I''m lying on my bed reading a magazine when Alex stops at my open door. "Ashley," he says, "I''m running to the store. Do you want to go with me?" "No thanks," I reply. "I''m still in my nightshirt." "Do you need anything?" "Cond-oms."
He does a double-take. "What?" I giggle. "Just joking."
He frowns. "That''s nothing to joke about." "Rx, Dad. Don''t take things so seriously."
My stepdad is a cool guy, but he''s a little uptight. Especially when ites to the subject of sax. Even though I''m not his real daughter, he''s very protective of me. He didn''t even allow me to go on a date until I was sixteen, and I had to call him every half hour to let him know I wasn''t rapped and left for dead in a ditch somewhere.
Now, two yearster I''m eighteen, and I don''t have to call Alex when I''m out on a date. But he grills every guy whoes to pick me up like he''s the CIA interrogating a terrorist.
Of course, he would totally flip out if he knew I''d lost my verginity a year ago. Not only that, I''d been saxually active since then. From the way I always hear him and my Mom in their bedroom arguing about sax, I probably getid more than he does.
"If you decide you need anything," he says, "text me."
He''s the embodiment of masculine, with his rugged, scruffy unshaven face, deep blue eyes, and longish dark hair. Toplete the look he''s wearing a red and ck id nnel shirt over his lean, muscr frame, and a pair of worn blue jeans.
"Thanks," I reply.
He disappears down the hall.
After I hear him go down the stairs, I move to my window and look out at our driveway. A minuteter his SUV backs down onto the road and heads off. Finally, I''m alone in the house. I''ve been waiting for this moment. Alex is at the store and my mom is off for the weekend with her book club on a wine tasting tour.
I go downstairs and grab a chair from the kitchen, carrying it down the hall to the closed door to Alex''s home office. cing the chair in front of the door, I stand on it and reach up to the top of the frame, feeling for the key up there. After grabbing
it, I hop down and move the chair out of the way.
Alex makes his living as a writer, and instead ofmuting to an office
somewhere like other dads, he stays at home and writes. What does he write? I have no clue.
I''ve asked him many times, but he just brushes me off, telling me I wouldn''t be interested in the things he writes. I''ve told him I''d be interested in anything he writes, but he''s like a brick wall on the subject. Not only that, he keeps his office locked at all times he''s not in there. And any time I doe in to visit while he''s working, he quickly closes hisptop screen so I can''t see anything. It''s so frustrating. When I ask Mom about it, she just says it''s ''technical instruction manuals'' and I should stop worrying about it.
Then one dayst week I''m vacuuming the carpet in the hall, and I identally bang the vacuum cleaner against the base of the door to Alex''s office. As if by magic, a key falls from the sky onto the carpet. Of course, I check to see if it fits the lock, and the door opens. Bingo.
I guess Alex figures with my five-feet-four height, I''d never discover the key at the top of the frame. While his six-feet-two allows him to just reach up and grab it. Since I''m not alone in the house at the time, I put the key back on the frame and n to use it when I had the chance.
And today is that chance.
I slide the key into the lock and turn, and the lock pops open. I enter my stepdad''s forbidden sanctuary.
can feel my heartrate picking up. If Alex had forgotten anything andes back, I would be busted without any reasonable excuse to be in here. He''d probably ground me for a month.
Artwork fills the walls and a couch sits along one side, but I ignore all of it and walk straight to hisrge wooden desk. I move behind it and sit it in the high- backed leather chair before opening hisptop. It starts right up, showing the login
screen, including the request for a password.
Dam, I hadn''t considered this possibility.