My Daughter's Friends: Brooke

"Yeah." She laughed. "But after kindergarten my parents sent me to junior first. I guess I wasn't social enough. Or something like that."

Junior first? My heart twitched again. Did that make her nineteen? As a chill ran down my spine at the thought, she retreated from her sexy stretch to a more casual pose with her hands wedged into her back pockets.

"Well," I started. "You seem social enough now."

She smiled again. "Thanks. I guess it worked then."

"I guess it did." I smiled back.

Wait... Were we flirting? Were we allowed to? Aubrey would frown upon it but it wasn't like we were doing anything physical. We were just talking. Sure, my eyes couldn't resists how the sun streaked across the floor and bathed her generous shape. But that was just looking. Not touching.

With a fidget, I pivoted towards the kitchen. "So, Junior first?" I tried to ask nonchalantly.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "It kind of sucks being a year older than everyone else. But at least I got to be the first one to drive."

There it was. A year older than everyone else. The Asian Goddess wasn't barely legal; she was a year beyond it. I shivered.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she continued. "I wanted to thank you for all your help yesterday. I think I did well on that test."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." She dropped her chin and let her hair veil her third smile.

"I'm glad I could help. Now was there anything else you needed?"

"No. I think that was everything."

"Okay then," I said, standing there a moment longer before starting back up the steps. As much as it made me cringe to leave her like that, I had to get out of there. Besides, I still had a day to wait to no longer feel like a pedophile. Also, every minute I spent with this woman increased the chances of me saying something stupid. "If you think of anything else. I'll be in my room."

"And where's that?" she called after me. "I've never been upstairs before. I don't want to get lost."

I chuckled. "It's the one at the end of the hallway." I told her, now four steps up. At this angle, I had to grit my teeth to not glance down her shirt. "You can't miss it."

"Okay," she said with a grin. "I won't. Thanks, Mr. Erickson."

"You're welcome, Ms. Chang."

"Have a good night!" she nearly sang as she spun around and began her trot downstairs.

"You too," I echoed.

Part 14: Tipsy

Outside my open bedroom windows, the leaves rustled, the birds chirped and overhead, an occasional airplane roared past. By this late in the evening, the sun had already snuck behind the willows and although it was still light outside, my room was cast in shade. It was quiet too. In fact, other than the noises outside, there were no others. No music, no television, nothing. I kept it that way because for the six or so minutes I needed to 'clear my head,' I wanted to be able to hear if someone was coming down the hallway. In the time between being stripped from my suit and dressed in my sweats, I debated jumping in the shower and doing it there but I figured I'd rather shower before bed. Plus, I didn't want to use my imagination when I had a myriad of videos at my fingertips. Ones that featured Asian girls to be specific.

Afterwards, I flopped onto my bed, propped up and switched on Spartacus from my Netflix queue. For two episodes, I lied there and watched it in hopes I would get tired. But no luck. When the second episode ended, I was still wired. That was either the show's fault or Brooke's. I waged the second. No matter. With the spare energy, I decided to turn off the show, grab the thirty-five pound dumbbells from the closet and do a light workout of pushups, sit-ups and curls while the radio played in the background.

However, three-quarters of the way through my first set of pushups, right when my breath deepened and I started counting off the reps aloud with each huff, "Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine," a soft voice broke from my door.

"Wow. Am I interrupted something?"

At once, my knees hit the carpet and like a dog, I crouched on all fours, panting, looking up from the floor to find Sophia attired in a V.S. pair of cotton shorts and a loose-fitting tank top, poised in the doorframe.

Pajamas!

"No, it's fine." I sat back on my heels. "Did you need something?"

"No," she answered as she sashayed into my room and shut the door. Then, with a Mike's lemonade in her hand and a bounce in her blonde mop, she skipped across the room and sat down at the foot of my bed. "I just wanted to see what you were doing." She took a sip of her drink. "Working out huh?"

Telling by the slur in her voice and the hint of alcohol she brought into the room, I guessed she was a good couple drinks in. Plenty for a girl her size.

I winced. If Sophia wasn't difficult enough to resist when she was sober, drunk, I feared, was going to be much more of a problem. And worse yet, whenever I exercised, despite the fatigue, my sex drive ran rampant. The good news, my hunch would hide anything my sweat pants missed. The bad news, other than the awkwardness of my kneel, Sophia was molten enough to make the two hours since I last took care of myself seem like days.

