July 4th With His Best Friend's Daughter Read online

  July 4th With His Best Friend’s Daughter

  A Protective Possessive Instalove Romance

  Regina Wade

  Copyright © 2020 by Regina Wade

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Star Spangled Playlist:

  1. Cassidy

  2. Cole

  3. Cassidy

  4. Cole

  5. Cassidy

  6. Cole

  7. Cassidy

  8. Cole

  9. Cassidy

  10. Cole

  Epilogue One - Cassidy

  Epilogue Two - Cole

  Join my Mailing List:

  Her Big Brother’s Best Friend

  Her Billionaire Boss

  Protecting Her Heart Series:

  Also by Regina Wade

  About the Author

  Star Spangled Playlist:

  Party in the USA, Miley Cyrus

  American Girl, Tom Petty

  American Woman, The Guess Who

  American Pie, Don McLean

  R.O.C.K in the USA, John Mellencamp

  American Honey, Lady Antebellum

  Sweet Home Alabama, Lynyrd Skynyrd

  American Saturday Night, Brad Paisley

  All American Girl, Carrie Underwood

  Red Solo Cup, Toby Keith

  Chapter 1

  Cassidy

  I put my hands up, they’re playing my song. Noddin’ my head like yeah. Movin’ my hips like yeah. — Miley Cyrus, ‘Party in the USA’

  The lake comes into view up ahead.

  Almost unconsciously, I find myself taking a deeper breath. The drive from The University of Chicago to Lake Geneva in Wisconsin is only about two hours, but the two places really are worlds apart. I can’t believe it’s taken me almost four years to make it back here for the Fourth of July.

  Guilt threatens to crawl up into my throat when I think about how long it’s been since I’ve spent the summer with my father, but I tamp it down. It’s not like I haven’t seen dad at all since I left for college. He was the one to help me pack up and drive me out to my first dorm, after all. We’ve visited several times, and I talk to him every Saturday afternoon like clockwork to fill each other in on every detail of each other’s lives. Unlike so many of my friends, my parent’s divorce was amicable, and I’ll be forever grateful for that.

  But with my mom’s townhouse just a short drive from my campus, it’s always seemed to make the most sense for me to spend summers with her in the city. Summer jobs, classes to help get ahead on my degree, not wanting to give up a steady WiFi connection. The reasons always made perfect sense at the time.

  Dad’s always understood, even encouraging me to go out with friends and explore museums and art galleries instead of hanging out with him at his summer house on the lake like I used to before I left for college.

  Now, watching the sparkling blue water and brilliant green trees stretching out in front of me like a painting, it hits me just how much I’ve missed the long Fourth of July holiday weekends on the water. Swimming, grilling, waterskiing, lounging around in the sun…

  There’s so much about being here that I associate with the long, warm days of summer. It’s nostalgic in the best way; relaxing and fun. The kind of summer vacation I didn’t realize I needed until just now. I roll down the window to my battered little pickup truck— another one of dad’s hand me downs.

  Even a couple miles out, the scent of lighter fluid, hot dogs, and fresh air is ripe on the afternoon breeze. Excitement and anticipation squirm around inside me.

  The feelings blossom into outright glee a few minutes later as the truck coasts up the last few miles to the lake’s edge. The dark blue clapboard house looks just the way it did the last time I was here. A gravel driveway leads up to the screened-in porch, where I know a weather-battered swing waits for me to sit and watch the sun sink over the water later. Out back, a giant oak casts shade over the built-in barbecue.

  Right away I see that my dad’s newer truck isn’t already sitting in the driveway. Realizing that I beat him to the lake for the weekend only makes my surprise even better. I coast up the road a little, parking beneath the dappled shade of another ancient tree. I have plenty of time to get settled in and go for a swim before he gets here.

  This was the best idea ever.

  I’ve had a key to the summer house on my key ring for as far back as I can remember. This is our place. Which is good, considering the fact that it’s still fairly early in the afternoon. If the previous twenty-three years of my life are any indication, I figure dad’s probably going to be a little late at the office wrapping things up before taking vacation for the week.

  I’m inside the house and in my old room in record time. Nothing’s different in the space. From the pale purple comforter I had to have as an awkward brace-faced eighteen-year-old to the wall full of vintage sixties rocker posters, everything in this bedroom has a story. It’s the smallest of the three bedrooms, but I fell in love with it because of the view. The huge bay window looks over the lake, and I used to love curling up in the window seat on warm summer mornings, watching the play of sunlight on water.

  My suitcase hits the bed, zipper flying open as I rummage around.

  “Come on, where are you?” I mumble to the empty room and pile of haphazard clothes I threw in the bag before leaving my dorm. “Aha!”

  The swimsuit was hiding under a pile of clean socks and two bottles of sunscreen. I toss the socks into a corner before putting on both the bathing suit and the SPF. A pair of shorts and a big sun hat later and I’m ready to hit the water.

