My Roommate's Dad: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Read online

  “Really? I can just do that?” I ask, my eyes wide.

  Alex laughs again. “Yes. Do it now, go on. By the time we finish the second half of the lecture, he’ll probably have replied, and you can go and get ready straight from here.”

  I bite my lip. I think she’s probably right. I trust Alex – she has more experience in dating than me, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders most of the time. When she’s not irresponsibly dragging me out to parties on nights before lectures, that is. But then again, I guess that turned out to be for the best as well because I otherwise wouldn’t have met Finn.

  I take a deep breath and type out a quick, simple message, reminding him that I’m the girl he met last night and letting him know I’m free. With Alex’s watchful eye on my face, I pause for only one second.

  “Do it,” she says, encouragingly.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Maybe you should read what I wrote.”

  Alex pushes the phone back towards me without looking at it. “Do it now!”

  I press send and then squeal, amazed that I managed to do something so brave – and with my heart now pounding in my chest as I wait for a reply.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Finn

  “Alright, Robiye,” I say, hating the fact that he spells his name that way. I know for a fact his birth certificate says, Robert. He’s just being another prima donna artist that wants to look mysterious and exotic, even though he’s actually just another ‘Robbie’. “So, you’ve prepared a presentation for today?”

  “I have,” he says, simpering as he sets down a laptop in front of me, sashaying his hips from side to side. The fact that I ignore women hitting on me all the time does have some unfortunate side effects men sometimes assume that I’m actually playing for their team instead. But I’m not, and it doesn’t matter how tight Robiye’s leather pants are or how much he shimmies them in front of my face. I’m going to judge his art on the art, and nothing else. “I’ll take you through the slides one at a time.”

  I settle back into my chair and watch as he opens a presentation featuring images of his colorful paintings, listening to him drone on about the symbolism in each one. Personally, I don’t rate his art very highly, but for some reason, it’s extremely sought-after in some communities. That means that I have to put up with Robiye and even stock his art in the gallery, even though I really wish I could avoid it. It will net me a hefty commission, as well as the prestige of being his preferred gallery, so I have to smile and nod and pretend I can stand to endure his conversation.

  My phone pings as he talks about the use of a very particular shade of magenta in one of his pieces and how it will look so good on the wall near the entranceway, and I can’t help myself: I take a look at the message. As soon as my eyes hit the words I feel my heart jump in my chest, and I sit up straighter in my chair.

  It’s her.

  I can’t stop myself from grinning as I read her message several times. She wants to meet up with me tonight. It shouldn’t be a problem – after an exhibition launch I’m often up late working on orders and commissions, but I can make an exception for her. I send her a reply telling her to meet me outside the college campus since I know that’s where I can easily find her, tonight at seven. I’ll take her somewhere special.

  I’m thinking about that, and whether I should call somewhere to book ahead or try to get an online booking while Robiye finishes his presentation when all hell breaks loose.

  It starts with Robiye slamming his hand down on the table, which definitely gets my attention. I frown at him, at the spot where his hand impacted on my expensive one-of-a-kind sculptural desk, and then meet his eyes. He’s not backing down or looking worried like people normally would when I give them a glare. Instead, he looks furious. His face is red, practically steaming with rage.

  “You haven’t even been listening to me,” Robiye hisses, obviously very annoyed with me.

  I should have been paying attention. He’s right about that. It was rude. But I’ve sat through a lot of these presentations with him before, and he never says anything different. And we both know this is pretty much just a formality; we’ll take his work because I know it will sell.

  “I apologize,” I say, gesturing towards the screen. “I have been listening. I think the magenta will work well in that spot.”

  “That was three slides ago!” Robiye gets up from his chair with a violent motion, sending it clattering to the ground behind him. He grabs his laptop and slams the lid shut, shoving it under his arm before he lifts his nose into the air at me. “I’m going to go find a gallery that will respect my time. You can consider our relationship severed!”

  And with those words, before I even have the chance to get up out of my chair and say something, he storms his way out of my office and onto the street.

  I know I should care, but I just can’t bring myself to. Robiye is annoying and shrill, and melodramatic. He’ll be back sooner or later. But the important thing right now, the thing that means I can’t keep a smile off my face, is that I’ll be meeting her tonight.

  And now I know her name. Candy. Fitting, for someone so sweet.

  I think about tonight, and I know I’m not going to be able to focus on a single thing on my schedule for today – let alone going after Robiye and apologizing. I’ll let him stew on it, maybe calm down a little. I reach for the phone and dial the number of a restaurant downtown instead.

  Tonight is going to be amazing – I have to make sure of that.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Candy

  I barely know what to wear for a date, but thankfully I have Alex on my side. After several hours of primping and preening, getting me to try on all the clothes that fit from her closet and everything in mine, and a near-torturous process that involves the careful tidying of my eyebrows and application of an eye makeup tutorial she found online, I think I’m ready.

  In the end, I settled on a sleek black dress – one of hers – that flatters my cleavage and hips without clinging too tightly.