"Yep," I told her. "Are you having fun?"

"For sure." She giggled behind another sip, which clinked the bottle against her teeth. "I'm really dizzy though."

"That can happen. Do you think that's your last one?"

"Probably not." She laughed with another swallow. One that spilled past her lips and dribbled to the couple freckles beneath her collarbone. "Oops." She shivered. "That's cold."

I grimaced, yanking my eyes to the floor and trying to draw a breath of my own musk, which didn't help.

"Mr. Erickson?" she spoke up a moment later, her tone now far lower than it was before, almost as if she was sad or something was wrong.

"Yeah?" I looked up. "Is everything alright?"

"Well..." She sighed, her head hung, her eyes fixed down the bottle of her Mike's. "I was just wondering. Do you think Brooke's sexier than me?"

Immediately, I jarred back in disgust.

"Ms. Harrington," I said sternly. "I don't think of you girls like that. Like I told you in the kitchen, you're all beautiful. But I don't see any of you as anything more than that."

"Oh," she whispered with her hands clutched around her drink. "But Mr. Erickson, you called us gorgeous."

My heart jumped. "Well," I tried to respond. "You know what I meant."

"I don't think I do." She raised her chin and flashed her chipmunk smile at me. "I've seen you look at me before."

Again, my heart jumped.

"Sophia." I cleared my throat. "I look at all your girls. I don't mean for that to be suggestive. I'm sorry if I've confused you."

"No, not like that," she interrupted me, tilting her Mike's back and guzzling the rest. "I mean." She wiped her mouth and set the bottle on the floor. "Like, I've seen you look down my shirt."

Son of a bitch, my mind yelled as my chest started to hammer so hard I felt it in my skull.

"I don't mind," she continued. "I like it. It makes me feel special. Like, I'm your favorite."

"Sophia," I stuttered. "It's not like that."

"Oh really?" She paused. "I don't believe you."

Abruptly, she then got off the bed, shuffled across the carpet and sat on her heels in front of me as if to mirror me. But rather, while my hands were outside my knees, her hands were inside, locked through the elbow to perk up her posture and squish her breasts together. Thankfully, she was wearing a bra, otherwise it would've been more than my peripheral peering down her tank top.

"I've caught you before," she said with a smirk. "Just two days ago when you came home, you looked up my skirt. Remember? I saw you. It's okay though. I like when you look at me." As she spoke, she leaned forward until her face was inches from mine. "I want you to look at me."

Her breath was warm, seductive and deliciously scented of Riesling wine.

"You can even touch me if you want," she whispered. "Anywhere. I am eighteen after all."

"Sophia..." I couldn't help but trembled. I couldn't help but stare, my eyes captivated by the star pattern of hazel inside her blue irises. "I don't... I don't think of you girls like that. I don't see you girls like that."

"Oh," she whispered again as she traced her serpent-like tongue over her top lip. "Then prove it." Her eyes dropped to my crotch. "Stand up. Right now. And show me you're not hard."

My gut wrenched. Standing up was not an option. From head to foot, I was stone. My bones were locked. My words were dammed. How could she have been this domineering?

Worst of all, I loved it. All of it. I loved how my heart careened, how my blood raced through my veins and how her cocktail of alcohol, mango shampoo and perfume mixed in my nostrils.

I loved the power she had over me. She was... my little blonde dominatrix.

But luckily for me, it didn't last.

In the next instant, as if awakening from a daze, she fluttered her lashes, jerked back to her heels and let her focus sort of drift out. "I'm really tired." She yawned. "I think I'm going to go back downstairs now."

"Okay?" I crinkled my brow and kept my body rigid. Although it felt like whiplash.

"Have a good night, Mr. Erickson," she said, wiggling out of her kneel, standing up then starting towards the door. However, she never made it more than a step. Instead, once she tried to skip away, she stumbled backwards and hit my bed. There, she fell onto the mattress, giggled for a moment then, with her arms over her head, her legs together and her bare feet dangling off the side, she passed out.

Part 15: Inner Demons

At the foot of my bed, inches from the Blonde Fox, I stood with my arms folded. Still stiff, but at least tucked into my waistband in case she woke up. With how I hovered over her, that part of me was the closest and I didn't want any surprises.

