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You Again? (rpfiend_123 & AnnaBeth Belle)

R

rpfiend_123

Planetoid
Joined
Jan 20, 2016
The sun was just coming up and shining through the window as Mike Stevenson heard his wife's car pull in. He was accustomed to that, though. Not just getting up early, but waking up to find his wife had pulled another all-nighter at the office. He sat in his snug white t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants, sipping his coffee and turning his head with as warm of a smile he could muster for Claire as she came through the garage door.

"Morning sweetie, want some coffee?" he said, already knowing she was going to say
"No." she responded dryly. "I'm exhausted, going to bed, honey. Let me know when Brooke gets here and I'll get up."

He sighed and returned to looking out the kitchen window. His life as an educator always had him getting up early - being the vice principal at a local high school meant his body never let him sleep in past 6 even if he wanted to; yet he'd always been able to spend mornings with his wife. That is, until she got a promotion at her office and began working 60 plus hours a week. Honestly, he'd gotten used to it at this point, and just figured it'd be best to leave it alone. He truly believed being successful at her job made her happy, so he decided to let the issue lie.

It was the beginning of summer, and in a few hours, his daughter Samantha's best friend, Brooke, would be getting dropped off to spend the summer with them. Sam and Brooke had been inseparable since middle school, so Mike had seen the two grow up before his eyes as if they were both his flesh and blood. Since they were on summer break, and since Brooke's parents summer in Rome every year, this had become a tradition. Normally, the whole family would hang out and have a great time, but this year would be a tad different. Claire was working insane hours, and Samantha had volleyball camp at the school almost every day of the week for several hours. Of course she'd be off nights, but for most of the day, Mike figured he'd have to find a way to entertain Brooke.

It's not that he thought she couldn't fend for herself, but he hadn't really spent a bunch of time with her one on one, and didn't know what to expect. He spent the rest of the morning finishing the laundry and making another pot of coffee for when his girls woke up. That was the kind of role he played in their lives - always doing most of the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry. He didn't complain though -he really did find joy in making sure his women were taken care of, but honestly, after 30 years of it, he'd started to feel a bit.. oh, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Bitter" wasn't quite the right word.. Neither was "depressed." "Held back" maybe? He didn't know.. any time he thought those thoughts, he just pushed them back down. He was a good man.

A few hours later, he had just finished up putting the folded laundry in Claire's and Sam's baskets when he heard the doorbell ring. He'd changed into some slim fitting black shorts that came up just above his knee and a white button up short sleeved collared shirt - crisp and pressed. He knocked on Sam's door as he headed to the front of the house "Hey Sammy, Brooke is here! Get up!" he then crossed the living room to his bedroom, peeking his head in and saying in a soft tone. "Hey Claire, Brooke is here. Just letting you know." then shutting the door quietly. He knew she'd probably keep on sleeping. Finally, he came to the front door, opening it and smiling down at Brooke.

"Ugh, you again?!" He said with his signature greeting to the young woman. He waved at her parents as they pulled back out of the driveway with a 'beep-beep' of their horn. "Sorry, we decided not to let you stay with us this year. We're getting tired of you." He folded his arms and did his best to block the doorway while the broad grin on his face betrayed his words as a joke.
 
RE: You Again?

"Me again," she said and stuck her tongue out at him. She'd known Mr. Stevenson since 7th grade and even though he was her high school assistant principal, Brooke Srednicki still used the same greeting even when in the halls of Clarendon High. It landed her in detention once when the principal saw it and she didn't protest him getting on to her so that she wouldn't get Mr. Stevenson in trouble. Grateful, he'd repaid her by stopping by Marble Slab with her and Samantha on the way home and letting them go absolutely stupid with ice cream until they both lay, heads together, in the back seat and moaned happily all the way home, hands on their upset tummies. Neither mom had been happy about it of course. Brooke waved good-bye to her parents and blew them a kiss off her hand, just as she had done several summers in a row, then turned back to where Mr. Stevenson stood in the doorway, keeping her from coming in. "That's cool," she answered back, "I'll just wait till they're out of sight and then go home and throw wild parties and, you know, drink," she joked. "Smoke. Have boys over. Get arrested. Ruin my chances of getting in college or ever marrying a nice Jewish doctor like mom wants. End up on an episode of Teen Moms that Samantha will watch and then Snapchat about how she knew me before I was famous. Heck, Mr. Stevenson, I might even be tardy to class!" With a laugh she eeled past him, lithe body slipping easily between his and the door though her hips and breasts rubbed momentarily on Mike's body.

"Samantha's still in bed?" Brooke asked though she knew the answer. Friends they might be but the girls were opposite in so many ways. Sam was a tall blonde like Mike and had the muscular legs of the soccer player she was, along with his strong facial features, Brooke was petite and redheaded and had much softer lines on her face. Not at all muscular, she was almost too thin and when she was out at the pool the bones of her shoulders and shoulder blades showed. Sam slept in, Brooke got up early enough to wake up the birds. Sam preferred sweats and t-shirts and Chucks with her hair up in a sloppy ponytail like the tomboy she was, Brooke was always put together and had product in her styled hair and wore strappy sandals or cute low heels. Sam aced math and science, Brooke was a natural writer and loved history. They even had different religions, wildly different; Sam was Protestant and Brooke Jewish. It made for interesting holiday meshings and out of sync temple and church nights. Usually Brooke also attended the youth service with Sam but Sam never went to temple. Claire wouldn't hear of it. Like she could convert her, geez. You got being Jewish from your mom, not what you chose.

Brooke didn't like Claire Stevenson at all. Early on she'd figured out that Claire was completely self-absorbed and it was Mr. Stevenson who really took care of everything. Not only did he keep the high school under strict but loving control, he did most of the traditional female roles in the house. He even bought the girls pads when they needed them. What other Dad did that? And got it right? None of them. Mr. Stevenson was just the best. Claire Stevenson was an idiot. Sam had let on that her parents fought a lot, like all the time, and her dad even slept in the guest bedroom or the couch a lot. Mrs. Stevenson better be careful, Brooke thought, or Ms. Elder the cute new art teacher who was seriously crushing on the assistant principal might lead him into painting her canvas.

The foyer smelled like clean laundry, and so did Mr. Stevenson. Just then she heard a buzz from the laundry room, signaling another load was ready. "I'll help you fold them," she told Mr. Stevenson. "Then I'll get Ms. Varsity Soccer Star out of bed." Last year, as a freshman, Samantha had made the varsity team. It was quite an accomplishment then and remained impressive as the girls moved from being sophomores to juniors come September.

The laundry room was close and hot, and as she bent over to spill the clothes out of the dryer into the basket her bottom bumped into Mr. Stevenson. Not thinking anything of it, Brooke finished then stood up and began pulling items out of the basket and folding them. A twisted mess came up in her hand; one of Samantha's bras had gotten tangled into a knot around a blouse. "Geez, Mr. Stevenson, you never learn. Gotta put bras in a delicates bag." With a shake of her head, Brooke expertly untangled the bra and then held it out at arms length. "Ew. Ew, ew, ew." It was plain cotton, a faded cream color, and was almost ragged. A hook was missing and the cover over one padded cup was torn. "Okay, this is just sad, Mr. Stevenson. Even for Sammy. You're going to take us to the mall today and let me help her buy some new bras. And panties," she added looking in the basket and seeing that they were equally in need of replacement. "Or you can give us your car keys and credit card and we can go alone," she teased, knowing that would never happen.
 
RE: You Again?

Mike rolled his eyes when she started listing off all of the things she said she'd do if he didn't let her in, breaking into a goodnatured chuckle when she got to the end. "You're gonna be the death of me, Brooke Srednicki." He said, pronouncing her Eastern European Hebrew name perfectly. "I think I aged 10 years just hearing that! Get in here before you ruin your life."

He couldn't help but eye the petite redhead up and down for a moment as she stood there with her duffel and rolling bag. She had really grown into quite the beauty, and he felt he could say and think that without getting into trouble. While there were times when being an assistant principal was a test of one's self-control, Being surrounded by teen girls all day, some of them dressing in things he'd never in a million years let Samantha wear - it was enough to make lesser men throw caution to the wind and do things that'd get them arrested a hundred times over. He'd practiced so hard at maintaining eye contact and stuffing down impure thoughts, that he felt he could objectively look at the beautiful young lady standing in front of him and not struggle at all. You could say he'd become an expert at resisting primal urges.

She brushed by him and a shiver ran up his side from the spot where she made contact. "Must be the breeze." he thought to himself.. Expert. He shut the door behind her and took her bags from her setting them off to the side. "Yeah, she's still asleep." He answered, and before he knew it, Brooke was offering to help him with the laundry. "Of course you can help." He said with a smile. He loved that about Brooke - always being a helping hand around the house. The complete opposite of his wife and daughter. He always thought that she'd make an incredible wife one day to any boy from Temple who wanted her. "Of course, you're going to have to do more chores than that if you want to earn your keep this summer. I ain't puttin you up for free!" He could never let the moment go without a joke with her. Perhaps it was that his wife was so ill-tempered; never being one to play around. Or perhaps it's that Sam was so intense all the time, but he felt more like himself around Brooke, more relaxed. More free to make jokes and tease; and he loved how she could tease him right back.

Soon they were in the laundry room and Mike's self control was put to the test once more as she bent over in front of him, bumping into the front of his black shorts. He cleared his throat, and strained his neck to look out the window, dodging her tight frame with his gaze. Expert.

As they began to fold, she pulled out Sam's bra and he wrinkled his nose a bit. Even though he lived in a house of all women, he'd left the underwear buying up to Claire and Sam. That's one thing he just never felt right buying for his daughter. Truth be told, this was because of his relationship with women's underwear; if there was such a thing as a 'fetish' to Mr. Stevenson, it was lacey, brightly colored, beautifully made lingerie, and the thought of him buying anything of the sort for Sam made him cringe a bit. He'd try buying things like that for Claire over the course of their marriage, but she'd always ask him how much he spent and then insist he return it. She was all-business, much like Sam, and didn't think stuff like that was 'needed' in the bedroom.

This left the Stevenson family with what Brooke and Mike were going through right now: a laundry basket full of full-backed underwear in neutral colors. The brightest ones in there were in-fact Mr Stevensons slim fitting boxer briefs. He pulled out a handful and began folding them, smirking as Brooke went on her tirade against his daughter's unmentionables. "Fine.. I'll take you girls to the mall. No way you're getting my car and my credit card!" He joked, nudging her with his elbow. "But good luck getting Sam to spend a whole lot on this stuff." he paused "She's like her mom in that regard. Really practical." he felt it inappropriate to go into much more detail than that with the teen in this conversation.

