Silver Fox Neighbor Claims the College Babysitter

The first time Marcus Thompson looked at me like he wanted to devour me, I was wearing my faded pink sleep shorts and a thin tank top while his six-year-old daughter showed me her new dollhouse. I felt his stare on the backs of my thighs like a physical touch. I was nineteen, a sophomore who needed Friday-night cash, and he was fifty-two, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, with that low architect’s voice that made my nipples tighten every single time he said my name.

For four straight Fridays the tension had thickened until the air in his sleek modern house felt electric. He would come home just after eleven, loosen his tie, and watch me gather my things with those hungry blue eyes. I always pretended to be unaffected. I smiled politely, asked about his night, and tried not to squeeze my thighs together when his gaze dropped to the way my shorts rode up my ass as I bent to pick up my backpack.

Tonight was different.

I had just tucked Emma and little Ben into their beds when I heard the front door. Marcus’s footsteps were heavier than usual, almost deliberate. I met him in the kitchen, heart already racing. He looked devastating in a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing thick forearms dusted with silver hair. His eyes locked on mine and didn’t let go.

“Kids down?” he asked, voice like warm whiskey.

I nodded. “Out like lights.”

He didn’t move to pay me. Instead he reached into the wine fridge, pulled out an expensive-looking bottle, and poured two glasses. He slid one across the marble island until it stopped right in front of me.

“Drink with me, Hailey.”

I should have said no. I was the babysitter. Instead I wrapped my fingers around the stem and took a long, nervous sip. The wine was rich and dark, exactly like the look in his eyes.