Chapter 1

I never considered myself a girl with dirty thoughts.

My high school years were perfectly ordinary. I dated, had boyfriends, and lost my virginity at the perfectly reasonable age of sixteen. College brought its fair share of casual flings—nothing wild, but nothing chaste either. I wasn’t the girl who slept with the entire football team, but I wasn’t hiding in the library with a purity ring either.

I was normal.

Except for one tiny, shameful secret.

For as long as I could remember, I’d been hopelessly infatuated with my stepfather.

Mom remarried when I was starting high school, and the man she chose was every girl’s fantasy. Harrison was tall, broad-shouldered, with a body sculpted like a Greek god—every inch of him carved from pure temptation. His abs were a work of art, his arms thick with muscle, and his presence alone made my pulse race.

To remind myself he was off-limits, I started calling him Daddy in my head.

It didn’t help.

The first time it slipped out loud, he’d been startled—but then he laughed, ruffled my hair, and hugged me. From then on, he was Daddy, and that only made my fantasies worse.

When Mom and Harrison divorced during my junior year of college, I assumed I’d have to move out. Mom rented a small apartment downtown, and I was dreading the idea of trading the mansion for some cramped studio.

Then Harrison surprised me.

"Evelyn, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to," he said, looking almost hurt when I asked about packing my things. "Just because things didn’t work out with your mom doesn’t mean I want you out of my life."

He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger, smirking. "Who’s going to take care of me if you go?"

"I’d love to stay, Daddy!" I blurted, throwing my arms around his neck, ignoring the heat pooling low in my stomach.

And just like that, I was living alone with the man I’d been fantasizing about for years.

Harrison remained oblivious. He went to work, hit the gym, and we shared dinners like nothing had changed. I was barely keeping it together—until Grayson started coming around.

Grayson was Harrison’s best friend, and when the two of them were in the same room, every woman in the vicinity lost her damn mind. Where Harrison was dark-haired and brooding, Grayson was golden—sun-kissed waves, bright blue eyes, and a smirk that promised trouble.

They were opposites, but they’d been inseparable for decades. Both of them were built like warriors, their bodies honed from years of training together.

And if anyone could distract me from my obsession with Harrison, it was Grayson.

My phone buzzed. A text from Harrison lit up the screen.

Harrison: Stuck at work. Can’t reach Grayson—let him know I’m skipping our run. He’ll be there at 6. Tell him I owe him a beer.

I bit my lip, a slow smile spreading.

Maybe the best way to get over Harrison was to get under Grayson.