  It’s a short walk from the front door to the dock. One of the reasons we fell in love with this house was its proximity to the water. I know the path from the house to the gentle incline where the sand gives way into the water by heart.

  There are already a few people crowded around the shore on this side. College kids— around my age, I note, and all guys. I try not to let it sour my mood, but it isn’t easy. One of the things I’m most looking forward to getting away from this summer is dealing with the tedious things about college. Especially the college boys.

  I had such high hopes, headed into a big University in a big city. Maybe I’m just not made of the same stuff, cut out from the same cloth, as so many of my friends at school. Most boys my age are just so… tiresome.

  I do my best to ignore the clutch of frat boys. Instead, I scoot past them to dip into the coolness of the water, officially kicking off my Fourth of July weekend.

  Chapter 2

  Cole

  Well she was an American girl. Raised on promises. — Tom Petty, ‘American Girl

  “Hey baby. Come here, let me show you some real fireworks.”

  The voice carries on the breeze coming in off the water, setting my teeth on edge.

  This is the fourth year my best friend David invited me up to Lake Geneva with him for the week of the Fourth. Summer vacations used to be something Dave and his daughter looked forward to all year. Then Cassidy left for college in Chicago, and David started talking about selling the summer house. He was happy that his little girl was growing up, moving on to other interests. He’s always been a great dad, encouraging Cassie when it came to developing her individual tastes and hobbies. I remember the girl, face full of braces and constellations of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Crazy about art and music, though even as a kid, she could keep up with her dad with a
fishing pole or hunting rifle in her hand.

  Once Cassidy stopped coming home for the summer, Dave came to me to put the house on the market. On the surface, it made sense. I’ve been flipping property for nearly fifteen years. But the thought of getting rid of a place with so much heart nearly broke mine. Especially when I knew Dave would regret the decision. So instead of listing it under my real estate license, I just bought half the place from him.

  It was the perfect solution for both of us.

  Now, I have a weekend getaway an hour’s drive from the city, and my best friend gets to keep his vacation house— and all the memories that come with it.

  Plus, it means Dave and I get together for beers, fishing, and some time on the boat for a few days every Fourth of July weekend. Particularly convenient, since America and I happen to share a birthday.

  Even this early into the holiday weekend, the lake is already crowded with tourists and locals alike. Music is blaring from a Bluetooth speaker on a blanket near the shore as I park my car and head out towards the water. I crest the small bank separating the stretch of grass from the soft sand of the lake’s shore. There’s a group of college-aged kids crowded near the water’s edge near the blanket and a massive cooler filled to the brim with ice and cans. But it’s one of the guys in particular that catches my attention. It was his aggressive tone that I heard when I first pulled up. He’s the only one from the group already in the water.

  He’s got the jacked-up build of a scholarship football player— all gym-bought muscles and entitled sneer. As I get closer I can see he’s trying to tug someone out of the water that clearly doesn’t want to be removed.

  “I said come here. I just want to talk to you—” His hand digs into the woman’s forearm.

  “Ow!” She cries out against the bite of his big sausage fingers into her tender flesh. “You’re hurting me. I said no. Leave me alone!”

  A red haze swims in front of my vision at the scene playing out in front of me. I’m not big on violence in general. But there are certain things I won’t ever abide, and disrespect for women is one of them.

  I’m in the water in two strides. A lifetime of home renovation and carpentry skill builds the kinds of muscles that this kid’s personal trainer could never pilates him into. His arm is in my hand, his fingers peeled back from the woman’s forearm, before he realizes what’s happening.

  “What the hell man. That hurts—” he stumbles backward, scrabbling for purchase.

  I’m vaguely aware of the woman moving in my peripheral vision as I move in closer to the creepy little twerp.

  “Funny, that didn’t seem to matter when you were doing it to someone else.” It takes every ounce of restraint in me not to pound his face into the sand. “Get lost. Don’t let me catch you anywhere on the lake again until you learn not to be a dick.”

  He’s still gripping his wrist, clutching the arm to his chest as he hustles off towards his friends on the sand. I watch until they disappear over the grass and into the parking lot, leaving the beer behind.

  “Thank you.” The voice comes from right beside me. It’s quiet, hardly more than a whisper. For the first time since rushing into the lake, I take a good look at the woman I came in here to save.

  And just like that, my heart stops. Time slows to a crawl, lurches forward, slams into itself.

  She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Beneath the wide brim of a sunhat, pale blonde hair falls like ribbons of spun sunshine halfway down her back. An upturned nose peeks out from under a light dusting of golden freckles. Her eyes are golden brown, soaking up the morning sunshine. Everything about her is warm.

  She’s wearing a pair of cutoff shorts over her one-piece bathing suit, but even that can’t hide her curves. I can’t help but drag my eyes across the swell of her breasts, the nip of her waist and the magnificent way her hips jut out. Finally, I meet her honey eyes again.

  “Thanks,” she says again. Louder this time, clearly thinking I hadn’t heard her the first time.