Soon, the laundry was folded and he took his and his wife's piles into his bedroom, turning around "Go take Sam's pile to her and wake her up. I'll make you all some pancakes." Soon his laundry was put up and he was able to nudge Claire awake. He went into the kitchen and whipped up his famous recipe of chocolate pancakes, waiting on Claire and Sam to get ready and come to the kitchen - he figured Brooke would just wait on them to come down, even though he knew she was more like him - up and at 'em and ready to eat early!

Soon they were all back in the kitchen and he leaned against the kitchen counter, surveying his ladies scarfing down their breakfast. He had a satisfied smile on his face. Claire piped up "Hey Sammy, I've got to go back to the office, so I'll swing you by camp on the way and your dad can pick you up after, ok?" "Alright mom." Sam said, already in her soccer gear.

"Again?" Mike replied, the disappointment in his voice unable to be hidden by his normally cheery attitude. "A.. Alright." He said, before Claire would have a chance to retort with something snide. "Brooke and I will do some yard work." he teased, knowing that of all the things Brooke was good at, manual labor wasn't her strong suit. "When we pick you up from camp, we can go to the mall. Brooke said you needed some stuff."
 
RE: You Again?

"Sammy," she said softly, then crawled into her friend's bed and sat on her butt. Samantha was face down in the bed, sprawled half in and half out of the covers. Brooke saw that Samantha had slept in her ponytail again and it was going to be a hot mess to fix. "Come on, besty. Wake up." Grasping Samantha's shoulders, Brooke leaned into them and began to gently bounce her friend up and down on the bed. "Waaaaaaake upppppp."

"I hate you," Samantha muttered into the pillow then pulled another on top of her head.

"You looooove me. You think I'm spunky and adorable," Brooke said and continued to bounce, adding her butt to the motion to make Samantha flop lengthwise in the bed. "If you were a boy you'd marry me."

"If I was a boy I'd never answer your texts and you'd cry every night wondering what was wrong with you."

"True," Brooke admitted and stopped, then began to bounce again. "But then I'd call my besty Samantha and we'd dissect every text from you ever and...wait."

"You're so stupid," Samantha said and gave an amused snort. "I'm him and you're going to talk to me about me?"

"It's no dumber than Kanye's new song."

"I like that song," Samantha said and got up onto her hands and knees, soccer muscles easily lifting Brooke into the air before she slipped off. With a yawn the blonde girl stretched and then rubbed her face.

Brooke shook her head. "You slept in your hair again."

"Yeah. Ouch, shit." Brooke pulled at the pony tail holder securing it, only succeeding in working it deeper into the tangled snarl.

"Your hair is so pretty and you do this to it." Brooke sighed and went to get the leave in conditioner and a parting comb and a brush. "Turn around," she mumbled around the brush handle in her mouth and got on her knees on the bed behind Samantha. For a few minutes the girls worked in silence, except for the occasional ouch as hair was pulled accidentally. "We're going to the mall later," she announced halfway through a tight French braid that would be perfect for playing soccer in.

Samantha shrugged and Brooke smacked her on the shoulder with the brush.

"Quit wiggling."

"Sorry. What are you shopping for today? Don't you have enough clothes?"

"As if," Brooke laughed. "No, we're shopping for you. Brooke, you need some new bras and panties. Yours are worn out and I bet they don't even fit any more."

"I'll wear a sports bra. Those are new, got them last week at Academy."

"No." Brooke leaned over her friend's shoulder and brought their heads together. "You need real bras that fit. I promise I won't get something sexy, but you need new ones. Your tits are going to sag," she teased.

"Jeez. You're right. My panties are a little tight and it's not from gaining weight," she added quickly.

"Fat ass," Brooke teased then shrieked as Samantha turned and wrestled her onto the bed.


Breakfast was almost over when Claire, as usual, ruined everyone's day. God she was such a bitch. It was the start of summer, she had a beautiful house, a smart daughter, an amazing husband and she had to make everyone feel bad about it. Well, everyone but Samantha. Brooke knew her friend had grown some pretty thick skin about it all, and had adopted her mother's attitude in some ways for further protection. That was wrong. A daughter should love her daddy like he loved her. Theirs should be the most important, deepest relationship in the house. Moms and daughters were natural rivals, and that was okay. But daddies were special. And poor Mr. Stevenson. No wonder he liked being up at school so much. People, kids and teachers alike, needed him there and treated him with respect. Not because of his job, but because of how he took care of them and helped them and, yeah, even disciplined them. They knew where things stood with Mr. Stevenson and respected him for not playing favorites or being easy.

Automatically she collected plates off the table and murmured "Excuse me," to Mr. Stevenson as she walked pass. While she was rinsing them off, Mike volunteered her for yard work. "Mr. Stevenson will do some yard work and I'll sit under the tree in the old tire swing and Snapchat him to the entire school. It'll be epic."

When everyone was gone, and Mr. Stevenson left the kitchen, Brooke finished up and leaned back against the counter and dried her hands on a kitchen towel. A little bit of water had spilled on the front of her skirt, making a damp spot that felt cool against her skin. The skirt was a pale mint green, high waisted, and covered with white polka dots. Where it met the sleeveless lace lined top she was wearing Brooke had covered it with a wide brown leather belt with a tied in bow. To match it she had a bow of the same material as her skirt that was meant for her hair but she pinned it to one shoulder of her dress for a cute asymmetrical accent. Underneath, even though no one could see, she had an even paler bra and panty set, padded to give her some cup size she didn't really have, and it was chased in heavy lace all the way around. No one would see it, but it made her feel pretty and Brooke was just girly where Samantha was all Adidas track pants and school spirit t-shirts. This year they could go to the prom if a senior boy asked them, and Brooke really wanted it to happen for her and for Samantha. They'd have so much fun getting dolled up for it and if she'd just try Sammy would be so pretty.

The neatly folded towel went back on the rack and she looked around the spotless kitchen. Why couldn't Claire and Samantha see how hard Mr. Stevenson worked for them to make such a nice home? They should be doing it for him! With a shake of her head she went outside to find Mr. Stevenson.

Noise from the backyard shed clued her in. Mr. Stevenson was working to take everything out of the shed and put it on the grass nearby. Brooke didn't know why he was doing it, but she stopped under the shade of the big oak tree to watch. He was really graceful, Brooke thought. Some men were strong but clumsy, like a big old bear. Mr. Stevenson was strong and graceful, like he knew his body and ran it like he did the hallways. Order, discipline, control. For a few more minutes she watched, enjoying the warm summer breeze and the quiet, then walked over.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to a random piece of yard equipment. "What's it for?"
 
Mike was sitting back, lost in thought a bit as breakfast wrapped up. He didn't even notice that Brooke had started collecting the plates until she bumped into him and excused herself. "Oh, thank you Brooke!" He said to her gratefully. "You don't have to do that." But of course, he knew she would say what she always did. Something along the lines of: 'Oh don't worry about it!' or 'My pleasure!' or 'My parents would kill me if they knew I didn't help out a bit.' Even if he thought her parents spoiled her, he knew they raised her to be polite at least.

He watched as she took the plates to the sink and began washing them without being told. Too many times he'd thought 'Why can't Sam be a bit more like Brooke?' but then he felt bad and realized how lucky he was to have such a pretty, talented daughter - even if she was a bit rough around the edges. He knew that it was a 'grass is always greener' kind of situation with his daughter's friend, but honestly, he knew Brooke was far better suited as a friend of the family then to actually be in the family.

He had been staring at her well put-together outfit for a few minutes too long when the sliding of chairs across the wooden floor of the kitchen snapped him out of what must have seemed like an inappropriate ogling of the 16 year old. Folding his muscular arms across his chest so that his forearms rippled, he accepted a quick peck on the cheek from Sam and a "Buh-bye dear" from Claire. He watched Sam gather up her bag and they were off. The sound of the sink running was foreign to him when he wasn't right in front of it.

He walked up behind Brooke, placing a thick hand lightly on her shoulder "You're so good, Brooke. Thanks again." He gave her a peck on the top of her head; a habit he'd started when she was much younger and just never gave up. Of course, he'd never do that at school! It was only something he did around the home, and always sparingly. Actually, come to think of it, it may have been the first time he'd done it when it was just the two of them. He felt his skin flush a bit and left the kitchen without an other word to change into his yard-work clothes.

Soon he was out in the backyard. It was a beautiful sunny day, but getting hotter. He donned some ripped jean shorts that hugged the tone of his well formed buttocks (ones that Claire tried to get him to throw away a hundred times, but he had managed to hide) and a grey tank-top that one could tell used to be a tshirt, but lost the sleeves long ago. The faded blue and yellow 'M' on the front from his alma mater, Michigan University, was already dappled with spots of sweat as he began cleaning out the shed. He heard the back door close and looked up to see the petite red head strolling towards him. His large, tanned biceps glistened and flexed as he threw down a sack of concrete mix left over from where he repaired part of their driveway earlier that summer.

His daughter's friend asked him a question and he stared at what she was pointing at. "Oh that?" He said, walking over and picking up the contraption. "That's a post hole digger." It had two wooden handles that formed a scissor like joint at the end, where two red metal scoops, faded and chipped, sat. "It's for digging holes for things like fence posts. I used it to build part of that fence" he pointed to the tall wooden privacy fence lining the back of the yard. "But I can also use it to chop you up." He pointed the scoop ends to Brooke, a foot from her face and clicked them together twice. "See?" he did it a couple more times, laughing to himself before setting them down and continuing his chores.

Just then, he recalled what she'd said in the kitchen. "You said you were gonna.. snaptalk me?.. to the school? I don't know what that is, but I'll tell you right now.. don't do it." he paused his work to point to her and give his best stern look - even if he knew it would have no effect on her. He proceeded to sweep out the shed and put everything back over the next hour or so. Brooke had gotten bored about an hour in and headed into the house. Before long, the work was done. Once he was back inside, he checked around for Brooke. "Brooke? I'm gonna take a shower.. When I get out I can make us some lunch!" He shouted, not waiting for a reply, and not really sure if she'd heard him or not. He stripped off his clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and stepped into the hot shower, lathering up his pine scented soap all over his body. He was definitely fit for his age. At 50, he'd turned out quite well. Some would say TOO well. But that was, of course, to his gym-rat habits and his mostly-healthy eating. Not to mention chasing down teens all day long.
 
I should have known better! Up in Samantha's bedroom, Brooke stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of the door and winced at her reflection. Visiting with Mr. Stevenson while he worked had been so nice that Brooke failed to realize how long she'd been outside. It was only the beginning of summer but a long, cold winter without many sunny days combined with her naturally pale skin was a disaster. Not having anticipated being out so long, Brooke didn't put on sunscreen or take a hat or umbrella. Samantha never had that problem both because she shared her dad's complexion and because she was outside all of the time with soccer or cross country in the off season. Brooke was more likely to be inside reading, or writing, or just sitting at the window daydreaming.

