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The weeks leading up to Memorial Day were torturously slow. You'd gotten a job at a coffee shop down the street, your only friends the three other girls you worked with. Your dad was thrilled you'd gotten a job that lined up with his schedule, leaving your evenings open to go out to dinner or stay in and watch movies. You were settling into a really nice routine and while you missed your mom, you had no regrets about staying with your dad. That is, until the last Monday of May.

You were out with your coworker and now friend, Julia, shopping for the weekend. She'd be spending it with her almost-boyfriend and his family at their lakehouse, so she needed new outfits for all four days — Friday through Monday. She knew about your barbecue plans from your second shift working together.

"My dad's taking me to his coworker's house for some party. I don't know, it's gonna be awkward, I'll be the youngest person there." You had said, leaning back on the counter during a slow moment. Julia was making herself her third latte of the day (though employees were only allowed one shift drink) as she listened.

"Are you sure? There must be some young, hot, up-and-coming med student there. There's a pool?" You nodded. "Well, let's go shopping on our next day off and get ourselves some new outfits. We'll get you all slutted up for those med students."

You didn't feel like you knew her well enough to tell her that there was only one person at that party you wanted to be slutted up for — the host. This conversation was what led you to the mall with Julia, the Thursday before Memorial Day, crammed into a tiny fitting room trying on tinier bathing suits.

"Really, Julia, I think you're forgetting that my dad is also going to be in attendance. I can't wear this in the presence of a bunch of middle-aged doctors." You pushed the curtain open, and her jaw dropped. She grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror.

"You need this. Look at you!"

You looked. Clearly, she was seeing something you weren't. The bottoms were hard to judge, considering they were pulled up over your very plain underwear, and the top was beyond uncomfortable. "Julia, it's all strings!"

Emphasizing your point, she snapped the strap of your top against your skin, causing you to flinch away with an "ow!" Your phone buzzed, a well-timed distraction, and you checked it, ignoring Julia's insistent words and compliments. It was your dad, letting you know he had confirmed your attendance. You sighed, and Julia stopped.

"You really don't want to go to this thing, do you?" She frowned.

"It's not that, exactly." You paused, figuring it was as good of a time as any to let her know: "The guy hosting the party is, like, stupid hot. And stupid old. I can't stand being around him because I have actually no idea how to act and I don't think I can exist in the same space as him and my father, especially not with either of us in a bathing suit." You bit your lip, waiting for judgement, but Julia wasn't frowning. In fact, she was almost grinning.

"Well, then, we'd better get you a smaller suit!" She danced out of the fitting room, dodging your half-hearted smacks. You tried on the next one, a bit more coverage this time, but you still felt itchy just thinking about Dr. Abbot's burning hazel eyes on you. You'd seen the broad expanse of his chest through that tight shirt he wore running, you weren't sure you could handle it bare. The thought had you a bit dizzy. Julia reappeared with a new suit, but you were getting tired.

"One more, then I'm done." You'd already tried on six, and nothing was speaking to you.

Julia kept gabbing on from outside the curtain. "I saw this one earlier, but I figured you'd say no, so I left it. Now that I have a grasp on the situation, I won't let you fumble this. This is the suit, I've made the decision for you."

You looked at the set, brows furrowed. She was right, you would've shot it down earlier. Now, though, you were starting to get desperate. You'd only known Julia for about two weeks now, but you were learning that she was kind of a genius when it came to, well, everything. Stepping into the new suit with little to no hopes, you didn't even look in the mirror when you opened the curtain to show her. You were ready to allow her the fifteen seconds of ogling and frantic nodding she'd taken for every previous suit, but this time she just froze. After a moment, you looked down at yourself, hoping you hadn't flashed her or something to render her so speechless. You turned to look in the mirror and understood.

The bottoms hugged you just right, walking the line between modest and teasing in contrast to the tight top accentuating your chest. "Julia?" You called over your shoulder, and she appeared in an instant. "I think it's time to check out and go home."

