“You were right. Finishing your thesis during the first semester really was a good idea.”

I glance over my shoulder where the boss is tidying up the kitchen with his shirt off, my phone tucked between my shoulder and ear. Ryan throws a look over his shoulder and smiles at me, his broad shoulders moving as he rinses out the sake glasses.

Heat spreads inside my chest when we lock eyes. I continue into the hallway off his kitchen and duck into his small recording studio tucked in the eastern wing of his home, where he also has one of his guest rooms and his movie screening room to take my call with Dad.

I never miss my weekly chats with Dad, no matter how much might be going on. Even if I have a test to cram for, or if I have PMS cramps and all I want to do is lay down in bed with a glass of red wine and veg out with a Real Housewives marathon, I always talk to dad at seven on Wednesdays. We check in regularly throughout the week, too, but that’s our time to catch up on anything we might have missed.

“It really freed up time to focus on other things this semester. And now I can take a little bit of a breather before I graduate.”

“Honey, I think most people look forward to graduating so they can take a break once they get out of school. You’re probably the first young person ever who is looking forward to working their butt off once they graduate.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I hit speaker on my phone and flop down in the big leather desk chair in front of the recording controls, tracing my finger along the edge of the mic. It feels nice in here, thinking about how Ryan must like to abscond when he really feels compelled to record, or if he has to get something off his chest.

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic right now, but I’ll just say you’re welcome. And you can tell me you told me so if you want to.”

“Dad, I would never say that.” I smile to myself as I glance at my phone.

“But you’re thinking it,” my dad laughs.

“You always could read my mind.”

“So what else do you have on the schedule this semester? I know you finished up the thesis in January, and I know you have the internship. So what else you got?”

“Let’s see. I only have two other classes, molecular bio 2 and chemistry for premed students.”

“Premed?” dad asks. “I thought you were a bio major.”

I sigh and lean back in the chair, crossing my legs at the ankles and folding my hands across my stomach. Every time I mention something to dad about the possibility of med school, he tenses up. I know it has everything to do with my mom, and it’s frustrating. He wants to protect me and shield me from the ugliness of the world and what can happen when we see people in pain, and I understand where he’s coming from. That’s why it’s always been so hard to talk to him about my ambitions.

“I am a bio major,” I say, “but you know I’ve always had the idea of med school in the back of my mind.”

“How is the internship going?”

I haven’t told dad that I’m interning on Dirty After Dark - I don’t know how I’d be able to tell him. I don’t even think he knows I know what sex is.

“The internship is great,” I say, just hoping he won’t ask many more questions. “Learning a lot. They’ve even given me this project where I get to do research on my own and create actual content for the show.” I intentionally leave out the trip to New York and the bonus. I don’t need him knowing about me and my boss traveling and staying in a hotel together...and possibly more. “How are you doing? How is Kathy?”

“She’s good,” he says. “We’re thinking about going down to wine country for a weekend coming up.”

“I’m really happy for you, Dad,” I sit up and rest my elbows on the armrests. “That’s really nice. And she’s a good cook, right?”

“That’s such a you question,” he says, laughing. “But yes, Kathy is a superb cook. You’re going to meet her soon, I’m sure.”

Kathy’s a woman my dad met on a dating site about six months ago. So much time has passed since mom died, and it’s hard for me to admit that it’s taken this long for dad to be able to open up again.

“I’m really looking forward to meeting her,” I say.

“Oh,” dad says, “she’s actually calling me right now. I’m going to her house tonight for some homemade pasta.”

“Dad, look at you. You’re a romancer.”

“Well, if I were romancing her, I’d be the one cooking. Anyway, give me a head’s up when your research is appearing on the podcast. I won’t miss it.”

I smile to myself and laugh a little. I shouldn’t have mentioned my research airing on the show; I should have known he’d want to check it out. “Okay, Dad,” I say without really thinking. I’ll figure that one out later. “Have a terrific evening.”

We say our goodbyes and hang up. I cherish our weekly chats, and I think of my dad with so much admiration and respect. It couldn’t have been easy to raise a girl as a single dad, but he never made it seem like he was struggling. He handled everything with care and a smile, and if he was ever having a bad time, he never let it show Even though I know he struggled with the loss, he didn’t show that he was struggling to raise me. It was hard for me to not really know my mom, but my dad did everything he could to make it easier on me. He kept things together for both of us when he could have just fallen apart.

I hear a knock at the door and my fingers float to my lips. I really shouldn’t be snooping around like this in my boss’ house.

“Sara,” Ryan says, opening the door and ducking in, “here you are. For a second I thought you left me.”

“In this?” I ask, opening my arms to remind him that I’m wearing one of his white button-downs. “There’s only room for one Uma in this town.”

He smiles and comes up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. A calmness runs through my veins, penetrating my bones.

“You talking to one of the other guys you’re dating?” he asks, bringing my hair into his hands and slipping his fingers through it, sending a tingle down my spine.

“No,” I say. “It was my dad. I talk to him every week.”

“Oh?” Ryan comes around in front of me and leans back against the edge of the control board. “Just your dad?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Just dad.

Ryan scrubs the side of his face with his hand and sends me a sidelong smile.