"Ow," she exclaimed as she tried to shift the wide strap of her sleeveless blouse aside. Even that little movement hurt as it scraped along pale skin gone an alarming pink that threatened to be a full sunburn. "Stupid," Brooke said out loud then winced again. Her face, her ears, every bit of exposed skin on her arms and bodice, even her legs were all pink and turning pinker. Brooke even felt hot and that usually meant she was going to need to lie down and have a sun fever for a few hours. How had she been so careless!

A search of Samantha's vanity, covered in soccer socks and other gear with little make up, turned up nothing useful. The medicine cabinet in her bathroom only had acne medication and Tylenol. Those at least would help. Brooke took two, hesitated, then added a third and washed them down with a cupped palm of water from the tap. The only lotion Samantha had was all but empty, the top was loose and crusty bits showed where Sam had shaken the last out. Brooke needed aloe vera or better yet aloe vera that had lidocaine in it. That would really help minimize the painful sting that would become a throbbing before too long. Nothing. Samantha had absolutely nothing. Maybe Claire did. Or maybe Mr. Stevenson could drive her to the store real quick.

"Mr. Stevenson?" Brooke stood outside the master bedroom door and knocked again. She'd been there for a few minutes already but with the shower running the young girl didn't want to interrupt so she'd stood there in agony and moved from foot to foot like she had to pee. "Mr. Stevenson, it's Brooke," she said after knocking again, louder. The shower had cut off a minute or two ago. Surely he was able to hear her and put on a robe or some gym pants and answer the door. Brooke knocked a third time. "Mr. Stevenson, please. I really, really need you. I need to get something from your wife's vanity."
 
The water was loud and hot. Steam filled up the glass walls of the shower as he stood leaning against the tile, letting the jets roll over his shoulders. In his mind he started going through the day so far, and what else lie in store. For some reason he couldn't shake the thought of the almost inappropriate talk about undergarments with Brooke. What if she mentioned they talked about that to her parents? He started reassuring himself. Why would she? Even if she did, she brought it up, and it honestly wasn't that bad.

The relaxing lull of the whitenoise from the shower and the steam surrounding him was sharply interrupted by what he thought to be a knock on the door. He strained his ears and heard it a second time. Shutting off the water and opening the glass door, with steam billowing out, he was able to hear the high pitched, sweet call of Brooke, who sounded in distress. His parental instincts kicked in immediately. "Oh shit, she's been here less than a day and already she's in trouble!" What could it be? He thought to himself.. Did she cut herself? Did she get into the liquor cabinet? He grabbed a white fluffy towel off of the rod nearby and dabbed himself before wrapping it around his waist quickly, gripping two corners together over his hip so that he was covered.

The towel hung low beneath his bellybutton, the rest of his glistening upper body bare, lightly trimmed blonde hair carpeting his chest as he opened the door. "What is it Brooke, are you ok?" He asked, his skin reddened from the heat of the shower as the cold air of the home made his skin form goosebumps. He stepped to the side, remembering that she needed to get into Claire's vanity, realizing only after a few moments that he was there in his towel; oh well, she'd seen him in a bathing suit every summer.. This was no different, right? He was determined to explain every situation he may find himself in with Brooke this summer.
 
Almost before Mike could move aside, a visibly pink Brooke hurried past him. "SorryIneedsomething," she said in a rush of words. If it had been any other time she would have found it awkward to not only enter his bedroom but to see him standing there, still wet from the shower and wearing only a towel. Oh, she'd seen him before in his swimsuit but that was by the pool and Sammy was there and it was okay because it was the pool. That wasn't entirely true though, was it? Last summer Brooke had bought a big pair of oversized Hollywood actress style sunglasses and while Samantha lay on the lounger to tan and Brooke sat near her under a big beach umbrella covered one she'd watched Mr. Stevenson swim laps. There had been one time when he pushed himself out of the pool by them and stood there for a moment, stretching, and Brooke had seen how the motion pulled his skin over his muscles. Mr. Stevenson was in amazing shape for a man his age, for any man any age, and the sun had turned the drops of water on his body into jewels accenting the body of a god. Because of the glasses, Mike hadn't been able to see her eyes widen or linger on his body before she raised the book she had in her lap up to cover her face like she was reading.

The steam in the bathroom made it hard to see but it was starting to slowly clear up. It did smell good, even though the heat of it on her skin was uncomfortable with the sunburn. It also smelled like pine a little from the soap she knew Mr. Stevenson liked. Brooke liked to go to the grocery store with him when he shopped and learned the family's favorite brands for most things. Claire's vanity looked familiar because of it, the lotion and soap and toothpaste brands Brooke remembered. The vanity was cool under her fingers as she held onto it to squat and open the cabinet underneath. Peroxide, alcohol, heating pad, tampons and pads, the bath bombs Claire preferred. Where was it? A hint of green half-hidden behind a basket that held Claire's hairdryer and curling iron led Brooke to what she sought; a bottle of aloe vera gel. No lidocaine but beggars couldn't be choosers. "Oh thank goodness," she said out loud and stood up. The steam was still in the bathroom so she stepped into the bedroom and the relative cool of it was an immediate relief. It made a long lock of her red hair stick to her face and she pushed it back, wincing when the motion pulled her shoulder into the sleeve of her blouse.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stevenson," she said, then noticed he was in his towel. "Oh, um" she turned around, flustered, and only the pink of her skin prevented him from seeing her flush. "Sorry." The bottle in her hands was spun slowly in her nervous fidgety hands. "I wasn't paying attention when we were outside. Honestly I just went out there for a minute but we started talking and it was so much fun and I lost track of time. It's so stupid. First day of summer and I already have sunburn. Sammy is going to die laughing." Red hair shook, each silky strand of it whispering across the other then falling free to lie in perfect array, made smooth and shiny by the product she used.

"I'm so so so sorry," she said again. "You know I'm not usually this careless. Could you please help me in a minute? It hurts to much too reach my shoulders and back. Please?" the young girl asked, the pain and embarrassment of having been so immature and irresponsible in her voice. "I mean, after you, uh, I'll be in Sammy's room," she said and then kind of backed around towards the door and left, not looking at Mike's hard muscled body or how the towel hung so low around his hips that a miracle was surely the only thing keeping it on.

Up in Samantha's room Brooke stood by the desk and the open bottle of gel sat on top of it. The first handful of it was cold agony on her thighs and calves, but Brooke bit her teeth together and rubbed the greasy, almost sticky aloe vera into her skin. The smell of it promised relief and even without the numbing lidocaine it felt better, a little bit anyway, and it would keep her from peeling. As she worked on her arms, contorting to try to get the tops of them, little pain noises she wasn't even aware she was making spilled past her lips. Where was Mr. Stevenson? She needed help! Was he going to be mad at her? No, he didn't get mad but he'd be disappointed and that hurt so much worse. The look he gave when you made a bad choice was so awful you didn't want to do it again, or at least she didn't. Sammy didn't seem to care or be affected by it but it really got to Brooke. Was that him? The girl turned to glance towards the door, young legs glistening wetly from the aloe vera.
 
Seeing the bright red girl pass by him and shoot for the bathroom door gave him some semblance of immediate relieve that she wasn't dying. He watched her go to the bathroom and search for something, raising and eyebrow when she said "thank goodness" to no-one inparticular. He didn't really get the gist of what was going on until she returned with a bottle of aloe and he put two-and-two together. She was obviously already burned from the sun today and his face showed pity immediately. He inhaled sharply, as if he was the one hurting, causing a hiss through his teeth as he surveyed her tender skin from a distance. It wasn't until she apologized to him that he even remembered he was only in a towel. Obviously it had made her uncomfortable. He glanced down at his body, for a moment worried that he hadn't closed his towel well enough and his member was hanging out in the open air. Now, that would have been an unmistakeable breach, he though. Sure he can stand there in a towel and be fine, or even discuss underwear.. But flashing his daughter's best friend in his bedroom? He'd be in cuffs and in a cop car before noon.

He was relieved to find that was not the case and brought a second hand to clutch the towel and support the one that was already gripping the white cotton fabric, knuckles turning white from tightening. "Sh.. sure." he said in her response to her needing help, trying his best to play it off like seeing him in his state of undress wasn't a big deal. I'll be right over. Shutting the door immediately after she left his room, he sighed, "Not a big deal. Not a big deal at all." He said quietly, yet outloud, to no one inparticular. He walked over to his dresser, dropping his towel, turning his head quickly to double check that he'd actually closed the door all the way before stepping into some red boxer briefs. He put on some nice fitting jeans and a black polo, checking himself in the mirror quickly before hurrying across the home Samantha's room.

He knocked on the door a couple times as he opened it, even though it was already slightly ajar, "Hey there, kiddo." He said with a frown, seeing her sunburn again from behind and wincing in empathetic pain. He walked up behind her, grabbing the aloe from her hand and squirting it into his hands, rubbing them together before gently touching her shoulders. He began rubbing it in without even waiting for her to ask. Of course he'd help her - he considered this more like giving medical attention than actually any sort of sensual touching. "Y' know, that's not too bad.." he said after seeing it up close "You'll be fine in no time.. We'll just do this every day and night and you'll just need to stay out of the sun for a while.. I forgot how easily you burn." He chuckled; He applied some gently to her upper shoulders, then as low as her sleeveless blouse would allow, before he turned his hands inward to get inside her sleeve-holes just a bit. His fingertips brushed the edge of something stretchy and thin, and he knew it was her bra strap. He stopped there and stepped back. "There." He said with a smile.

"Is there anywhere else I need to get? The backs of your legs or anything?" It wasn't until then that he realized her upper shoulders were the most benign of all the areas that he could have gotten, and she may need more.. He stood up straight, looking down at her, and once again, he felt himself on the edge of a test. Needing some sort of justification for how he was acting around her. Why was he so worried about Brooke in particular? Was it that he felt some sort of additional connection to her? Something more than the care he felt for his students? And something different than what you'd feel for a daughter? He cleared his throat a bit, and waited. 'No..' he thought 'That can't be.. Well.. she is absolutely gorgeous.. You've always thought that.. and she is the sweetest young girl you've ever met.. and you two get along swimmingly.. and she always dresses so..' He stopped his internal dialogue there. It only took a matter of moments for him to process all of that, and he quickly returned to reality, only to have his eyes gaze over her glistening, reddish skin.

'Even so..' he continued 'I'm just rubbing aloe on her. So what if I enjoy it? Not a huge deal.' For the first time ever, he felt himself being ok with something that may not be 100% above board. He waited, hands still covered in blue aloe vera gel, almost eager to put more of it on. A small smile crept to the edge of his mouth.
 