  “Holy crap,” Alex said when she saw me in it. “This thing hangs off me like a sack. But on you…”

  “Is it too much?” I questioned.

  “Hell, no!” Alex grinned. “It makes me wish I was into girls, so I could take you on a date tonight.”

  And with that piece of reassurance, here I am, standing at the entrance to the campus parking lot and wondering if I have time to go back and change my mind again.

  Of course, I can’t even think of anything that I would change into that would be better, but that’s why they call it panic. It doesn’t usually make a lot of sense.

  A car cruises up slowly towards me against the sidewalk, and for a moment I worry that it might be some creep looking to hit on me or try to pick me up, and not in a good way. More like the way of those two guys from last night.

  But then the window rolls down and I see Finn sitting in the driver’s seat, and I grin and step forward to get inside.

  “Hey,” he says, as I sit down and close the passenger side door behind me. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “No, you’re right on time,” I say, checking my phone for the time. It’s not even a lie. He really is here on the dot. I make a mental note of that. Not only is he gorgeous and thoughtful and caring, but he’s also punctual. Could Finn get any better? What’s the catch?

  “That’s good.” Finn shifts the car into drive and moves out, keeping an eye on his mirrors. “I booked us a table at one of my favorite restaurants, Gino’s. Have you been there before?”

  “No,” I say, trying to think if I’ve even heard the name before. “Is it downtown?”

  “Yeah, it’s right by the row of designer boutiques,” he says, and I’m glad he’s driving and paying attention to the road. Because now I know where he’s talking about – and it’s the kind of place I would never normally dream of going.

  I fidget in my borrowed dress, glad that Alex has more expensive taste than mine, or, at least, the ability to
actually purchase expensive things. Otherwise, I would be feeling completely out of place when we arrived, not just a little bit.

  It’s not far from the campus to downtown, and all too soon, Finn is pulling up outside and getting out. I think about some kind of delaying tactic, but I don’t know why I’m feeling so nervous. So, it’s not the kind of place I would usually go to. So what? There’s no law against me going inside, is there?

  Telling myself this over and over in my head like a mantra, I get out, reaching for the door only to find Finn already opening it for me. I step out with the help of his offered hand and right myself, trying not to clomp around too ungracefully in the kitten heels I decided to wear today.

  Finn offers me his arm with a smile. “Shall we?” he asks, as he hands over the keys for his car to a valet.

  I nod, taking his arm, feeling a thrill in my chest as he pulls me in closer to him. I’m so glad I’m here with him of all people. He somehow makes me feel at ease. Maybe it’s the fact that he leapt to my defense yesterday. After all, there aren’t many people in the world I could say have ever demonstrated they would stand up for me like that.

  A waiter in a black suit leads us across the restaurant floor, all the way to the back of the room, where he pulls aside a curtain to a private booth. My jaw almost hits the floor. I don’t want to ask if there is a cover charge for this table – there must be, surely. And I don’t want to know how much it costs.

  The waiter pulls out our chairs for us, and we seat ourselves before he even steps forward to lay napkins across our knees and finally lay a beautifully embossed menu in front of each of us. I don’t say a word the whole time, and neither does Finn – aside from thanking the waiter. It’s only when he’s gone that we look up and smile at each other, and even though I still feel a little shy, I know I’m right where I want to be.

  “I thought it might be nicer to have a little privacy,” Finn says, I guess by way of explanation, gesturing at the booth. “We don’t want anyone gawking at us on our first date, right?”

  “Right,” I say, though a flare of doubt immediately erupts inside me. What does he mean by that? Does he mean that he couldn’t possibly want to be seen with me? That he’s embarrassed to be seen on a date with someone who looks like me?

  “You look like a million bucks, by the way,” he says, smiling warmly as he reaches out to touch my hand across the table. “I didn’t say it before. Mostly because I was trying to put my eyes back into my head after they hit the floor at the sight of you.”

  I chuckle at the image, my cheeks heating up. How did he know exactly the right thing to say? How did he manage to say in such a way that I actually… believe it?

  When people give me compliments, usually I don’t believe them at all. I think they’re just trying to be nice or to flatter me in order to get something out of me. I don’t take them at face value. But when Finn says it, I find something blossoming inside of me, a self-confidence I don’t often feel. He’s right. I do look great in this dress.

  And isn’t that something?

  I pick up my menu, murmuring a thank you because I don’t trust my voice to say anything more, and then it’s my turn for my eyes to almost fall out of my head. This time, at the sight of the prices on the menu.

  Every single dish… I trail my eyes down the price column, trying to spot something that won’t make me feel like I’m committing robbery on Finn’s wallet. Every single thing is so expensive, I would normally balk and run a mile. What can I say? He must have paid for us to be here in the first place, and I don’t know if I can do this in good conscience.

  “Candy,” he says, the sound of my name on his lips making me look up and feel heat running through my belly. “It’s my treat.”

  “I know,” I start, but he interrupts me.

  “I can see you looking at the prices and feeling nervous,” he says. “Don’t worry. I can afford it. I want you to have a good time, not to think about money. When I was a student, I would have been the same, but it’s fine.”

