My Best Friend’s Hot Dad - Part 1

Everyone in this story is 18+

When Matt invited me to spend the weekend at his place, I didn’t hesitate. His house was massive, the kind you only saw in movies, with a pool, a game room, and a fridge stocked with snacks I could only dream of affording. It was the perfect setup for a lazy weekend of gaming, junk food, and hanging out—something we hadn’t done in far too long.

We arrived late Friday afternoon. I dumped my bag in the guest room while Matt booted up his console in the game room. “You up for some matches?” he called out.

“Yeah, give me a second,” I replied, kicking off my shoes and heading to join him. The game room was ridiculous—a massive screen, plush bean bags, and a selection of games that could put a store to shame.

For the next few hours, we lost ourselves in a flurry of matches. Trash talk flew back and forth as we battled it out in every game from Call of Duty to Rocket League. Matt was surprisingly good at holding his own, though I managed to sneak in a few wins. It felt like old times, just the two of us hanging out without a care in the world.

When we finally paused for a break, Matt tossed me a soda from the mini fridge. “You wanna keep going, or call it a night?”

I glanced at the clock—it was already past midnight. “Let’s call it,” I said, stretching. “I’m wiped.”

Matt nodded, grabbing his phone off the coffee table. “Cool. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night,” I said, heading back to the guest room. I closed the door behind me, flopping onto the bed with a contented sigh. The quiet of the house was a stark contrast to the chaos of gaming, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to have a weekend to relax and unwind.

As I settled in under the covers, my mind wandered briefly to Mr. Carter. I hadn’t seen much of him since we’d arrived; he’d been holed up in his office most of the evening. Mr. Carter—Jordan, as he’d told me to call him once, though I never could—was the kind of man who commanded attention without even trying. Tall, broad-shouldered, with graying stubble that somehow made him even more attractive, he was every fantasy I’d ever had rolled into one. Of course, I’d never told Matt. How could I? It was bad enough that I had to sit across the dinner table from his dad, pretending I wasn’t picturing him shirtless the entire time.

My mouth was dry from thinking about him, so I went downstairs to grab a glass of water. The house was eerily quiet at night, the kind of silence that made even the softest footsteps sound deafening. I wandered into the kitchen and reached for the fridge, but before I could open it, a low voice behind me made me stop in my tracks. “Wyatt.”

I turned, and there he was—Mr. Carter, leaning against the doorway. He was dressed in a fitted white t-shirt that clung to his broad chest and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination. My stomach flipped as his blue eyes locked onto mine.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Can’t sleep?”

“No, uh… just thirsty,” I said quickly, hoping he couldn’t hear how fast my heart was pounding.

He nodded, stepping closer with an ease that felt deliberate. “Well, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” I stammered, my hand on the fridge handle.

He stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate. Gently, his large hand covered mine, pulling it away from the handle with a firm but careful grip. “Please, let me, son,” he said, his voice low and steady.

The contact sent a dizzying jolt through me, his warm hand lingering just a second too long before he opened the fridge himself. I stepped back, trying to catch my breath, but it didn’t help. The faint scent of him—clean, masculine, with just a hint of cologne—filled the air, making my head spin.

Jordan grabbed a jug of water, then reached into the cabinet for a glass. “Here,” he said, his voice still soft as he set it on the counter in front of me. Slowly, he poured the water into the glass, his eyes never leaving mine. The quiet sound of the water filling the glass felt deafening and I could’ve sworn I saw the faintest twitch in his sweatpants. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on my water.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing under his watchful gaze. His lips curved into a faint smile as he slid the glass toward me, his fingers brushing mine briefly. “Drink,” he said simply.

I obeyed, bringing the glass to my lips and taking a sip, though my hands trembled slightly. His eyes followed every movement, and for a moment,

“You okay?” he asked, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed casually, though his gaze was anything but.

“Yes,” I managed to croak, my voice embarrassingly hoarse. “Thank you.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “No problem, Wyatt. If you need anything, I’m right here,” he said, his voice carrying that same commanding, velvet tone. His eyes lingered on me for another beat before he turned and walked away, leaving me breathless and burning with questions I couldn’t begin to answer.

I should have left it at that, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. By the time I went to bed, I was restless, the image of his broad shoulders, confident stride and that bulge of his playing on a loop in my mind. I tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity before finally deciding to get up.

Padding quietly down the hall, I froze when I saw the faint glow of light coming from the living room. Curious, I peeked around the corner—and my breath caught.

Jordan was on the couch, shirtless, his laptop balanced on one knee. His sweatpants had slipped dangerously low on his hips, revealing the defined V-line of his abs and the faint trace of his pubes. He looked up when he noticed me, his expression unreadable.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head, stepping closer without thinking. “No. I, uh…

His gaze swept over me, and for the first time, I thought I saw something more than polite interest in his eyes. “You seem tense,” he said, closing his laptop. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, though my heart was pounding. “I’m fine.”

He leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “You sure? You can sit if you want.”

I hesitated, then crossed the room, sitting as far from him as possible on the couch. But the distance didn’t help. His scent—clean, masculine, intoxicating—wrapped around me, and the heat radiating from his body made it impossible to think straight.

“You’re staring,” he said after a moment, his voice low and teasing.

I flushed, looking away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I don’t mind.”

My gaze flicked back to him, and the look in his eyes made my stomach flip. He wasn’t just being polite anymore. He was daring me. Testing me. And before I could stop myself, I leaned in.

The kiss was careful at first, my lips brushing against his like I wasn’t sure if he’d pull away. But then his hand cupped the back of my neck, and suddenly he was kissing me back, hard and desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as I had.

His body pressed against mine as he guided me onto the couch, his hands roaming over my chest, leaving trails of heat in their wake. My fingers tangled in his hair as I moaned into his mouth, the weight of him pinning me down in the most delicious way.