The first time Mr. Stevenson touched her skin Brooke jumped, like a filly nervously flinching as its rider gentled her skin before saddling her up. She soon settled down and even though Brooke twitched occasionally, and once whimpered, she let Mr. Stevenson rub the aloe into her poor, pink skin. As he worked it in, the soothing feel of it and the calm confidence of his touch relaxed her. It was so different than when she let boys help her with sunscreen at the lake or beach. That was sexual exploration, for both of them, and their hands were always nervous, or too fast, or too rough. Mr. Stevenson though was a man and he had no fears about taking care of his daughter's best friend. It was like he was her own dad, her dad who would hug her and kiss her head and even put his hand on her bare back under her shirt to settle her down when she was upset. Soon her head was hanging down, neck loose and her hair falling on either side of her face. Brooke's neck was long and slender and flowed gracefully into the line of her back. Skinny, yes, but with a ballerina's grace and beauty if not the fleshier, more filled out look of a woman. She never would look that way and had accepted it.

"Careful," she said once when his aloe coated hand touched her blouse, then again a bit later. "Sorry. I just, I really like this top and I'm worried it will stain. Hang on," she asked. Brooke stepped away from him and went into Samantha's bathroom. There was a towel damp from her shower this morning and another that was dry. She brought both back and sat the damp one on the desk. "For your hands when you're done," was her explanation. With just a slight wince she held her hair up with one hand and then bent her neck forward, turning to present her back to Mr. Stevenson. "The zipper is at the top. I can't reach it . Can you help me get it off please? I'll cover up," she said and pulled the dry towel under her blouse with her free hand and held it there across the top of her pretty bra. "It'll unzip a little then I can raise my arms and you can pull it up and off. Please be careful," she begged. "It hurts! But I can't get it off on my own and it's going to get ruined."
 
As he rubbed in the lotion, he could tell how painful it really was. The jolts, the wincing; it made him feel bad for the young woman, and he apologized every time she indicated the sunburn was causing her discomfort. "Ouch, I'm sorry.." he would say. When she then talked about not wanting her blouse to get ruined and stood up, he figured she'd come back in a different shirt. Maybe a spaghetti strap or something. Nothing he hadn't seen before on her countless sleepovers. Instead, she came back with two towels. And then.. the question. At first, he thought she only wanted him to unzip her shirt. Not a huge deal - he thought. Then she continued her request.. To take off her shirt completely. He froze; glancing up at her in the reflection of the mirror and then back down to her back. Watching her hand go up and under her shirt with the towel.

His mouth fell a bit agape as he started to speak and then stopped. This was definitely a crossroads. What to do? Should he refuse and make things awkward between them? or should he proceed with her request? 'There's no way she's coming on to me.' He thought. 'So it's not a huge deal. Again, just medical attention.' He sighed. "Um.. Sure, sweetheart." He said, rubbing the aloe off on the wet towel and then rubbing the thighs of his jeans to dry them off. Steady hands reached forward to the little zipper at the top. "Zip." a patch of red and then some paler skin where the light hadn't quite touched were revealed to him.

"Alright.. Arms up." he said, a slight waver in his voice. He was really going through with this. 'Holy shit.' He thought to himself. 'This is fine.. This is fine.' He towered over her as he reached down and delicately pulled up on the hem of the shirt, letting it come off of her; a shower of red hair spilling out as it slipped over and up her head. It was a battle to not stare at the reflection in the mirror; trying to catch a peak of the 'best parts.' 'THAT would definitely be crossing the line.' He said to himself as he turned his head away, staring at the wall as he felt the shirt come free. He turned around and set it on the bed, pausing there for a moment; making sure that she had plenty of time to cover up before he turned around. Although taking off her shirt for her was 'justified' when in need of medical attention, it didn't stand to reason that he then to got to see his daughter's best friend topless.

He exhaled slowly and turned around. He did his best to put a casual smile on his face to indicate that this was not uncomfortable for him. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her uncomfortable as well. "Ready?" He asked politely.
 
So gentle was Mike's touch that Brooke didn't feel his fingers take up the tiny tab of the zipper and the sound it made was how she knew it was being unzipped at all. Even when he'd had to touch Brooke where it hurt the most, Mr. Stevenson was never careless about it and worked to do what had to be done but in the most soothing, gentle manner possible without drawing it out. The waver in his voice might have meant he was worried about what was coming in getting Brooke's top off, but she raised her arms without hesitation. Mike's hands moved to the inside of her top, holding it away from her back as he lifted it up and off. It still hurt enough to make Brooke's breath hitch as she exhaled and her fingers to clench into absurd little fists with the thumb sticking out. As the top lifted, it took her hair along, momentarily removing the weight of it from Brook's head and then it slipped back down in ragged waves as it was freed. The towel tried to go with the top but Brooke nudged it back in place while her blouse was in front of Mr. Stevenson's face and the moment her arms were free she arranged it properly, holding it on the top of her bra's cups. The straps with their heavy embroidered lace accents and the mesh back were still visible to Mr. Stevenson. Brooke felt absurdly self conscious about it all. Even though her bra covered as much or more than a swimsuit, and the cups were as heavily padded, this was her bra and he wasn't supposed to see it. A swimsuit was meant to be seen, so it was okay, but the taboo of being in her underwear still made her tummy feel hot and tight. The thought of Sammy, that Mike had a daughter and a wife and had likely seen all of this before brought the young redhead some comfort.

"Hang on," Brooke stopped Mr. Stevenson from applying the aloe. "It'll ruin this too. Just...give me a second. I'm so sorry, Mr. Stevenson. I'm so sorry." Brooke contorted, trying to get to the hooks in the back, but was having a hard time of it due to the pain of the sunburn and the necessity of keeping the towel in place. Finally she managed to undo it and the stretchy fabric came free, leaving slight indentations and marks that would soon fade even on her pale skin. First one arm and then the other slid free of the narrow straps and Brooke let them dangle on either side of the towel. "If you could just finish my back and shoulders and the top of my arms I'll be okay. I got my legs all the way around before you came in.

The room smelled of aloe vera, a young woman just at the threshold of her innocence who was hurting and was being calmed, cared for, protected by a virile older man who had not yet passed his prime of life. Pine scented soap and Brooke's citrus based perfume dance in their noses, one strong and overwhelming, the other beautiful and elusive. Again Brooke felt the hot, tight feeling in her lower stomach that made her slightly queasy. It's just the sun fever, she said, lying to herself when she knew full well it was the thrill, the shameful but heady thrill, she felt being vulnerable and revealed under Mike's eyes and hands. He was her best friend's dad, her assistant principal, that guy who made the You Again joke with her but his fingers and the gel made him something else. Something Brooke was afraid of and wanting more of. Like that day at the pool when she'd been watching him. It was the same feeling, only more intense now. Under the cover of the towel, she pulled the cups of the bra away from her small, youthful breasts and sat it on the desk next to the towel he'd have to pick up to rub the aloe off his hands. It was a silent expression, a probing, and Brooke didn't know if she wanted to know how he'd take it.

"That's so much better, Mr. Stevenson. I'll, I'm going to go into the bathroom and put on a big sleepshirt and I want to lay down for a little bit. I always get sleepy after this and sometimes a little feverish." She stood up, hands holding the towel on her front but her back bare down to the top of her high-waisted skirt and turned her head to look at him.

"Thank you," she said in a voice that quavered at the end. Brooke's eyes were liquid filled, but those were just tears of discomfort, right? One last haunted look and she went into Samantha's bathroom and closed the door. The lock being twisted made the outside handle rotate slightly and Mr. Stevenson was left alone in his daughter's bedroom, Brooke's top on the bed, her bra on the damp towel.
 
From Mr. Stevenson's point of view, the scene before him was jarring and beautiful all at the same time. Jarring in the sense that his brain new objectively what he was looking at. His daughter's best friend in her bra; not in the voyeurish kind of way as if he found some compromising photos while snooping through her phone, or if he had snuck a peek at her changing through the slat in the door, but a voluntary disrobing of her clothing by him. Beautiful in the sense that the soft, fair skin of her almost-bare back paired amazingly well with the light green hue and lace of the fancy lingerie. Something he hadn't seen the likes of in his home as his daughter and wife always sought after simpler clothes. The kind of femininity he'd so long desired to see on his wife he now saw, albeit only partially, across the graceful back of a teenager. In addition, the bright pink of her skin, although painful, made her freckles light up and played nicely off of her hair.

He felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed. He was about to start applying the lotion again when he heard her protest. His eyes widened as she reached behind to unhook the bra. 'Oh my god.' He thought to himself. 'Don't stare. Don't stare. It'd be creepy..' he couldn't help it. His eyes fixated on the way the clasp came loose, the way the straps fell over her arms. The sound of the fabric as it separated from hidden bosoms. All of it was otherworldly to his senses. Never had he imagined he'd find himself here, in this situation, with her; and not to mention that, up to this point, it was all coming from a place of innocence. He heard her apologies and he smiled warmly, watching her reflection now instead of her undressing. "OH, don't worry about it sweetheart. It's fine. I promise." His words fell off as he saw the front of the bra cups. He had only guessed at how opposite it would be to the drab sports bras and flesh colored underwear of the other women in his life - but he didn't imagine it to be so 'her.'

He tried not to look at it, but as he applied the rest of the aloe to her back and shoulders, he glanced at it a time or two when he imagined he wasn't looking. Soon, he was done, the red heads glistening shoulders covered in a thin layer of aloe. He stepped back "You're welcome, Brooke. I'm sorry you got all burned up." He was holding his hands out, palms still damp with blue fluid as she explained where she was headed. "I'll get you a glass of water." He waited till she was in the bathroom and started toward the damp towel to wash his hands but stopped. It was impeded by the green bra that had been on her less than a minute before. He bit his lower lip. If he picked it up to move it, that would be considered.. normal.. right? He used the very tips of his forefinger and thumb on one hand and moved it out of the way, wiping his hands off on the towel.

Something about feeling the weight of the piece intrigued him though. He glanced back at the bathroom door, and after drying his hands off on his jeans again, he picked up the bra with both hands this time. Running his thumb over the fabric. It was still warm from being tight against her chest. 'If I could only get Claire to... how is it that a teen has sexier underwear than..' He sighed, setting the bra back down and picking up the wet towel to throw it in the wash. He felt frustrated. Frustrated at the fact that he now knew Brooke out-dressed his wife underneath her clothing.

He left and got a tall glass of ice water from the kitchen, as well as a cloth he wetted in cool water and rang out. He returned to Sam's room to find Brooke laying down in the large shirt, trying to nap. He set the glass down on the nightstand quietly and the cool cloth on her forehead gently. He wasn't sure if she was asleep yet, but did his best not to wake her.

He busied himself for the next few hours by finishing more chores around the house and writing some emails for work. He wrote a quick note on the counter, explaining that he was heading to pick up Sam from practice and would be back soon, just in case she woke up while he was gone.

________________________________________________

"Hey Dad!" Sam said, obviously winded from her practice, looking in the backseat with a questioned look on her face "Where's Brookie?"

"Hi, Honey." He said kindly. "Brooke got a nasty sunburn so she's sleeping it off at home. She was still asleep when I left. So DON'T jump on her when you get back home! I know how roughly you two like to wake eachother."