She shrieked, shaking you by the shoulders and jumping. An employee came over, frowning, clearly ready to kick you out. You apologized before she could get a word out and dashed to the register. You brought your purchases home, did your nails, and spent the next three days buzzing with excitement. Excitement and terror. Your dad worked all weekend to cover for those going away all weekend, and by some miracle, managed to get Monday off. The drive to Dr. Abbot's house was excruciating. Cars were already lined up outside and down the street. Clearly, this party was bigger than you had expected. Your dad was chattering on about nothing, backing into a spot across the street. You pulled at the hem of your dress rather than listening. It didn't look so short on the hanger, but now it felt like it barely brushed the top of your thighs. It was more of a long shirt than anything.

"Dad, are you sure I'm invited to this thing? I think I should leave."

"Oh, come on, honey. Of course, you're invited. Everyone's bringing family, friends, whoever. They all want to meet you, and Jack already told me you're welcome."

Yeah, that's the problem.

Exhaling, you accepted it. You were probably going to humiliate yourself in front of a house full of doctors, and that was just something to come to terms with.

The first half hour passed without too much issue. You let your dad introduce you to the med students and other guests closest to your age, managed to keep Dr. Abbot out of your sight, and stayed far away from the pool. You barely spoke, sitting in the shade with a hot dog and a Dr. Pepper. Everything was fine until one of the med students you'd been introduced to tried to involve you.

"Do you want to join us in the pool?" The girl smiled. Victoria, as she'd told you to call her rather than the formal Dr. Javadi, held her hand out to help you up. "Your dad told me we're the same age."

You let her lead you over, taking off your dress on the way. You took the steps into the shallow end, not quite comfortable enough to jump in the deep end the way Victoria did. Turns out, the party wasn't that painful once you started actually talking to people and trying to enjoy yourself.

Across the yard, Jack was sitting on a lounge chair near the grill. John Shen had insisted he take a break from grilling, noticing the shift in his weight to relieve some of the pain from his prosthetic despite his insistence that only Jack knew this grill, and John would burn everything. John had told him to shut up and shoved a beer in his hand. His attention no longer undivided at the grill, he finally had the chance to scan the yard. Everyone seemed to be having fun, which was nothing new. He'd had years to perfect his Memorial Day parties, and he was proud of it. His younger coworkers were enjoying his seldom-used pool, his military buddies were laughing with each other at the table, and there wasn't a grim face on the property.

He let his eyes land on the pool. You were playing chicken with Javadi, Whittaker, and Santos. You were sitting up on Santos' shoulders, trying to push Javadi down into the water, and God, how Jack wished he were in Santos' position. Your soft thighs on his shoulders, one hand in his hair as you squeezed your legs around him to stay steady. He tried to steer his mind away from the thought of that tiny bathing suit being the only thing separating the back of his neck from your warm pussy. It didn't work. Just the thought had him almost choking on his beer, neck flushing hot with embarrassment.

To make matters worse, your dad sat down next to him, clapping a hand on his back. "Woah, there, don't go drowning on us now!"

When Jack recovered, he forced a smile and gripped the bottle tighter. "I'm glad you could finally make it this year. It's about time you let your hair down and got a little reckless."

"Trust me, Jack, we're getting too old for reckless."

You hadn't looked at Jack once all day, and it was driving him insane. He couldn't look away, but you were functioning completely normally. Half-naked in his pool, twenty feet away, completely oblivious to the storm inside his head. Maybe he was too old for reckless. That didn't make it any less tempting. He was snapped from his stupor when you managed to dismount Javadi and Santos took you on a victory lap. Both Javadi and Whittaker emerged from the pool, sputtering. Javadi started yelling at Whittaker, blaming him, but he was busy yelling at Santos, who had punched him in the throat and caused him to double over and take Javadi with him.

"You gonna get in there with them?" Jack gestured to the pool with his beer.

Your dad only laughed, shaking his head. "Still working on my bikini body. How about you, when're you gonna leave this grill and go socialize?"

Jack scoffed. "I socialize at work. Holidays are for doing whatever I want — ignoring people. You're lucky I haven't Irish-goodbyed to my room yet."

Your dad hummed, smirking. He didn't speak the words Jack knew were true but would never admit — Jack loved hosting, loved getting all of his people together to have fun. His attention betrayed him and wandered back to the pool, to you. This time, though, you were looking back at him. Fucking finally. He felt like a creep, the way he couldn't tear his eyes away. If he was twenty years younger, he would've noticed the way you looked back at him; with the same heat and admiration. But he wasn't twenty years younger, he was a widowed amputee veteran born in an entirely different century who shouldn't entertain even the slightest desires, from either one of you.

