you the upstairs. Dad went crazy with the renovations up there too."

She dragged me back inside before I could form a coherent response. My mind was still stuck on the way Arthur's muscles had flexed when he'd moved, the casual power in his stride.

This is such a bad idea. My fantasies were going to spiral completely out of control if I accepted this job. Hell, they already were spiraling. One look at him, dripping wet, and my brain had short-circuited into a montage of increasingly filthy scenarios.

"So the guest rooms got completely redone." Chelsea pulled me up the curved staircase. "New furniture, new everything. Dad hired this interior designer who charged an obscene amount, but honestly, it looks amazing."

She wasn't wrong. The upstairs hallway gleamed with fresh paint and modern light fixtures. Framed photographs lined the walls, a mix of family shots and artistic black-and-white prints.

"Tyler's room is at the end. Fair warning, it smells like teenage boy and wax." Chelsea wrinkled her nose. "Surfboard wax, I mean. He's obsessed."

We passed several doors before she pushed one open with a flourish.

"And this is my kingdom."

Chelsea's bedroom was exactly what I expected and somehow more. The walls were still that princess pink she'd loved since we were kids, but everything else screamed expensive upgrade. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, covered in white linens and approximately seven million throw pillows. A flat-screen TV hung on one wall. Her closet was the size of my dorm room.

"It's very you."

"Right?" She flopped onto the bed. "Dad wanted to redo it completely, go for something more 'mature,' but I told him pink stays, or I riot."

"The pink is iconic."

"Thank you!" She propped herself up on her elbows. "Now sit. Tell me more about this Alex situation because I'm still processing the fact that you dated a cheating douchebag for two years."

I perched on the edge of her bed. "In my defense, I didn't know he was a cheating douchebag until recently."

"Fair. But still. You're better off without him."

Before I could respond, someone grabbed me from behind.

I shrieked.

Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, lifting me slightly off the bed. A laugh rumbled behind me.

"Missed you, Ash."

Tyler.

He released me, and I spun around, my heart still hammering from the surprise.

Holy shit.

The scrawny little brat I remembered had vanished completely. In his place stood a golden-haired god who'd clearly spent the last few years either in the ocean or the gym. Probably both. He towered over me now, all broad shoulders and lean muscle. Sun-bleached curls fell across his forehead. His grin was pure trouble.

"Tyler?"

"The one and only." He sprawled into Chelsea's desk chair, spinning it lazily. "Chels said you're gonna tutor me. Is that true?"

"I... yeah. Maybe. We're still figuring out the details."

"Cool. When do we start?"

I glanced at Chelsea, who was smirking like she'd planned this ambush. Probably had.

"How about twice a week?" I offered, my brain finally catching up. "We can do one session for math and another for science. What are you struggling with most?"

"Everything except PE and lunch."

"Helpful."

Tyler's grin widened. "I'm kidding. Sort of. Math is brutal. And chemistry makes zero sense."

"We'll start with those then." I pulled out my phone. "What days work for you?"

"Literally any day. My social calendar isn't exactly packed with college prep activities."

"More like packed with surf sessions," Chelsea muttered.

"Surfing is important."

"Surfing isn't getting you into college."

Tyler shrugged, unbothered by his sister's jab. We settled on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, right after my morning classes ended. It gave me enough time to prep materials and still have my evenings free for studying.

"Perfect." Tyler stood, unfolding his tall frame from the chair. "This is gonna be way better than the tutor Dad hired last year. That guy was like a hundred years old and smelled like mothballs."

"I promise to smell significantly better than that."

"Already an improvement." He headed for the door. "Catch you, ladies, later. I've got waves to catch before dark."

The door closed behind him.

***

The study room was pristine. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes that looked more decorative than functional. A massive oak desk sat near the window, papers and textbooks already spread out waiting for Tyler.

Who was twenty minutes late.

I checked my phone again. Flipped through the chemistry textbook I'd brought. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of the pool filter outside.

Finally, footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Sorry, sorry." Tyler burst through the door, phone in hand, hair still damp from what I assumed was a shower. "Lost track of time."

"We're supposed to start at three."

"I know, I know." He dropped into the chair across from me, immediately pulling out his phone again. The screen lit up with notifications. "Give me one second."

One second turned into two minutes of furious typing.

"Tyler."

"Hmm?"

"Phone away. We need to focus."

He sighed dramatically but tucked it into his pocket. "Fine. What's first?"

"Chemistry. Your dad said you're struggling with the basics." I slid the textbook toward him. "Let's start with atomic structure."

His eyes glazed over before I finished the sentence.

This was going to be harder than I'd anticipated.

Ten minutes in, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out without thinking.

"Tyler."

"It's just one text."

"It's never just one text."

He grinned, caught. "Fair point." The phone disappeared again. "Okay, atomic structure. Hit me."

I launched into an explanation of electrons and protons, drawing diagrams on the notepad between us. Tyler nodded along, but his gaze kept drifting to the window overlooking the pool.

"Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, electrons go around the nucleus like... like waves around a reef."

I blinked. "That's actually not a terrible analogy."

"See? I pay attention." His grin widened. "Just gotta make it relatable. Like surfing."

"Everything's like surfing to you."

"Everything is surfing if you think about it hard enough."

Despite myself, I laughed. "Okay, surf genius. Explain chemical bonds using wave metaphors."

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead. "Easy. Two atoms bonding is like two waves combining into one bigger wave. The stronger the bond, the bigger the impact when it hits the shore."

"That's... surprisingly accurate."