For minutes, I kept like this, staring down at her exposed midsection.

Because of how she fell, her tank top had collected high on her stomach. Now, between that fabric and the waistband of her low-rider shorts, her abdomen was mine to ogle. At the top, the arcs of her lower ribcage. At the bottom, the handles of her hipbones, which jutted out so predominantly her abs flowed well below the hem of her shorts. Much like a stream under a bridge.

Oh how easy it would've been to peel her top up or untie her shorts and shimmy them down.

"Sophia, Sophia, Sophia." I shuddered. "You're far too sexy for your own good."

She looked like a dancer, long, lean and mysterious with her blonde mop fanned across the face.

I wanted her. I wanted to run my hands along her stomach and indulge each one of her defined contours. Furthermore, I wanted to reach into that all-too-inviting slot between her bridged shorts and her smooth abdomen and explore her. But I knew I couldn't. Regardless of how much my fists burned beneath my arms, I kept them crossed. I kept them clenched.

Yet, despite my calm exterior, my mind was someone else. Someone different.

At first, that someone, that voice in my head, told me to touch her. It tried to rationalize that no one was around and that no one would know. But once it caught on that I wasn't going to listen, the voice got sinister. And after maybe four or five suggestions, it was like I harbored a child molester inside my brain.

Take her, strip her naked, have your way with her, the gravelly voice demanded.

And I cringed at every word. But still, I didn't move. I didn't even flinch.

Well, I didn't flinch until about the tenth order. That was when the voice got so crass I had to react.

It was sickening. Throughout this whole ordeal, my head, and my passion, never stopped throbbing.

Who the hell had I become?

As the voice told me to rape her, I lunged back and ripped my gaze away from the young girl. Then, left with nothing but an aridness in my throat, I swallowed and dragged the voice back to the darker parts of my mind where I silenced it.

Seconds later, a thought hit me. Aubrey's entourage was probably wondering about their absent member by now. But maybe not. It might've been tough to notice one girl missing out of twelve. Then again, if there was one to notice absent, it would've been Ms. Harrington.

With a feeble smirk, I then scooped up her limp figure, cradled her and started my way down to the basement. When I exited my room though, it was as if I couldn't help myself and, like I wanted to reassure her, I whispered, "You are my favorite, Sophia."

Part 16: Distractions

The basement had two halves to it: The right, a long living room with the sliding doors to the backyard at the end. And the left, Aubrey's room, which use to be two bedrooms and a bathroom but was recently remodeled to one large room with a communal.

I liked the living room. Because Aubrey wanted it ocean themed, I had a painter come in and paint the walls in a sort of turbulent whirl of navy blue. Also, the shag carpet, the furniture and a few sizeable aquariums along the walls matched those murals nicely. The tanks always hummed but when the lights were dimmed, as they were now, they threw their ripples about and made it look as if it the room were actually underwater.

The only part that didn't fit the scheme was the big screen in the corner by the sliding glass doors. But hell, Aubrey wasn't about to go without a TV down here. Gratefully, none of the girls were watching it. In fact, with how much chitchat and laughter rumbled to my left, it was easy to tell all the girls were in her bedroom.

That worked for me since I was able to lay Sophia on the couch at the bottom of the steps and flee their perfumery before anyone saw.

To be honest, I wouldn't have minded seeing Brooke, Alexis, or Katee again but I didn't want to wreck my daughter's party, which were so much more fragile nowadays.

Back in my room, I returned to my exercises and spent the next hour trying to tire myself out. When that didn't work, I decided to take my usual lap around the neighborhood. By this time, the sun had set, the air had cooled and the majority of the ticky-tacky houses had quieted. This provided a serene, streetlight-lit atmosphere to run through where other than the bugs and an airplane or two, the only other sounds were my shoes smacking against the concrete and my breath hacking through the crisp, dew-scented air. Out through the mouth. In through the nose.

Not surprisingly, the one lap became two. Then three. Then three and a half. It would've been four too but a newly formed callous on my right big toe burned too hot to continue so I took a short cut home and limped inside.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Because I didn't want any of the girls to see me gimpy or sweaty, I hurried through my late meal and had a PowerBar which I washed down with a blended fruit shake. Afterwards, I returned to my room and ended the day with a shower, finally feeling tired.