You had noticed his expression fall, hoping it had nothing to do with the blatant eye-fucking you were doing, and hopped out of the pool. Tugging your dress back on over your wet body, you walked over.

"Hey, dad!" You called, grinning as you approached. "Your colleagues are really cool. I like Victoria a lot."

"Who?" He frowned. You pointed. "Oh! Yes. Javadi, she's a great girl. You should invite her to your birthday next month, and maybe Santos and Whittaker as well? You guys seem to be getting along."

Jack finally tore his eyes away from the white fabric of your wet dress clinging to your body and cleared his throat, mostly just to see if his voice still worked. "Birthday?"

"Twenty-one in June, Dr. Abbot." You smiled, waiting for a reaction. "And Victoria won't turn twenty-one until July, so it'll have to be just us, Dad. And Trinity and Dennis, if they want to come."

Jack managed to hold it together, but everything he thought he knew about you was crashing down in his head.

"Hear that, Jack?" Your dad said, clapping a hand on his back again. Jack wished he would stop doing that, it really hurt. "She's a big girl, now. Why don't you come out with us, if you get the time off?"

Jack barely got out a non-commital hum before excusing himself to check on the grill. He had to shoo John away and endure the pain in his leg, but at least he didn't have to look at your exposed skin any longer. The day passed in flashes. Someone handed him another beer. Two beers was completely not enough to act normal when you came up far too close behind him, asking if he could make you a hot dog (that one took some effort to answer). As soon as you disappeared he grabbed yet another beer. He capped it at three, not wanting to be drunk at his own function, but it was tricky when you seemed to keep finding him. Whether it was to thank him for inviting you for the third time, to ask where the bathroom is, or to ask if you could have that Pepsi from the fridge (when had you gotten into his fridge?), you were always lingering just long enough to keep his mind on you.

It was getting dark when he stopped grilling, everyone too full to do much other than laugh and tell stories and drink. Most of his coworkers had trickled out, leaving behind his military buddies, some neighbors, Robby, and your father. It was the first time you'd left him alone for more than an hour. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed. He headed inside for the bathroom, definitely not to find you, and grumbled when he found it locked ("Sorry! Definitely gonna be a minute," Shen had said, which Jack really didn't need to know).

He trudged up the stairs to his personal bathroom, grateful for a moment to himself for the first time all day. Pushing the door open with his full weight, he exclaimed when it nearly knocked into a person already standing in the room. Not just a person, you. And not just standing in the room, but topless. Facing away from him just showing your bare back, but topless nonetheless. "Oh, shit! Sorry, I'll just…" He didn't finish his sentence, shutting the door as fast as he'd opened it.

"Actually, wait, Dr. Abbot." You said softly, and he knew right there that he was dreaming. This was an unearthly torture. He looked down to see if his real leg was still there, a character who was usually absent in his nightmares. Still there. Fuck. "Can you come in real quick? I need your help."

His help. You needed his help. He tried not to puff his chest out at that. He should say no. What could you possibly need that involved no shirt and an old man? He opened the door again, stepping in quickly to avoid anyone else seeing, though he knew nobody else was upstairs.

You stayed facing the other way. "Sorry, Dr. Shen was in the downstairs bathroom and I was looking for some aloe gel." It was then that he finally noticed the sunburn overtaking your back. "I can't reach all of my back, could you give me a hand? Or two, if you need." You laughed lightly at the joke, but Jack couldn't find the humor, just the accidental — he hoped — innuendo.

"Of course." His voice was rough coming out. "Shen's been in there that long, then, huh?" His lips quirked up. "Must be my mistake, with the food." You handed him the bottle of gel and he had to take a breath before even considering opening it. Squeezing a capful into his hand, he slowly dragged his hand over your back, spreading it across the burn.

