Caregiver | H.S.

II

"You know how they say I only have eyes for you, well you better be looking back at me babe."

           Chapter song: Pretty Boys Cry - Adore Delano

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Eva's P.O.V.

I watched as my mother puts her luggage away in the trunk of her car and got into it as she started it up. She already said her goodbyes to me and told Harry everything he needed to know.

    She is to go to school every day and come home right after. She may hang out with Kasey. No boys allowed whatsoever. Curfew is 11 P.M. sharp, not one minute later.

That phrase will forever be stuck in my mind as I have heard it a countless number of times. I'm usually stuck with an old woman for a babysitter, so it was always easy to sneak out. But with having Harry here, it might be a little tricky.

I look over at Harry and I notice his eyebrows are furrowed as he's reading whatever it is on his phone. I only now notice how tall he is. He has to be at least six feet tall, which makes my measly height of four feet ten inches nothing to him.

I've always had a thing for older men. Men are like a fine wine, they only get better with age. My father has never been in my life and never will be. So you could say that I have some daddy issues. Harry is perfect daddy material. Plus I don't see a ring on his finger.

I decide to break the silence and get his attention.

"Harry," I say to which he instantly snaps his head toward me.

"Yes, Eva?" He says as he locks his phone and puts it in his pocket, giving me his full attention.

"Can we get to know each other?" I questioned, desperately wanting to know more about this man.

"Sure, wanna ask questions back and forth?" He asked.

I nodded, my long brown hair bouncing on either side. "I'll go first," I paused, thinking of a question. I decided to not beat around the bush and be straightforward.

"Are you single?" I asked him.

He cocked one of his eyebrows in confusion and slightly smirked. "I am single," He coughed. "How old are you?" He asked back.

"16," I responded. "How old are you?"

"32," His voice rasped, sending shivers down my spine.

32! He's freaking 32! He's old enough to be my father. The thought of me calling him daddy while he holds me down and thrusts his cock into me makes my panties dampen. I quickly push the thought aside.

"What's your favorite color?" He asked me.

"Magenta." I instantly said.

A question pops up in my mind. I need to ask him this. I have to know.

"Do you like younger women?"

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