“So tell me about the old man,” he says, sliding closer to me. “Wait,” he adds. “I already know a lot about him.”

“You do?” I smile, looking up at Ryan. In the darkness of the booth, he’s right at home, and a flutter of excitement uncurls inside my stomach. “What do you think you know about my dad?”

“Your dad is a good guy. I know that because his daughter is amazing.”

I feel my cheeks color as Ryan goes on, leaning back and supporting himself with his two strong hands, his forearms flexing under his weight.

“What else do you think you know?”

“That’s pretty much it,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “But that’s the most important thing you need to know about someone, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s important, yes,” I say, “but I think you can also learn a lot about people by how they treat people who aren’t their family,” I say. “You know what I mean? By how people treat those who they aren’t going to necessarily see again. Waiters, cab drivers. Is that silly?”

“Not at all,” Ryan says, dipping his hand behind my neck and caressing my cheek tenderly with his thumb. “That’s a nice way of looking at things.”

“Look at you, for instance,” I say. “You open your home every week to people, and you give them free food and drinks and you really don’t expect anything in return.”

“That’s not exactly true, honey.” He laughs and puts his hand out as I place mine in his. Ryan pulls me against his chest and nuzzles against my neck with his cheek. His strong chest supports me as his arms wrap me up. “I get by okay.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do all this extra stuff. Opening your home up every week is really nice. And look at me, at everything you’ve done for me.”

“Okay,” he says, “first of all, you’re the only person I ever invited to the pool party. I don’t know how these other people even got my address. Everyone just shows up when they hear there’s a big pool and chicken sliders and all the Moet you want.”

“Chicken sliders and champagne,” I say, turning my head to see his handsome grin.

“Just keeping it real,” he replies. “And my generosity did get me something. It got me you.”

My heart flutters as he pulls me against him, the heat from his chest radiating against me, keeping me braced and steady.

“We know your dad is a good guy,” he says, “so Mrs. Montgomery must be an amazing woman.”

It’s not something I talk about a lot, the way Mom passed away when I was young, the way her passing left Dad and me on our own without a compass to guide us. But we somehow braved the storm, and Dad was my rock. Somehow, he was able to do everything on his own.

“Mrs. Montgomery was amazing,” I sigh, slipping away from Ryan and leaning against the control board next to him.

“Was,” he repeats, taking my hand.

I have a little speech prepared for when I’m asked about my parents. There’s not a lot to say, but it does come up every so often, with friends at school or on interviews. Every young person is asked about their family, and I don’t think my interlocutors are ever trying to be rude. It’s not a rude question at all - family is a constant for everyone, after all. Everyone has one, even if it’s of their own making, or if the circumstances surrounding the topic are not ideal, or even if they’re painful.

My speech is designed to let my questioner off the hook easy. It’s so that I can protect myself from the pain of the answer and still convey the truth.

But when I try to give my speech, it never comes out right; right now, with Ryan, is no exception.

“It’s okay,” I say. “There’s really not much to say. My mom died when I was young. Me and Dad had to make due with everything on our own.”

“Any aunts or uncles to help out?”

“Not really,” I say as Ryan’s arm wraps around my shoulder. “My dad has a sister, but she lives in Colorado. It really was just dad and me.”

I don’t cry over her now; I never cry over her.

“What was her name?”

“It was Julia,” I say, looking up at Ryan as he tips a finger under my chin.

“That’s pretty,” he says. “Is she the reason you want to study medicine?”

“Actually, yes. But I don’t know if I can get there. Just studying biology is a good substitute. Maybe I can write articles for one of the popular science magazines.”

“Hm,” Ryan says, smirking. “I can see it now. The Benefits of Having Sex Every Day by Sara Montgomery. Has a nice ring to it. I might even purchase a subscription for that.”

“Right,” I say sarcastically. “That sounds just like something I would write. Just make sure to hide it from Dad.”

“Well, then you could always pursue medicine instead. Why do you think you won’t get there, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “My dad thinks it would be too painful to be around sick people.”

“I understand that,” Ryan replies. “But think about all of the people who you’d be able to help.”

“Just like you.” I bump my shoulder into Ryan and he captures me with a kiss. “You’re like a doctor in a way.”

“Then let me examine you.” He breaks our kiss and looks me in the eyes with hunger and lust. “Strip.”

Desire fills me as his hands come down on my shoulders, slipping under the white button-down I’m wearing. I melt in his hands as he claims me, our mouths entwined with passion.

I need this job. I need a clean and spotless recommendation from him, a letter stating I remained in good standing with his show, with Dirty After Dark Inc, that I was on time and went above and beyond and kept myself cheerful and helpful at all times. I don’t need this to be marred by anything less than absolutely clean as a whistle.

But he finally gave me that kiss he promised me. The one he tempted me with, the one that I was begging for. The kiss that never was, that stopped me in my tracks and made me think about it over and over, even though I hadn’t been graced with it yet. The phantom kiss that I felt on my lips even before his had touched me.

And then he gave me even more.

The show is educational. The show is a public service. It’s good, clean fun.

Then why can’t I stop getting dirty with my boss?