  As if the sweet, hesitant sound of her voice won’t be burned into my mind for the rest of my life.

  I take a step closer to the curvy blonde, splashing a bit of cool water up both of our thighs.

  With the light streaming across her face, she looks like a sexy angel, haloed in sunshine and a blue polka-dot bathing suit. I don’t have the willpower to keep my eyes from wandering to the deep vee at the front of her suit.

  I want to pull her into my arms, carry her off to my car. I want to keep her safe from assholes like that for the rest of her life. I want to bury myself in between the thickness of her thighs until she forgets other men exist.

  “Are you alright?” I ask her instead.

  Chapter 3

  Cassidy

  American woman, stay away from me. American woman, momma let me be. — The Guess Who, ‘American Woman’

  My first crush was Ringo Starr. I found a vintage Beatles poster at a rummage sale in junior high and swooned over the black and white image for an entire spring break while my friends went nuts over every superhero blockbuster hitting theaters.

  Not long after that, though, I fell in love for the first time. Hard.

  Cole Watson is my dad’s best friend. I remember him being around a lot during my parent’s divorce, a comforting ear when my dad needed one.

  Mostly, though, I’ll never forget the way Cole is the only man in my life that’s ever been able to make my heart do somersaults. For as long as I can remember, I’ve known that I’ve been in love with my dad’s best friend. Not a schoolgirl, Ringo Starr Poster on the Wall crush. Cole makes me feel things I never thought possible.

  It’s been four years since I’ve seen Cole. I thought going to college, being around guys my own age, might make dim some of my feelings for him. I thought I could distract myself from my feelings for him. I thought staying away would be enough.

  I was wrong. There hasn’t been a single day since I left for college that I haven’t thought about Cole.

  The second I saw a massive man stride into the water, teeth bared in a protective snarl, I knew who it was. It’s hard to miss Cole Watson— six feet six inches of pure muscle, honed over years of working with his hands. His hair is as black as when I left, nearly blue at the tips where the sun is teasing his short cut.

  “Here, let me see—” Cole reaches out, takes my wrist in his much larger hand. The gentle way he turns my arm over, inspecting it for damage makes my heart and stomach clench in unison.

  “I’m ok. I’m fine now that you’re here.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  I have no idea what Cole is doing at my dad’s summer house, or why he showed up when he did, but the relief in me is palpable. Being near Cole for the first time in four years is like being able to take a full breath for the first time since leaving.

  Cole’s eyes, always the most spectacular shade of blue, deepen to two fiery jewels at my words. His dark brows come together, furrowed in sudden anger as he sees the imprint of a bruise starting to form on my forearm.

  “He hurt you,” he growls, rubbing his thumb over the round, thumb-shaped mark. “I’m sorry. What a disrespectful little shit.”

  My free hand comes up to Cole’s chest before I can stop myself. He feels like solid steel under the thin cotton of his tee-shirt. Beneath my palm, his heartbeat ticks up a notch at the contact. It seems only fair, since my own pulse just went into the stratosphere.

  “Don’t be,” I tilt my head up to get a better look at his face. “I’m just glad you were here.”

  God, I’ve missed him.

  There’s a secret thrill running up through my spine. The last time Cole saw me, I was packing up my room to leave for college. I still had a face full of braces and I’d yet to discover the miracles of skincare and good conditioner. This is the first time in my life that Cole has looked at me like this. Like a woman and not the pigtailed daughter of his best friend.

  Around us, further down the lake, ki
ds are splashing around in the water. Families are stretched out in the sand, and couples are sidled together on big blankets along the grassy lawns. But right here, in the shallow shore, there’s nothing but the two of us. Time seems to have stood still, electricity dancing along my skin where Cole’s fingers are still touching me.

  I can’t count the number of times I’ve wanted exactly this; wanted him to spend just one moment looking at me with the same need and hunger I feel for him. Now that I have Cole’s fierce blue gaze locked on mine, I decide that a single moment isn’t enough.

  Before he can decide that it’s a bad idea, I press myself against the rigid strength of his chest. Cole inhales sharply, like my warm skin is enough to scald him through his black tee shirt.

  I understand completely. The feeling of his steel frame beneath my touch is burning me alive, too.

  I have to stand on my tiptoes to wind my arms around the corded muscles of his shoulders and neck. Cole responds automatically, his own big hands moving to encircle my waist. I’m not a small girl; not in the dainty, small-boned way so many others seem to be. But Cole’s sheer size seems to dwarf me, makes me feel tiny by comparison. I wonder if he can feel the frantic staccato of my heartbeat through my rib cage against his chest as I press myself against him.

  I can’t seem to get close enough.

  A hint of Cole’s dark stubble grazes my cheek as he leans down close. It brushes against the softness of my skin, sending shivers straight down my spine to settle between my thighs. There’s an ache there; a wetness that has nothing to do with the lake water sloshing gently between us.