"Oh, bummer." she said with a frown. "I was looking forward to the mall trip. Sucks that she got burned. What was she doing outside for so long?" He smirked "She was bugging me while I was cleaning out the shed." Sam rolled her eyes "What a weirdo."

Soon they were back home and Sam walked quietly into her room, sitting on the edge of the bed. She saw the cool rag and noted it as a signature 'dad' move. He was always good about little details like that. "Hey Brookie." She said gently. "How ya feeling?" She asked, moving a strand of red hair away from her face.
 
As Brooke had expected the sun fever hit her hard and quick and she really wasn't aware of anything except the sudden wonderfully cool washcloth on her forehead. Floating in the foggy, hot not quite slumber of her fever, Brooke didn't know what Mike had done for her or even where she was. As a drop of water oozed out of the cloth and slid from her brow down towards her eyelid, it roused her just enough.

"..nks, Daddy," she murmured, almost inaudible, just before Mike left the room, obviously confusing him with her father. Only, she called him Dad, didn't she?

Brooke whimpered and her head turned to the side, red hair falling across the pillow in a spray of smooth strands.


"Awful," Brooke said and reached out for where she felt Samantha's hand on her hair. The two girls laced fingers and squeezed gently, then Samantha pulled hers loose. Samantha never been super touchy in a comforting way to anyone, family or friends, and it was a show of concern that she'd even briefly held her friend's hand. In concession the bed dimpled as Samantha sat on the edge of it near Brooke.

"Jesus, you look like cinnamon gum. Why'd you let yourself get burned so bad?"

"I just forgot," Brooke said, an embarrassed tone in her voice. "I wasn't planning on being outside long, and I was standing under the tree."

"So how'd you get burned, lobster girl?"

"It's your dad's fault," Brooke said and scooted back on the bed, wincing slightly, so she could sit up against the headboard. The once cold rag was now hot and cloying so she sat it aside, noticing the heavily beaded glass of what had been ice water on the table. How long had she been asleep? Brooke still felt logy but the water, not quite tepid, tasted amazing.

"Dad made you get sunburned," Samantha said flatly. "Right. My Dad who double checks seat belts before we leave the driveway made you get sunburned."

"Hush," Brooke said then laughed a little bit. It was true. Mr. Stevenson was very protective of his daughter and her friends. "No, I was just watching him work and then came over to ask what all the stuff was he pulled out of the shed and lost track of time and poof, pink."

"That's dumb. Why'd you spend time watching him work when you could have been inside watching TV or Skyping that boy you met at your cousin Eddie's barred hisbah."

"Bar mitzva," Brooke corrected then caught Sam's grin. "Bitch. And I don't Skype him, he Skypes me and I'm too nice to end it. Besides, it was, I don't know, kind of neat watching your dad work. We hire everything out because Dad's a klutz and he's always reading briefs or writing opinions." Brooke's father was an appelate court judge and not at all the outdoors type. Sanford Srednicki was short, balding and always joking he'd just buy a bigger yarmulke to cover it. Nothing like the tall, thick haired and strong bodied Mr. Stevenson. "Like, did you know he knows the names of all those tools and how to use them?"

"Big deal," Samantha said. "That's just, like, dad stuff. Booooring." She stood up and went to her desk to get her iPad. "Hey, this is yours," Samantha said, holding up Brooke's bra.

"Give me that," Brooke said quickly, and only the sunburned skin of her face kept her friend from seeing she was emberassed. But why? It was just a bra. Just a bra that Mr. Stevenson had seen, had seen her in...

"Fine, geez. It's not like I could wear it anyway," Samantha said and tossed it onto the bed. It was true. Samantha was way more developed than Brooke, easily a C cup where Brooke was barely an A.

It landed in Brooke's lap and she picked it up. Had Mr. Stevenson liked it, she suddenly wondered and then felt dizzy. Probably the sun, she thought and laid back more on the pillows. "Please tell your Dad I'm okay but I'm not hungry. I'll skip dinner. I just want to sleep."

"Okay. Look, I'm sorry you got sunburned. Want me to bring you anything?"

"No, thank you. I am just going to nap a little bit more," Brooke said and closed her eyes. The straps of her bra were still in her hand and her fingers twitched on them as she fell asleep, thinking about it and Mr. Stevenson.


The house was dark and it was at least an hour earlier than Brooke normally woke up. Outside she heard the faint, faraway horn of a freight train miles outside of town, the sound carried by a freak of fog and the absence of other noise. Everyone was asleep but the enforced nap of the prior day threw off her schedule. She went into the kitchen, still in her sleep shirt, and opened the refrigerator. Bending over, the sleep shirt pulled up across her butt, just showing the bottom of her panties, still the same ones that matched the bra Mr. Stevenson had seen. Light outlined her from inside the fridget and she looked in the bottom drawer, hoping to find some yogurt or one of those grapefruit cups.
 
He had turned and was just about to close the bedroom door behind him when he heard a quiet whimper, and a subtle, but still audible 'Daddy..' leave her lips. His reaction to that word was entirely involuntary, but he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. Sam called him Dad. He knew she was obviously out of it, but that didn't make her mistake have any less of an effect on him. He shit the door, his hand gripping the doorknob. One quick exhale and a tight shut of his eyes, followed by a quick head shake to get his mind right, and he was off again to cook dinner for the family. Well, by 'the family,' it actually meant just Sam. Claire was working late. Surprise.

After Sam went to bed, he did his nightly routine. He made his protein shake and put it in the fridge, as well as packed his gym bag so that he could grab and go in the morning before anyone got up.
_______________________________________________________

That night he had a bit of trouble sleeping.

He kept playing back the audio and video from the day in frightening detail. The bare, pink back of his daughter's friend. The feminine color and lace of her underwear. The sultry, yet innocent sound of her voice saying his name.. No, she didn't say HIS name per se.. But she was talking to him.

'FORGET IT, MIKE!' His mind said loudly. These are just a couple of weird run-ins with Brooke. If it was anyone else.. Sam, or even her other friend's, it'd be completely benign. It just comes with the territory of being a dad and taking care of teenage girls and their friends. He tossed for a bit before finally going off to sleep. That morning he woke up in a hazier state than normal - obviously due to his lack of sleep the night before. Almost instantly, the not-so-faint memories of the previous day's run ins with Brooke flooded back into his mind. He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his muscular neck. Rolling his head from side to side with a yawn. "You're gonna have to get that under control, Mike." he said to himself gruffly, out loud, referring to his runaway thoughts.

Mike usually slept naked. He stood up and stretched, putting his hands on his tight lower back. He looked a bit more like a greek sculpture than a human man in the dim light of morning. His core twisted and rippled as he tensed all the muscles in his body before relaxing them again. He shuffled over to his dresser like a zombie, running his hair through messy blonde hair before pulling out some black compression shorts and sliding them on. He winced a bit as his manhood, already hardening from his morning condition, got popped by the tight elastic waist band. He gingerly reached in, managing to put the thick member down the side of his thigh before re-adjusting his skin-tight black shorts.

He'd definitely have some frustration to work out at the gym this morning. His mouth felt unusually dry. He opened his door and shuffled through the house to the kitchen, his eyes adjusting to the light from the open fridge. He put his head down so as to not gaze directly into the open fr.... Wait.. why was the refridgerator open? Had he left it open the night before? Surely no one else was up at this hour. Sam always slept late.. could Claire have come home early? When his eyes felt less sore from the white light, he looked up, focusing in on the unmistakeable shape of thin, yet toned legs, reaching up to meet a perfectly shaped, round butt, half exposed and half covered by stretched light green fabric, sillouhetted by electronic light. In a moment, he knew this image was seared into his mind. His eyes soaked in ever detail it could, and his brain recorded the detail of the lace rimming of the feminine panties, the curve of her soft flesh. His eyes opened wide. For a moment he thought it may have been Claire, but his shirtless stomach tightened, his mouth fell agape, and his eyes widened as his brain made the conclusion there was only one person to whom those legs and ass could belong. Brooke.

If yesterday had been 'perfectly alright' and he 'hadn't seen anything,' then this morning's run in was on a completely different level. A million thoughts and no thoughts flooded his vacant mind all at once. "Wh.." he let out an involuntary question, almost noiseless, but in the completely still, quiet home, definitely audible. He clapped a hand over his mouth with a wince. 'Shit!' he thought to himself. There's no way she didn't hear that. He immediately turned his head to the side, almost giving his head whiplash. Opening up a nearby cabinet door so that it opened between his face and Brooke's posterior. He cleared his throat.

"Morning Brookie." he said in a quiet, rough tone. Just then he realized the state of his dress. Or rather, his undress. He looked down over himself, his look still obscured by the walnut wood cabinet door. He was shirtless, which of course, was fine. She'd seen him like that. But the smallness and tightness of his workout underwear was magnitudes more revealing than swimtrunks. And his morning erection - given new fervor by the sight of a young woman's almost naked backside - was swelilng and stretching against the black fabric, fighting to be given it's biological want.
 
"Hey," she said without straightening up or any sign of alarm. Brooke hadn't heard him come in, didn't expect anyone to be up at this time of morning, but she wasn't startled. A feeling of being slightly dreamy from her excess slumber and the disruption of her body's clock meant Brooke's senses weren't operating fully. Key Lime Pie or Black Cherry? Key Lime Pie seemed too tartly sweet for breakfast so Brooke picked out the Black Cherry yogurt and stood up. The sleep shirt caught on the left side of her panties, a bit of embroidery holding it up so that when she turned around the side of her thigh all the way up to almost the top of her panties but the front panel was obscured, just barely. "I need a spoon," she said and yawned without covering her mouth. The refrigerator sighed shut behind her, cutting off the lit and plunging the kitchen into a sharp-shadowed darkness made golden by the older street lights outside. Summers spent at the Stevenson's meant she didn't really need the light to find the silverware drawer and it opened, forks and spoons snicking slightly, next to where Mr. Stevenson stood, offering an additional barrier to sight if he didn't move. Brooke's hand rooted around a bit before coming up with a spoon. A half turn and she hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling but held almost together at the knees. The sleep shirt puddled around the tops of her thighs as she worked on the foil of the yogurt tub. The left side of her face, the one nearest Mike, was lit and the other clothed in shadow. There was a smell, slightly sour and slightly sweet, when she peeled the foil back.

"Are you going to the gym, Mr. Stevenson?" she asked before putting the spoon in and stirring the yogurt slowly from the bottom up. Blood red swirls made black by the light streaked across the creamy white yogurt as she mixed it. "Can I go with you? It'll be hours before," she lifted the spoon out and licked it clean and then pointed towards first the master bedroom and then the room she shared with Sammy. Or at least in their general direction. "...before they are awake. And I'm not sleepy. I mean, I am, but I'm not. I just..." How could she explain it? Brooke felt restless, like something was inside of her needing to get out but she didn't know what it was but it was bothering her.