Part 17: Layers

Freshly shaven, and with nothing but a towel around my waist, I exited the steam-filled master bathroom and started through the closet towards my bedroom. Usually I'd make this trip naked but since I was still damp, I figured I'd take the towel into the room and finish drying off amidst the cooler air, which was a lot chillier than I thought it would be. Once I got into the room, I shuffled across the carpet to my dresser then reached down to my towel and began to pull the knot. However, the instant it slipped from my waist, a girl's voice lifted from behind me.

"Hey."

In a scramble, I snatched the scrap of cloth, pinned it to my hip and wrestled it back into a knot. Thereafter, I lashed around to find the Asian Goddess seated in my desk chair with her eyes wide, her legs crossed and her dainty forearms draped across the armrests.

"Hey," I tried to say back. But it was only a breath.

With what she was wearing, how could it have been anything else?

Garbed in a lavender, fur-frilled gown of flimsy velvet, she was opulent, her curvaceous figure on display with her hair plumed high in a ponytail. Some might've called that garment a nighty. Most would've probably called it foreplay.

I shivered, beginning to press against the inside of my towel.

"Sorry." She smiled, her eyes fixed on my bare torso. "I didn't mean to scare you. I can leave if you want."

"No," I blurted. "Just let me get dressed."

She nodded. "Should I go somewhere?"

"No," I repeated with a head shake. "I'll take my clothes into the closet. You can stay right there. Okay?"

She nodded again.

The next couple of minutes were less about getting dressed and more about trying to figure out how the hell I was going to survive this run-in. My best hope were the layers I was putting on. First, it was a pair of tighty-whiteys. Second, a pair of boxers. Third, some gym shorts. And last, my sweat pants. It might've been warm and uncomfortable but it was bulgy and I needed the leeway. Also, I wore the baggiest top I owned just in case. That top happened to be a douchey sleeveless from my college days but whatever. Go Bulldogs.

When I walked out of the closet, I found Brooke poised by the entertainment center, fiddling with the radio. Her back was to me but the way she poked out her ass made up for it. It almost wasn't fair. With how her gown draped her figure, I couldn't help but stare at her lack of panty lines. G-string? Or nothing at all?

"So," she started. "Guess what?"

"What?" I asked as I sat in my desk chair and interlaced my fingers in my lap.

Just then, the radio clicked on and filled the room with a faint white noise.

"It's twelve fifteen," she told me. "Do you know what that means?"

"I do," I said, in chills at the thought of her being a year beyond legal. "Happy Birthday."

"That's right." She giggled, adjusting the dial until the static melded into some hip-hop/pop song. "Thank you." A second later, she started to sway her ponytail to the rhythm. Her body soon followed. It wasn't much, but with every one of her slithers, my heartrate climbed.

Honestly, it was almost too much. I should've told her to stop. But instead, I pressed my hands into my lap and just watched her hips glide from left to right. Left to right. Left to right. She was my snake. And the ambience was flawless.

Above us, the dimmed overhead light bathed the room in incandescence. At our feet, the air conditioning gave our surroundings a touch of brisk. And around us, the scent of her lily perfume mingled with a trace of alcohol. The music hugged it all together.

With a whip of her hair, Brooke then spun around and ended the peepshow. "What do you think?"

"It's great." I dropped my eyes to my lap and tensed. "Whatever you like is fine with me."

"Okay then." She snickered. "This station works."

While I cowered, she walked over to the foot of my bed and sat down. Then she crossed her legs and leaned back on her arms. Sadly, this new pose stirred me worse than her dancing since now the frilly hem of her nighty was hiked up on her thighs.

"So," she said. "Did Sophia really pass out right here?"

"Yeah. She seemed pretty drunk."

"Really?" Brooke whispered before trailing off into a few words of what sounded like Korean. "That little actress."

"Actress?" I furled my brow and looked up to find her attention on the ceiling fan. "What do you mean?"

"Well... Sophia wasn't really drunk. Jasmine just dared her to come up here and act like it."

My eyes flared. "Act like it?"

"Yeah," she continued, lowering her gaze until she met mine. "Jasmine told her, as proof, she needs to pass out on your bed. I guess they knew you'd carry her back downstairs."

Within a breath, my stomach churned and a shrill ringing rose in my ears.

"Oh." I clenched. "Was there anything else?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "She seemed pretty smiley about it though."