You tensed, a combination of the cold gel, the pain of the burn, and his warmth of his soft hand. He paused, mumbling out a, "Sorry," which didn't do anything to help the butterflies metamorphosizing in your stomach. You let out a small hum in acknowledgment that you hoped didn't sound like the moan you were trying not to let out. It was getting more difficult as he added his other hand, spreading the aloe in a massage across your back, around your waist, and over your shoulders. His thumbs pressed into the base of your neck and you let out an exhale that absolutely sounded like the moan you were trying not to let out. You decided not to address it, hoping maybe he didn't hear it.

Jack definitely heard it, but in the interest of not ruining this moment, he kept his mouth shut and filed the sound away for later. It didn't stop him from doing it again. You bit your lip that time, much to his disappointment. "That bikini today. 'Course you'd get a burn, all that skin showing."

That was the final nail in the coffin for you. "What, you didn't like it?" You whispered. "Looked like you did, over by the grill."

"I never said I didn't like it, angel. Next time, if you don't let me get some sunscreen on you, I'm buying you a new suit." His touch slowed, one knuckle running down your spine. "You'll let me help you out like this again?"

It was all you could do not to completely pass out, or say 'I'd let you do anything.' You went with a quiet, "I would, Dr. Abbot." You looked over your shoulder at him, for the first time, and glanced quickly across his face. His eyes were dark, distracted. You could only imagine by what. Your dress was on the floor at your ankles, your swim bottoms starting just below the dip of your lower back, your back completely bare other than the sharp tanline running across it. You were completely vulnerable. The only thing covering your chest was the front of your bikini top you held against it with your forearms.

He seemed to finally notice your gaze, and rather than denying he was looking, held eye contact as he pressed a thumb into that spot below your neck one more goddamn time, and you granted him exactly what he was hoping for — something akin to a moan. "Help me tie up my suit?" He took the strings of your top from you, tying them gently in a bow at the base of your neck, just above that offending spot, letting his hands linger on your shoulders when he was done.

"Put that dress back on when you come out. Your dad's probably waiting downstairs. It's late." He slipped out of the bathroom as quickly as he'd entered, leaving you in silence. You couldn't process any of that. You couldn't think. Hell, you couldn't breathe. First order of business, try to will the heat pooling your core to go away. Second, put your damn clothes on. Third, compose yourself enough to face your father. Fourth, get home and go to sleep.

One through three, impeccable performance. Award-winning rule-following. You barely even tried to follow the fourth order of business. Once you got home, you figured a shower would be best, to wash the pool and the sweat off. And the feeling of Jack's hands on your back. The chlorine, dirt, sweat, and aloe were gone in minutes. The slow slide of Jack's fingertips across your waist wouldn't leave. You could still feel it, but whenever you reached to touch it, you found only your own skin. You finished your shower, frustrated, but went through your night routine and climbed into bed. The bathroom interaction played in your head, over and over, taking up so much space that you were grinding on a pillow before you even realized it.

If this was what needed to happen, you'd give in. You reached over into your bedside drawer, pulling out the vibrator that absolutely needed to be replaced. It had served you well for too long, and you needed a new one. It would do for now. You didn't bother stretching yourself out, too needy already, and slowly eased the blue vibrator in. Your room was far, far away from the living room, where your dad was passed out on the couch, but you weren't sure you could control your volume even if you had to.

'I never said I didn't like it, angel.'

His strong arms grazing your waist. His khakis, stretching tight across his lap. His shirt, pulling across his broad chest. Jack, Jack, Jack.

'You'll let me help you out like this again?'

In a flurry of your own hands wandering across your body, the vibrator up at a higher setting than usual, and the pent-up energy of the day, you came with a cry, muffled as you bit into your hand. You laid in bed, panting, waiting for God to come smite you for such a terrible act, but divine punishment never came.

Probably because, across the city, God had bigger things to worry about. Across the city, Jack Abbot was fucking his own fist to the thought of his friend's daughter. Tears pricking at his eyes as he pumped his cock in the shower, slick with precum, water, and whatever soap or shampoo had dribbled into the mix. "Fuck, I'm so sorry." He mumbled to no one in particular, resting his forehead on the wall, gripping the grab bar tightly for balance. The sight of you in that white dress, dripping wet with the fabric clinging to your curves, the quiet moans and sighs from the bathroom, the feeling of your waist in his hands.