AUTHOR'S NOTE: All characters depicted in this story are eighteen or older. Craig is a 45-year-old single man. He is blue-collar and has never been to college. Kim is 18 years old and has just completed high school. She lives with her parents and is attending community college this fall. The events depicted in this story begin during the summer after she graduates from high school.
[In Part One, Craig meets Kim at a party. Although he is significantly older, he becomes interested in her. Surprisingly she appears to be smitten with him. They text and develop a relationship. When Craig rescues Kim from a party, their relationship intensifies. Finally, after much pleading, Craig agrees to take Kim to Appleby's for a meal.}
[In Part 2, Kim makes a move on Craig which he refuses. He then tries to forget her by taking Sandy out. It doesn't work. Kim starts texting him pictures of her getting with a boy and Craig gets jealous. As the story, picks up Kim is meeting the boy at home and Craig is deciding what to do about it.]
Craig's jaw tightened as he stared at the screen, his pulse picking up. He tossed back the rest of his drink, barely tasting it, and stood. On impulse, he grabbed his jacket and walked out, his boots heavy on the pavement as he made his way to his truck.
The drive to Kim's house was a blur. He parked a few houses down, the quiet of the suburban street at odds with the storm raging in his chest. Her home was dark except for a light glowing faintly from the window of what he guessed was her bedroom. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the house. What the hell are you doing, Craig? he thought. But he didn't start the truck.
A few minutes later, a figure moved past the window, and his stomach tightened. It was Kim. Even from this distance, he could tell it was her--her long black hair and how she moved. She seemed to be pacing, her shadow crossing the curtain repeatedly, as though she was waiting for something.
Then headlights appeared, cutting through the still night. A pick-up truck pulled up in front of the house, and Craig's chest tightened. He watched as the passenger door opened and the boy from the photo stepped out. The same cocky swagger, the same too-sure smile. He walked up the driveway, his hands in his pockets, and without hesitation, he opened the door and walked in.
Craig's brow furrowed as he leaned forward. How the hell does he just walk in? No knock, no pause, just... walked in. Like it was his place. His mind raced, trying to piece it together. Was her family not home? Did this kid have some kind of standing invitation? The questions piled up, but none of them had answers.
Craig's attention snapped back to the window. The light still glowed, and for a moment, he thought he saw her shadow again, this time joined by another. Then it flickered, movement behind the curtain, faint but unmistakable. A few minutes later, the light went out.
The street was quiet again, but Craig's chest was tight, his pulse hammering. He stared at the darkened window, his mind swirling with anger, confusion, and something darker he didn't want to name. He didn't know what he was doing here, why he'd come, or why he couldn't just leave. All he knew was that he couldn't stop picturing Kim and that boy in the dark, their silhouettes etched in his mind like a brand.
Craig didn't leave. He should have. Every logical part of him screamed to start the truck, drive away, and forget about it. But he didn't. Instead, he sat there, the silence of the suburban street pressing in on him, his thoughts a chaotic storm. The boy's easy confidence, the way he'd walked into her house without hesitation, gnawed at Craig. Who was he to Kim? And why had she sent that text--why tell him at all?
An hour crawled by, each second heavier than the last. Craig's grip on the steering wheel tightened as the light in Kim's bedroom flickered on. His eyes snapped toward the glow, the faint shadows of movement behind the curtains tugging at something deep and restless inside him.
A few minutes later, the front door opened. Craig's chest tightened as Kim stepped onto the porch with the boy. He was dressed the same as in the photo, his casual demeanor aggravating Craig all over again. Kim, however, was different. She was wrapped in an oversized T-shirt that draped loosely over her small frame, the hem skimming just above her knees. It looked innocent--almost--but the way she moved, the subtle sway of her hips, gave it a deliberate edge.
They stood close, their voices low, their faces inches apart. Then the boy leaned in, kissing her. It wasn't a quick goodbye. The kiss lingered, her body tilting toward him as their lips pressed together, and Craig couldn't tear his eyes away. As he had in the picture, the boy reached under the back of the t-shirt gripping Kim's ass but as he let go he pulled the shirt up baring her ass. His jaw clenched, his pulse pounding as something hot and bitter churned in his chest.
When the boy finally pulled back, Kim smiled softly, her eyes dreamy, and whispered something that made him laugh. He jogged down the steps and climbed into his car, his taillights disappearing into the night.
Kim lingered on the porch, her bare legs catching the faint glow of the porch light. She seemed lost in thought, her fingers idly playing with the hem of her shirt. Then her eyes lifted, scanning the street--and found Craig's truck. For a moment, she didn't move. Her gaze locked on his, and her expression shifted. She smiled, slow and knowing, a flicker of confidence sparking in her eyes.
Craig's heart pounded as she took a step toward the edge of the porch, her small frame illuminated by the light. Her hands moved to the hem of her oversized shirt, and before he could process what was happening, she pulled it over her head and let it drop to the porch floor.
His breath caught in his throat as she stood there, completely bare under the light. His eyes betrayed him, traveling over her long legs, the curve of her hips, the soft roundness of her breasts. Her dark olive skin gleamed in the light, smooth and unbroken, her young body exuding a quiet sexuality that she seemed fully aware of. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, moving to her pussy--smooth, soft, and utterly unapologetic in its exposure.
Kim didn't flinch. She held his gaze, her chin lifting slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She knew what she was doing. She knew the effect she had on him.
Craig's chest tightened as anger, confusion, and raw attraction twisted together in a storm he couldn't untangle. He hated himself for the way his body reacted, for the pull he felt toward her, even as his mind screamed at him to look away.
Kim turned slowly, giving him one last glance over her shoulder before stepping inside and closing the door softly behind her.
Craig sat frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. His mind raced, torn between guilt and desire, shame and anger. He was jealous his rage coursing through his body. And he was--hard, so hard. A cat couldn't scratch it. Confusion overcame him. She was playing a dangerous game, one that left him questioning everything he thought he knew about himself.
And the worst part? He didn't know if he wanted to win--or lose.
Craig didn't sleep that night. He'd stayed parked outside Kim's house far longer than he should have, staring at the darkened window, his mind churning. The image of her standing there on the porch, bare and unapologetic, replayed endlessly, etched into the back of his eyelids. He couldn't decide what burned more--concern for what she was doing, or jealousy that it wasn't him she'd invited inside.
By morning, he was a mess. The steady drone of the engine at the job site offered no distraction, the repetition of his tasks failing to ground him the way it usually did. His thoughts kept looping back to Kim, to her audacity, her recklessness, the quiet confidence in her eyes that seemed to dare him to look away. He didn't know if he was worried for her, angry at her, or angry at himself for feeling anything at all.
Around noon, his phone buzzed. He wiped the sweat off his brow and pulled it out of his pocket, Kim's name lighting up the screen. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the notification, before opening it.
Kim: Don't hate me. I'm not feeling good.