"It's too bad we're not in school," she said suddenly. "I could really use a counselor right now to talk to." She ate another spoonful of yogurt and made sure the bowl of the spoon was licked clean before taking it out of her mouth. With the impetuosity of youth she continued on, still not having given Mike an opening to respond. He was oddly quiet this morning she noticed, and moving slow. Why he was still standing where he'd been when she closed the fridge. Why? Brooke looked over and saw he wasn't wearing a shirt. The light was at just the right angle to catch the ridges of his muscles and throw deep shadows beyond them, making them pop out more to her eyes. Eyes that grew wide, the blue almost completely disappearing as her pupils expanded more than the dim light would account for. Mr. Stevenson had, if anything, gotten even more fit than the last time she saw him without a shirt on. Her mouth parted, surprised, and Brooke couldn't keep her eyes from moving from one part of his chest to the other, then lower to where the lines of his abdomen sculpted out a six pack that any boy would be insanely proud of. They also traced the V on either side, an open V that led her eyes downward.

It was too dark, the cabinet door too concealing, for Brooke to really notice his bulge or any remnant of arousal but she did note that either Mr. Stevenson was wearing underwear or some really tight shorts, like bicyclists used or she wore sometimes under her tennis skirts. "Oh. Umm, oh. I, uh," Brooke stopped and just stared then looked up quickly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stevenson. I guess you didn't know I was in the kitchen. I'm sorry." But even as she protested, Brooke looked down again, and it was either the cold air sighing from the air conditioning vents or pure feminine response to the close proximity of a man but the light cast shadows of its own on her, showing tiny but definite peaks on her chests where her nipples had suddenly become hard. "Jesus," she said, a habit picked up from Samantha. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Stevenson." This time she was able to drag her eyes, if not her thoughts away. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
 
When he didn't hear her move for a moment, he wondered if she too was frozen in awkwardness. Slowly, he peeked out from behind the cabinet door just in time to catch one last glimpse of her firm backside, and then half of the front of her panties and all of her thigh. His eyes darted from her porcelain skin to her face and back. The expression she wore showed no signs of surprise or awkwardness, so he let out a brief sigh through his nostrils and closed the cabinet door, bringing out a glass for water, watching as Brooke hopped up on the counter.

He stayed where he was though, the bottom half of the counter concealing all the most lewd detail of his lower appendage. He was glad the light had gone out of the room and only shadow remained to obscure anything too incriminating. He stood still, the cool air from the room causing his skin to get goosebumps. He listened to her as she rambled in the morning, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her eat and talk. That was the Brooke he was used to. A chatter box. The sound of her bird like voice making him feel a bit more at ease.

He was about to respond to each question in turn, but she just kept going, until at last it was aware that she was in fact made uncomfortable by what he wasn't wearing. He watched the surprise on her face, and then.. were her eyes going downward? It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he could have sworn.. Oh god she sees it.. He went right back to being self conscious. Not about his body - no, he was proud of that - but once again, in as little as two days, had found himself in yet another questionable situation. He tensed. His mind went to work again - the inner dialogue of teacher and human man in a heated debate. He was at a crossroads it seemed.

All of their previous interactions had been a bit.. well, explainable.. and neither of them had really said anything to draw the awkwardness out into the open, but this, this was different. He had a choice to make now - he could say what he knew the educator and father in him should say; what he absolutely would have said two days ago: That it was fine, but that he was going to put some clothes on, and that they should really be more careful about what they wear around the house this summer, and where she left her bras around. Sure, they were like family, but he was also her principal, and they needed to make sure no one could accuse them of impropriety.

but..

Something in him felt that if he said that, he'd end the chance for something special between them. Something exhilirating and fun. What exactly? He wasn't sure, but dammit, he liked their interactions so far. He wanted to catch little glimpses of her. To be able to see what she was wearing underneath her night shirts and for her to leave her unmentionables out on little tables. That wasn't TOO wrong, was it? Was it such a crime that he be laid back for once in his life? To be selfish?

The debate in his head was short. The morning air, the dim light, the stillness of the kitchen, and his testosterone were too much for his logical side.

He smiled widely. His white teeth glistening in the low light. "Oh, don't worry about it." He laughed, walking on the other side of her and filling the glass up to the brim with water. He guzzled it down and wiped the dampness from his upper lip on the back of his arm. He set it in the sink and then hopped up on the kitchen counter right beside Brooke - his legs dangled similarly, but the flesh between his thighs made him have to spread his knees a bit more than her. He rested his hands on his lap.

"We've known eachother for years. I want you to be comfortable around me." The little shouting of the vice principal in his mind who was an expert at avoiding awkward situations with teens got quieter and quieter as he continued. "Seriously, you're gonna be here all summer and you shouldn't have to tip toe around the house like you're a stranger here. Ok?" he said. He put an arm around Brooke and squeezed her into his side, kissing her on the forehead once more before hopping down. He went over to the fridge and opened it up again, flooding the kitchen with bright light once more. The front of his torso exposed along with everything else he'd tried to hide a few seconds prior.

He grabbed his prepared shake and took a swig, turning and shutting the garage door with his hip. "And yes, I am going to the gym. Do you want to go? I get 1 free guest pass each time I go." He smiled and looked at her once more, from a front-on angle this time, not as worried about forcing his eyes into some unoccupied corner of the room anymore.
 
When Mr. Stevenson moved out from the counter, Brooke was able to see that he was wearing clothes. The tight compression pants seemed like a second skin and the way the v of his cut molded into them left small empty spaces where she could just see a hint of the flesh beneath the waist of them. Brooke's mouth gaped at that, spoon half in and half out like it was about to fall off her tongue, and then when her eyes were drawn lower to the bulge in the front. It was nothing like Jacob Lutz's, the only boy Brooke has ever been with. The first time one of their dates got a little handsy on his part, she'd pushed Jacob off her when she'd felt the push of his dick through his pants and onto her thigh. They'd gone together a bit longer, exploring and getting more comfortable but not getting less awkward. Touching her breasts outside of her shirt, sloppy too much tongue in her mouth kisses, the first time they'd both trembled when he'd put his hand under her bra and found her young breast and nipple, and then the first time he'd been almost mad and angry about her wanting to stop after making out. He'd grabbed her hand and put it on his crotch, and then when she pulled it back after rubbing it for a few terrible minutes, Jacob had undone his pants and persuaded Brooke to reach inside his tighty whities that his mother still bought for him and inexpertly jack her young boyfriend until he made a small, sticky mess on her hand. Compared to that though, Mr. Stevenson was huge! And he wasn't even excited!

Blood roared in her ears and she forgot to breathe. It wasn't until Mr. Stevenson hopped up on the counter and hugged her to him that her mouth shut and her eyes remembered to blink. She was just leaning into him, the kiss on the top of her head romantic beyond anything she'd ever felt, and then Mr. Stevenson hopped down and left a very confused, very aroused teenage girl behind.

It wasn't fair!

"What? Oh, yeah, the gym," Brooke agreed and used the heel of her hand to push her hair back behind her shoulders. "I'll, uh, go get changed." Suddenly not hungry she put the rest of the yogurt in the trash. Halfway up the stairs Brooke stopped and leaned her head against the wall. Oh my God, what just happened? He kissed me! Okay, not kiss kissed but... I can't wait to tell-

Tell who? Her bestie Samantha? Tell her she just got a look at the size of her dad's dick and how it made her feel when he put his arm around her in what had to be, she realized, a purely avuncular gesture. Conflicted, not understanding how she felt at all, Brooke took longer than normal getting ready.


"It makes perfect sense, Mr. Stevenson," Brooke said as they walked into the gym. "It's going to give me energy for the workout." Brooke took a sip out of the java chip frap she'd convinced Mike to stop and get on the way. It was the perfect accent to her super cute gym outfit; a black lycra midriff top that hid the sunburn on her upper body and left her toned taut tummy exposed and matching accented in pink yoga pants that were absolutely almost inside her skin. She had a pink jumprope too and had switched out her phone case to match. Samantha thought Brooke was dumb for always making her phone match her outfit but then Sammy wore Uggs with soccer shorts in the winter. Hello! How did she have a bestie who was so basic?

The gym for Brooke was about being seen and being cute and flirty. It was about adding pins to Pinterest while she did some spinning and about just enjoying being young and pretty and with a naturally skinny body.

"I think I'm going to go use the stair climber to start," she told Mr. Stevenson.

Brooke never used the stair climber, absolutely hated it. But the backs of them faced the front of the open weight area where the hot young guys were working out. And the mirrors in front of the climbers meant that she'd be able to see if any of them were watching her taut little butt while she pretended to be working out. It was a little thrill and Brooke, like all women, always loved feeling pretty from the attention men gave her.

"Let's do this," she told the machine and set up a slow, steady program that would build in frequency. The top and pants hurt where they rubbed against her sunburn, but what was a little pain versus not looking cute? She could bear it.
 
He was pleased with himself as he left the kitchen to retire to his bedroom. Not only had he managed to make things less awkward between him and his daughter's friend, but he'd done so in a way that didn't cut him off entirely from any new and exciting experiences he might have this summer - however questionably appropriate they might be.

He tugged on a similar tank top to the one he'd worn the day before doing yard work. A navy blue 'Michigan' T shirt that had the sleeves removed. Actually, large portions of the sides were removed so that his toned core was somewhat exposed at all times. He tugged on some black athletic shorts on over his compression shorts that provided some modesty. After all, he could flaunt himself in the comfort of his own home - but not out in public, lest a parent or student see him.

He was waiting in the kitchen, his car keys in hand reading over the mornings paper when the bump bump bump of a small person coming down the stairs pulled his attention away. "Ready to g.. go?" He asked, his words stuck in his throat as he saw her sensational gymwear. He figured it best not to comment on it. He had just gotten over one hurdle with her and lecturing her about modesty was the last thing he wanted to do - especially because he didn't actually care that she cover up around the house, or elsewhere. Quite the opposite in fact.

"Cute clothes." He said with a smile, figuring a simple, benign compliment to be a smart move. "Let's hit it." He put his hand on the small of her bare back as he ushered her out of the kitchen through the open garage door he held for her.

______________________________________________________

He was still teasing her about the Starbucks stop she made him take on their way, saying she'd gain all the weight she would lose before she even lost it. She just teased him back in her own way. He put his earbuds in, and pushed play on his phone, and prepared himself to get into a workout mood. He felt extra virile today. Extra frustrated. He needed to work it out. The gym was his favorite place to be - it provided needed respite from the home and school, and it kept him healthy and in good shape.

He did his normal circuits, doing some flys and pulldowns on the machines in one portion of the gym. Soon it was time to do freeweights and he pulled out several large dumbells of varying weights and set them off to the side near a bench he had claimed with his white, damp towel. He had started his first set when a stray glance over the gym landed his gaze squarely on an unmistakable shape. In the mirror, from where he sat, he found the round, pert ass of Brooke; yes it was covered in black, and not half exposed like that morning, but he knew it. His eyes lifted up slowly to her bare back, then that mane of red hair and back down.