"Told you." He looked pleased with himself. "Dad got me into surfing when I was like eight. Said I needed something to burn off energy. Best thing he ever did."

"Does he still surf with you?"

Tyler shook his head. "Nah, work got crazy the past few years. He'll come out sometimes on weekends, but mostly he just does laps in the pool now. Says it's better cardio." He scrolled through his phone, then remembered and set it down. "You should come out with us sometime. I could teach you."

The image slammed into my brain before I could stop it.

Arthur on a surfboard, water streaming down his chest. Salt spray catching in his dark hair. Those powerful thighs flexing as he balanced on the board, riding the wave with casual confidence. His body would move with the water, hips shifting, muscles contracting. Then he'd turn toward shore, toward me, and...

"Ash?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You completely zoned out."

"Sorry. Just thinking." Heat crept up my neck. "Um, surfing sounds fun. Maybe."

Tyler's phone buzzed again. This time, he didn't even pretend to resist, snatching it up immediately.

"Tyler."

"Sorry, it's the group chat. Mason's having a thing tonight." He typed rapidly, thumbs flying across the screen. "Anyway, where were we?"

"Chemical bonds."

"Right, right." He glanced at the textbook without really seeing it. "Look, real talk? College success isn't about memorizing this stuff. It's about connections. Who you know. Dad's proof of that. Half his biggest deals came from knowing the right people at the right time."

"Your dad also worked hard to build those connections."

"Sure, but he'd be the first to tell you networking matters more than homework." Tyler spun his pencil between his fingers. "Not saying grades don't matter at all, just... they're not everything."

I studied him across the desk. "Then why are you even doing these sessions?"

"Because it's you teaching me."

Before I could respond, his phone exploded with notifications. He grabbed it, scrolling quickly, then stood.

"Shit, I gotta go. Mason needs me to grab something before tonight." He was already heading for the door. "Same time Thursday?"

"Tyler, we still have forty minutes left."

"I know, I'm sorry. Emergency. I'll make it up to you Thursday, I promise."

Then he was gone, footsteps retreating down the hallway.

I sat alone in the study, surrounded by chemistry textbooks and half-finished notes. This tutoring arrangement was already proving impossible, and not because of Tyler's attention span.

I packed up my materials and went to find Chelsea.

She was sprawled across her bed, scrolling through her phone when I knocked.

"Hey! How'd it go?"

"Harder than expected," I admitted, dropping into her desk chair. "Your brother's stubborn."

She waved it off. "Don't stress. He's got time before applications. Dad'll handle it if it comes to that." She rolled onto her stomach, kicking her feet in the air. "Honestly? We just wanted you around more. And maybe you'll be a good influence on the delinquent."

"I'm not sure I'm influencing anything except his ability to find creative excuses."

"Give it time." Chelsea grinned. "He'll come around. Besides, Dad's paying you fifteen hundred for two weeks of tutoring, so even if Tyler's being a brat, you're making bank."

I choked on air. "What? Fifteen hundred? Chelsea, that's insane."

"That's what Dad offered." She shrugged like we were discussing pocket change instead of more money than I'd make in a month slinging burgers. "He knows good tutors are expensive, and you're literally perfect for this."

"That's way too much. I can't accept that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous! Normal tutors charge less."

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Normal tutors aren't pre-med students who've known Tyler since he was a kid. Dad specifically wanted someone Tyler would actually listen to, not some random person from a tutoring service. You're doing him a favor."

"A favor that apparently pays better than most actual jobs."

"Welcome to having rich friends." She grinned wickedly. "Now stop complaining about making money and accept the blessing. You can put it toward those student loans you were whining about."

She had a point. The loans were crushing. And fifteen hundred dollars for basically hanging out at their house twice a week...

"I still think it's too much."

"Cool story. Dad already approved it, so unless you want to argue with him directly about his money..." She raised an eyebrow.

The thought of arguing with Arthur about anything made my stomach flip. No. Absolutely not. I'd take the absurd payment and keep my mouth shut.

"Fine," I muttered. "But I'm working my ass off to actually help Tyler. I'm not taking that much money for nothing."

"See? Everyone wins." Chelsea bounced on her bed. "Oh, and speaking of Dad, he mentioned wanting to talk to you later about Tyler's progress. Just so you're not surprised when he corners you."

Arthur wants to talk to me. Privately. My pulse kicked up.

"Sure. Yeah. That's fine."

Chelsea's phone buzzed, and she grabbed it immediately, her attention shifting.

I shifted in the chair, suddenly very aware of how much iced tea I'd consumed during our conversation. My bladder was starting to protest.

"Hey, where's the bathroom?"

"Guest bathroom is down the hall, third door on the left." Chelsea waved vaguely without looking up from her phone. "Can't miss it."

I slipped out of her room and headed down the hallway. Third door on the left. Easy enough.

The house was quiet, just the distant hum of the pool filter and muted sounds from somewhere deeper in the estate. I counted doors. First, second, third.

I pushed through and barely made it two steps before colliding with something solid.

Not something. Someone.

My hands hit bare skin. Hot, damp skin stretched over hard muscle. I stumbled backward, words tumbling out.

"Sorry, I didn't..."

I looked up.

Arthur Ford stood inches away, shirtless, skin flushed from what must have been a workout. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, dark hair matted with sweat. Those ridiculous abs flexed as he steadied himself, one hand braced against the doorframe.

Water droplets clung to his collarbone. His hair was mussed, that salt-and-pepper mess falling across his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to push it back.