  “How long ago was that, exactly?” I ask, not quite sure I believe how cheeky I’m being by asking. “When you were a student.”

  Finn gives me a wry smile. “Alright, here we go… I’m forty years old.”

  “Forty?” I boggle my eyes at him. He’s twenty years my senior – literally double my age. I knew he was older, but I never really thought about an actual number.

  “Is that too much?” Finn asks. There are gentle laughter lines around his mouth, almost imperceptible, but I can also see the worry in his eyes. He must have been thinking about this coming up, wondering whether I would accept him.

  “No,” I say, surprising even myself. “No, it’s not.”

  And I find that it really isn’t. Not when he’s staring into my eyes like that, making me feel like no one else in the world exists. Right now, nothing matters at all.

  “Alright, then,” he says, and raises his glass towards me. For now, it only contains water flavored with lemon, but I pick up mine and clink it against his all the same. “To age being only a number?”

  “To age being only a number,” I agree, and take a sip.

  And I can’t help but wonder what I’m getting myself into – because I’m already completely entranced by him, and I can only get in deeper from here.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Finn

  I don’t know what I did for God to put this woman in my path, but it must have been something very, very good indeed.

  The more we talk, the more I fall for her. The more I see her, the more I want her. I can’t stop thinking about her thighs parting for me, her ass in my hands, her breasts. I can’t stop my eyes from flicking down to admire how they strain against the fabric of the dress every now and then, though I think I get away without her noticing.

  I can’t stop watching her eat, either. As course after course lands in front of us, from the entrees through to dessert, she seems to attack all of them with the same enthusiasm. I watch as her eyes slide closed on the first bite, how she moans in delight at the best forkfuls as if she’s having a much more erotic experience. More than once I have to shift my legs and move my napkin to try to hide the fact that I’m rock hard, even though she won’t be able to see under the table.

  I could watch her eat all night long.

  It’s clear in so many ways that Candy is nothing like the women I come into contact with so often through the art world. They’re either vapid, stick-thin models who wouldn’t be seen dead eating more than a few leaves of salad, or they are deliberately kooky weirdos trying to build an eccentric reputation to raise the price of their work.

  Candy is nothing like any of that. She’s a real woman, through and through. Not ashamed or apologetic about who she is. It’s that that I find so sexy, beyond just the way she looks. Or maybe it’s all connected. Without that vanity that pushes others even to starvation, she has a body to die for.

  I wanted her from the first time I saw her. I thought she was hot, beautiful, everything I wanted to get my hands on. But now I’m finding that I want the rest of her as well. Just as much, if not more. Everything about her is perfect, from the way she laughs to the way she can keep up with my conversation about art. Her tastes and style, her ambitions – she could easily come and work with me.

  I haven’t yet mentioned that I run the gallery. I don’t think she’s worked it out, and I want to make sure that our connection is genuine. I’ve had too much experience with women trying to get close to me just in order to get something – and if she doesn’t know the career opportunities I could give her, she won’t know to ask for them.

  “So, tell me,” Candy says, putting her napkin down next to her plate after finishing the last mouthful of her dessert. “Why are you still single?”

  “What?” I ask, surprised.

  Candy blushes. “Oh – I didn’t mean that to sound rude,” she says. “I just – I mean… you’re good looking, charming, you have means. Why are you still single?”

&nb
sp; I chuckle. “Well, it’s not that mysterious,” I say. “But thank you for the compliments. I just didn’t get around to dating for a long time.”

  “Why not?” Candy asks. Her open curiosity is endearing rather than annoying. I’m glad she feels comfortable simply asking me questions like this.

  And it’s confession time. “I had a daughter, when I was around your age,” I say. This is the point where she might just run a mile. Given that we already crossed the hurdle of my age, I’m hoping that she will take this in stride as well. “Her mother – well, her mother’s not around. It’s just Lexie and me. I wanted to focus on being a parent, not on dating.”

  “You dedicated yourself to her for all this time?” Candy asks. Her eyes are wide and shining, and I think I made the right choice by telling her. If I’d left it until later, the risk would have been bigger – and she doesn’t seem to be put off at all. “That’s incredible. Not many people would have been able to bear being alone for that long.”

  “I had a good enough reason,” I smile. And I waited twenty years with that good reason. Waited twenty years for a woman who would be the one I need.

  And it looks as though I may have found her.

  The waiter is hovering just outside the curtain, I can see his feet. He wants us to leave and pay our bill. But I don’t want to go. I want to stay here for as long as possible, to touch her, to hold her, to talk with her until dawn.

  If we’d met when I was a younger man, maybe we would have – but I have responsibilities, both to the social order and to my work, and we can’t stay here.

  But it doesn’t mean the date has to be quite over just yet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Candy

  I know we’ve finished eating, and there’s nothing more to do. We’ve even finished our drinks. But I really don’t want to leave.

  I could stay here all night, just talking to Finn. Everything I learn about him warms my heart even more. The fact that he’s spent his life caring for his daughter doesn’t put me off him at all, not even when I get the jolt of realization that she must be around the same age as me.