This time, she wasn't standing still. Her ass moving and jiggling slightly with each step. He inhaled sharply, exherting himself more heavily on his weights. His biceps turning red, veins bulging slightly. He ended up doing twice as many reps as he intended because he was so distracted, and only stopped when his arms felt like they were on fire.

He set them down with a loud clank and thud, hanging his head down and breathing heavily. His rib cage visibly taught in the holes in his tanktop. His back heaved and sank with each breath as he grabbed his water bottle and doused the back of his neck. He glanced up again to where his eyes were on the mirror previously, trying his best to be discreet.
 
Mr. Stevenson was really working out. Some of the other men and boys working the weights could probably lift more, in one or two reps, but they had the asymmetrical look of someone who worked out just to brag about what they could bench. Only a few of them had the overall physique of Mr. Stevenson, and none to the same degree of perfection. His muscles moved smoothly, even when he was really pounding it out, and his form was perfect. But he seemed to really be pushing himself today. Brooke doubted she could even lift one of the dumbbells he was pushing around like a senior varsity lineman moving a freshman debate club boy out of his way. Just before he looked up and would have caught Brooke watching in the mirror, a deep voice beside her made Brooke's head and eyes turn away.

"Hey. Nice form." It came from a tall, at least six foot five, guy who had walked up to the stair climber she was using and leaned on the rail. Even being up in the air on the steps of the machine, Brooke's head still wasn't level with his. He was really cute, with deep brown eyes and an angular face accented by the rolled up gym towel he had around his neck. And he was older! Like, maybe almost out of college older. Brooke smiled at him, teeth showing, and unconsciously used one free hand to push her hair back and get it looking cuter.

"Thanks! Is my back straight enough?" she asked, knowing it was but wanting him to check her out from behind.

Without moving his feet, the man leaned his torso to the side and watched Brooke's pert ass move and then ran his eyes up her back. "Everything looks perfect," he said and lingered.

"Oh, good. Sometimes I get a little sloppy, you know? I think I need a personal trainer sometimes," she laughed and felt the rush of flirting run through her.

"I don't know about sloppy, everything looks tight back here," he answered. "But if you need some tips I could help you out. I haven't seen you here before."

"Glad to know it looks tight," Brooke said and felt her heart race a little bit more. "No, I don't usually come here. I mean I did last summer but I looked different then." Oh no! Why did she say that? Why would she let him know, even indirectly, that she'd really matured the last year or two and wasn't as old as he thought. "My name's Brooke, like the river. What's yours?"

"That's cute," he said and moved his torso so he could look back in her face. He made eye contact and held it, something boys didn't normally do, and Brooke felt like his eyes were making her skin hot. "I'm Tony. So you go to school around here? I'm at State," he said.

"I do," she answered. It wasn't a lie. She did go to school around here, just not the one he really meant. "I'm staying with some friends for the summer." Again, not a lie. It just made it sound more sophisticated than it was. Staying with friends was better than staying with my friend's parents while mine are out of town because I'm only 16 and not a big girl. "What are you studying?"

"You, right now," he said and laughed as Brooke looked surprised and then laughed back with him.

"Well, keep hitting the books and maybe you'll do good on the pop quiz," she tossed back and punched the button to slow the machine to a stop. "Whew, I'm winded. Maybe that's enough cardio. What do you think I should do next?"

Tony smiled and held out a hand Brooke didn't need to help her off the machine. It was really large on hers, like Mr. Stevenson's. "Well I'm in off season right now. I play hockey and run cross country in between. You like hockey?"

"I love it!" she lied. Brooke didn't know a thing about hockey except that if their players were all this cute she was going to make Samantha teach her about it. Samantha knew everything about any sport and was always wanting to drag Brooke to games with her. Usually she just stayed on her phone, or took selfies and posted them about how cool it was she was at the game - whatever it was.

"You should come out tonight then. It's off season but my team is playing a match to raise some money for the children's hospital. You know the bear throws? We're doing one of those so bring a stuffed bear or animal and at half time we'll have the throw." He leaned forward, catching her eyes with his and keeping them. "I'll make sure I catch yours. So, are you going to come?"

Oh emm gee. "Totes!" she said and all but shook with excitement. "I can't wait."

"Cool," he said casually and, with his hand on her back just above her butt, Tony steered her towards the same part of the gym where Mike was working out. Brooke didn't even notice, her head was turned to the side looking up at Tony and going wherever this older, confident man was leading. They walked right past Mr. Stevenson and she never looked at him. Tony sat her down at a machine and stood behind her as he started to work her through some exercises. It was 90% flirting and 10% workout. Each of them kept laughing and looking at each other, and they took every chance to touch each other on the arm, the back, Tony even put his arms around Brooke once, his palms on her tummy, encouraging her to really tighten up her core as she did an exercise. They did more reps of that than was really called for.

Brooke felt wonderful to be young and pretty and to have the attention of a much older guy who clearly was into her. She felt like she could stay at the gym forever.
 
As he took a break in his set, staring at the small puddle that the sweat from his hair was making as it dripped. The 70s rock music he was blaring in his headphones drowned out the din of the gym - men grunting, women breathing heavy, metal clanking, treadmills whirring. He was getting his second win and reflecting on the day ahead of him. He smiled to himself. He really liked how things went with Brooke this morning, and thought about where it would lead - not anywhere wrong, but somewhere that continued the fun, relaxed attitudes they'd had for the last couple days - and he wouldn't hate it if she'd be comfortable enough to keep her attire around the house.

In a way, he felt good that he'd have her all to himself most of the summer; just them - able to get closer.. as close as he would allow. He realized he'd been contemplating too long and should get back to his sets.. and the view. He glanced up to resume his view of that tight teen again and saw... a guy? He felt his neck immediately tighten. His smile twisted downward into a grimace. His stomach did a small sick turn. And he had an idea why. He watched them as they talked, and as the overly tall buffoon smiled and glanced over her in places he shouldn't. The music in his ears drowned out the conversation they were having. He saw her step off the machine and walk over to him. He straightened up, bowed his chest out, and prepared to act his most alpha-male as she walked over and.... past him? He watched in disbelief as she walked by without so much as a glance and over to the machines.

He stopped for a moment, glancing back down at the puddle on the floor and let out a breathy laugh. "What the hell.." he mouthed silently. Not because he was upset, (although he was showing the symptoms) but because of how jealous he felt right at the moment. 'She's 16!' he thought to himself. 'So what if she talks to some guy at the gym.. What did you think was going to happen between you two?' He stood up, stretched his arms back and did a few 'hugger' stretches. His arms swinging wide and then across, smacking himself on the back. He proceeded with the rest of the workout, glancing around the gym every now and then to make sure he could still see Brooke. He watched as they did a few sets of some workouts together.

'She's just making a new friend.' He though.

Then he saw him put her hands on her.

'He's just showing her some good form.' He reasoned.

Each excuse felt terrible to him. Hollow and insincere. Soon his workout was over and the two were STILL talking. He yanked out his headphones in a frustrated manner, and walked over to them, his eyes wide and his brows raised. "Hey Brooke." he said shortly, and looked up and down the guy she'd been talking to. Mike was tall, but not quite that tall. There was no way this guy was in high school; definitely not a freshman or sophomore in college at that. He reached out a thick hand and his forearm rippled as the man grabbed it in response in a strong handshake. "Hey, I'm Mike. And you are?" He asked, squeezing the mans hand with an equally firm grip. "I'm Tony. How do you know Brooke?" He asked, obviously responding with the same bravado that Mike had walked up with - like two apes squaring off for dominance of the pack.

A part of him wondered if he was acting so protective because he knew this guy was too old, and he was just doing what any surrogate father would.. but deep down he knew it was more visceral than that - he hated to admit to himself how far he'd fallen in just a couple days. Warding off guys at the gym? Like he had some sort of dibs? At the very least, he still felt he had the moral high ground to prevent a relationship between an underage girl and someone obviously much older than her. 'Hypocrite.' The vice principal voice in his head piped up again.

"Oh, I'm a vice principal at her school." he smiled widely. "You know, East High?" He felt a twinge of smug satisfaction as he watched Tony's expression change.

"Oh, high.. high school?" His throat caught a bit. "Yeah, she and my daughter are Sophomores. They'll be Juniors next year." he put an arm across her shoulders and gave it a squeeze - although it was definitely more possessive than affectionate. "Well. uhh, good sets, Brooke." he held out two fists, bumping her's before nodding to Mike. "It was nice meeting you, sir." he walked briskly away. Mike looked down at Brooke, his arms crossed his chest, rippling a bit. "Ready to go?" he asked. He felt proud of what he'd done, but something in his gut told him he'd overstepped. He never had to do anything like that with Sam; being a father figure to someone as attractive and flirty as Brooke was uncharted territory.
 
The rush of flirting and going on a date with a cute older guy - okay not like a date date but a date sort of, right? - made Brooke feel so desirable and pretty and like she was just having a rollercoaster ride of her heart. Every thing Tony said was funny and smart and every touch made her young body sing as he played the strings of her skin. It was just perfect! Sammie was going to be so jealous and they could spend all night talking about every moment of it before going to the game together tomorrow! The feeling was so intense she didn't even think about how Mr. Stevenson would act when he came over. Brooke was actually excited in the way Tony came off as tough and challenging back to Mike's introduction, and she didn't miss the strength, the contest, of their handshake. To know she was the cause of it made her feminine pride swell. It was just perfect!

And then Mr. Stevenson ruined it. It was like he was trying to embarrass her in front of Tony, in front of the whole gym! He ran Tony off and turned her cute manly crush into a worried boy retreating from Mike and dropping Brooke like she was just a kid and not a woman. Brooke's heart fell out of her chest and she could feel tears of embarrassment and shame burning her eyes. "Tony, wait-" she called out but he couldn't get away fast enough from the little girl he saw her as now and Mr. Stevenson's overbearing demeanor. Stricken, she wanted him to turn around, at least to acknowledge her, but Tony didn't. A moment later she saw one of his gym buddies intercept him and the two got into a close, quick conversation. When the other guy with Tony looked her way, then back at Tony she could see, could read the words on his lips. 'High school? Dude.'

"Ready to go?"

Brooke looked back at Mr. Stevenson, standing there with his arms crossed, looking confident and just a little satisfied at having run Tony off and embarrassing her in front of him and his friend. In front of the whole gym. She could never come here again after that. Or anywhere!

"Why did you do that? You're not my dad!" Brooke's voice was almost too loud and she turned and headed for the front of the gym, accidentally leaving her jump rope and towel behind. Her dad would never do that, was barely aware of her even growing up and wanting to date. Mom knew, and worked to make sure Brooke made good choices, but mom also was a typical Jewish mom and if there wasn't going to be Dr. in front of the name or at least a lawyer then Brooke could do better. This was going to be the first - okay of two - boys Brooke dated that wasn't picked out by her mom. The first non-Jewish boy too, her goy boy! And Mr. Stevenson ruined it all. Brooke was furious and the tears that did now spill from her eyes were angry and hot instead of weak and ashamed. Why did he have to be such an asshole!

The moment she heard the remote open the door, Brooke got into the car and yanked her seat belt across her. Crossed arms and the way she stared angrily straight ahead lasted until Mr. Stevenson got in and shut the door.

"You're not my Dad," she said without looking over but not because she was afraid but because she was so mad. Brooke couldn't remember ever letting Mr. S see her lose her temper, not really. Sammie had seen it a few times though. Sammie was different that way too. When she was mad she just walled off. Brooke though, Brooke needed to have it out. There were some pretty epic arguments in the Srednicki household, and not just because of anger. When her family, her people started arguing about something they just loved to keep going with it. Her dad said it was just as much part of their culture and tradition as it was with her grandmother playing yenta.

"And right now you're not my assistant principal either. Right now you're just... you're just being an asshole! Why did you do that!" Now she turned, not just her head but her entire body in the seat, the belt pulling tight across her gym clothes. "I'm not your little girl. I'm not Sammie! I like to date guys." Boys. One. Didn't really like him at all but that was beside the point. "My dad wouldn't have done that so don't think you have the right to!" Only because her dad wouldn't know a gym from a giraffe but again, beside the point. "He liked me! He really liked me and thought I was pretty and funny and we were going on a date after the hockey game-" Potentially. Maybe. "-and he was cute and not stupid like boys my age. They don't even know how to kiss and they get all nervous when we-" Brooke stopped herself, knowing that even as mad as she was, talking about her awkward forays into sex with Mr. Stevenson wasn't right. She stared at him, face red from more than the sunburn, and her jaw was clenched so tight it made every muscle in her face stand out.

"You asshole," she said again and turned back in the seat, arms crossed and pulled as far away from Mr. Stevenson as possible. "God I hate you."
 
In the moment between Tony walking off and Brooke looking up at Mr. Stevenson, he pushed his chest out a bit, still reveling in his small victory. He was just about to recommend he take Brooke to get an after-workout smoothie to make it up to her. After all, he figured she'd be a little miffed, but he was ready to get their day back on track. That's when he she reminded him not-so-gently that he wasn't her dad. He opened his mouth, about to speak in protest, but she was on her heels and out the door before he could say anything.

Even the prime view of her skin tight pants didn't provide him much solace as he watched her leave. He knew he was in for it. After all, he had a daughter and a wife, but neither of them had ever reacted to anything he'd done like that before. After all, he was generally very sweet and giving with them. Not to mention that Sam and Claire both preferred to just give him the silent treatment. Not tell him when things were bothering them.

"Dammit." he said under his breath, grabbing the things Brooke had left behind and following her out to the parking lot. He pressed the remote on his 4 Runner and saw her disappear inside the door half a second later. He wasn't in the wrong on this, was he? There was no way he was going to let her go out on a date with a grown man, not on his watch. He was her best friend's dad, her vice principal and her... 'No, nothing more than that.' He had to remind himself again. Still, 2 out of 3.

He got in the car, wondering if the storm out was enough for her to cool off. He was wrong. The minute the door clicked shut, he heard her remind him that he wasn't her dad, and that he wasn't her assistant principal. Once again, he opened his mouth in protest but she continued, capping off her frustration with a curse word. His brow furrowed and his expression grew more disturbed; he brought up a hand, wagging a finger as if to start in on her, but she continued - he sat back, mouth shut, breathing heavily, as she said the rest of her peace. This was one thing he was actually used to at the school - except usually the kids in his office for disciplinary action didn't go on to tell him about their preferences in age difference and their sexual history.

Older guys? Kissing? Nervous when... when you what?? His curiosity was piqued, but quickly extinguished again as she ended the rant telling him she hated him. It was clear that nothing he could say in that moment would satiate the situation. He may have thought Brooke was the sweetest young lady, but right now he thought she was being a total brat. He tugged his own seat belt on, one hand gripped the top of the steering wheel as he turned on the car and threw it into reverse. He had to put his hand on the back of her chair to turn around and watch as they backed up. Her scent still sweet even after her jaunt at the gym. 'Damn it.' He thought to himself. 'Don't let her get away with this one.. She may be Brooke but.' His thoughts bubbled out into actual words as he threw the shifter into Drive.
"I may not be your dad. Or your vice principal right now." his voice was stern. He stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched as he continued to speak in a steady, yet intense tone. "But you're still my responsibility this summer and I'll be damned if you think I'm going to let you go out with someone that old. Besides, he shouldn't have had his hands on you like that." He realized that was probably the first cuss word he'd ever let a student hear from him, but he figured it was warranted. His forearm muscles tensed as he drove the rest of the way home in silence - full aware she was still fuming- his stomach in knots that they'd had an argument at all.

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Back at the house, one slammed car door and one slammed bedroom door later - courtesy of Brooke, he stepped into the shower. He took a longer one than normal - not only because he had pushed it harder than usual at the gym and needed to release the tension in his muscles, but also because he wanted to reflect on what the hell just happened. His summer of self-indulgence was already derailed by this whole strange relationship with Brooke. Is it even worth it? I should have just had the 'propriety' talk when this all started and she wouldn't have even gone to the gym with me and we wouldn't be in this mess. He was frustrated - slightly with Brooke, but mostly with himself. He stepped out and dried off, donning a slim fitting maroon dress shirt and signature well-cut jeans for his thighs and butt.

Whether or not he was able to get his summer plans back on track, he knew he needed to make it right with Brooke. That was him, though, a peacemaker to a fault. Besides, his stomach was still in knots from the thought that Brooke was mad at him. He busied himself with some housework, trying to put off the inevitable apology he would owe, but a an hour later, he knew it was time. He walked upstairs to Sam's room and knocked on the door, leaning against the frame as he spoke through the closed door.

"Hey Brooke?" His tone had softened considerably since their conversation in the car. "Listen I.." he paused. He knew that he needed to apologize for the last hour, but he didn't actually prepare what he was going to say. "I shouldn't have embarrassed you like that at the gym. I'm sorry. And later on in the car, I lost my tempter, so I'm sorry for that too." He sighed "I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but I promise I'm just looking out for you." Feeling his talking points insufficient, he thought back to their conversation in the car. "And listen.. If you want to go out and find a guy who thinks you're pretty and funny and wants to take you on a date, we can literally go anywhere in this town and there will be 10 of them down every street. Seriously. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't vet them a little first."

He waited, nibbling on his lip and wondering if he should just turn and go and give her space to hate him indefinitely.
 
At the last minute, when it seemed the door would remain closed forever and Brooke would wall herself off like the other women in Mike's life, the lock on Samantha's bedroom door squeaked as it was disengaged and the doorknob turned. As the door opened, Brooke was revealed standing there, head up but looking down, until it was wide enough for Mike to enter. She stepped back and turned and went to the narrow roll away bed that fit under Samantha's daybed. It was covered with neat stacks of Brooke's clothes and her open suitcase and big rolling duffel bag lay on Samantha's bed, already partially packed. Where Brooke thought she was going and how she was going to get there was a mystery, but teenage girls weren't always big on thinking things through when they were upset.

Brooke moved a pile of her bra and panty sets, stacked together and then arranged in color order like a pastel rainbow, and sat where they had been. Head still up, eyes still down, she sat with her legs just barely touching the floor and her hands picking at her cuticles. "It's okay, Mr. Stevenson. You're right," she said listlessly. Brooke stopped talking and the silence was awkward enough eventually that she began again. "I know that you, because of, like you have to- Moo," she said and stood up suddenly, knocking a stack of shorts askew. "Moo. Moo. Moo." Sammie would have known that was something the drama teacher in middle school made Brooke do when she lost track of her words in expressing herself. If you're not going to make any more sense than a cow, he'd told Brooke, then moo like one until you realize how ridiculous you sound and FIND the words.

Brooke mooed a lot that year.

Finally she stopped and shook her head, red hair swinging after she stopped like a red wave breaking on a white sand beach. "You thought I was being naive and that he'd take advantage of me because he was older. That guys only want one thing and that's what he was going to do and I'd let him because he was older and more confident and just amazingly handsome and fit - you know, like you are, Mr. Stevenson. Maybe he was. I don't know. You don't know either though," she said some of the earlier anger coming back. "Like, when you were his age, what would you have done? Come on, Mr. Stevenson, you're the best man any of us girls know. What would Mike have done on a date with me? Would he have been the creep you thought Tony was?"
 
He had turned his back toward the door when he heard the click. He turned back slowly, giving a half smile that she didn't see, because she was obviously avoiding eye contact. He walked in, the smell of his recent shower wafting in the room. His blue eyes widened as he saw her clothes around the room, realizing quickly how out-of-hand this could have gotten had he apologized. He wasn't going to push the issue about how reckless her running away would have been; he knew he hadn't exactly been a rockstar example that morning. His eyes flitted to the side as he saw a flash of color and he felt his neck get hot. He'd only seen one set of her collection yesterday, and he wasn't at all surprised the rest of it was as vibrant and pretty as the first. That same frustration flooded back, but he pushed it to the side. There were more pressing needs than the undergarments of a teen.

He folded his arms and looked at her as she talked. Letting out an incredulous chuckle when she started mooing and shaking his head with furrowed brows. Soon she returned to her human form and resumed. He nodded in agreement with some 'mmhmms' and quiet 'yeah's' as she explained what she thought were his motives. Then she compared Tony to him and he stood a bit taller, puffing out his chest like he had when he'd run that guy off in the gym, smiling as she continued. Then she asked her final question and he sighed, reaching his hand up to the back of his head and giving it a big scratch before sitting down on the bed, on the other side of pile of underwear she'd moved.

He looked straight ahead and then over at her after a few moments, making sure to avoid staring at the brightly colored pile, but not avoiding a glance. "I uhh.." he cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. "Honestly?" he said, his shoulders rising "I don't think there were any girls as cute as you at the gym when I was his age." he nudged her side with his elbow gently. "I'm not just saying that.. You really make it hard to know what I would have done. I mean, I think I was a gentleman when I was younger, but I definitely had my share of... oh, shit, how do I put this." He leaned back on his arms, knowing that he could really get in to trouble with whatever he said next.

"Listen, like you said, I'm not your vice principal right now, and I'm not your dad, so cut me some slack when I tell you this. I sowed my share of wild oats.. so to say I would have been a perfect gentleman to you is a lie. Truth is I probably wouldn't have been." he nibbled on his lower lip, his face growing warm and feverish with anticipation of what she'd say next.
 
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