Chapter 3

The girls looked at each other for a long time, as if none of them actually believed what they were about to do. Then Jess broke the spell, exhaling through her nose—sharp, deliberate—before starting to type on her smartphone. “Right. Here, tomorrow after school.” Her thumbs flew across the screen. “Bring notes.”

Sophie blinked. “Notes?”

“Seduction notes,” Jess clarified, as if it were obvious. She angled her screen toward them, displaying a bullet-pointed list titled OPERATION ICLUB in all caps. “We’re not just winging this like some Year 9 house party snog. This is strategy.”

Gemma, still pink-cheeked from Mia’s impromptu tongue demonstration, leaned in. The first bullet point glowed back at them: 1. Identify each dad’s kryptonite (weaknesses/turn-ons).

“Kryptonite?” Mia echoed, popping a fresh piece of gum between her teeth. “What is this, a fucking superhero movie?”

Jess tapped her phone screen with the precision of a general marking battle lines. As you said before, “our dads are good men,” she explained, the words landing like a judge’s gavel. “Which means they’d rather chew off their own arms than make a move on their daughters’ mates.” She flicked a glance at Sophie, her grin sharp. “Even if said mates are currently fantasizing about their dad bods.”

Gemma’s knee jerked, knocking against Sophie’s under the bench. “I never said—”

“Point is,” Jess bulldozed over her, swiping to the next bullet point—2. Exploit weaknesses—with a flourish, “we’re the hunters here. Not them.” She leaned in, the park bench creaking under her weight. “And every bloke has a crack in his armor. Even dads.”

Gema’s nail tapped against the wooden slats. “My dad’s weakness is classic cars and Top Gear reruns. How’s that helpful?”

Jess rolled her eyes so hard Sophie swore she heard them click. “Sex preferences, you absolute wombat,” she clarified, flicking a discarded gum wrapper at Gemma’s forehead. “What porn does he jerk off to? What kind of underwear did he use to buy your mum?” She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “My dad thinks his ‘private browsing’ is fucking stealth mode. I found his incognito tabs last month—all ‘stepdad’ crap and big tits. Classic.”

Sophie’s stomach did a slow flip. The idea of snooping through her dad’s browser history felt like prying open a diary with a crowbar—intimate and vaguely violent. “What if he doesn’t have porn?” she blurted, chewing her lower lip. “What if he’s just ... sad and lonely with a sock?”

Gemma snorted, adjusting her cheer skirt with a sharp jerk. “Then be the porn, Soph. Christ, it’s not rocket science.” She mimed unbuttoning a blouse with exaggerated slowness, her eyes glinting. “Dress like whatever his search history wishes it could find. Boom. Instant kryptonite.”

Mia, who’d been unusually quiet, blew a bubble until it popped with a sound like a firecracker. “My dad’s into feet,” she announced, as casually as if she’d just remarked on the weather.

The collective silence lasted exactly three seconds before Sophie gagged loudly into her hands. “Feet? Like—feet feet? The things that touch public toilet floors?”

Jess rolled her eyes again. “Oh please. We’re literally planning to fuck our dads, and feet is where you draw the line?” She turned her phone screen off. “If anything, Mia’s dad’s foot thing makes him the easiest mark here. Least he’s got a specific kink instead of just”—she waved a hand vaguely—”generic dad loneliness.”

Gemma wrinkled her nose, examining her own pedicured toes through her tights. “But like ... how do you even seduce someone with feet? Just ... wiggle them suggestively?” She demonstrated, revealing her bubblegum-pink nails—which Mia immediately grabbed, yanking Gemma’s foot into her lap with a yelp.

“Ow, what the—”

Mia’s thumbs dug into Gemma’s arch without warning, pressing hard enough to make her toes curl. “Like this, you knob,” she muttered, kneading the sole with the same focused intensity she used to stretch before track meets. Gemma’s protest died in her throat, replaced by a startled moan that echoed off the park benches.

Jess’s eyes lit up with predatory amusement as Gemma squirmed under Mia’s relentless foot massage. “Hold up,” she interrupted, kicking her own trainers off with a careless flick. Her bare feet—pale and dotted with fading henna from last summer’s festival—landed on the bench with a thud. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have my feet worshipped.” She wiggled her toes experimentally, the chipped black polish catching the sunlight. “Mia’s dad’s mine.”

Gemma’s toes curled involuntarily as Mia’s thumbs dug into the arch of her foot, her breath hitching in a way that had nothing to do with the crisp autumn air. “Fuck,” she muttered, gripping the park bench as Mia hit a spot that sent sparks up her calf. “Okay, yeah. I get it now.”

Jess smirked, stretching her own feet toward Mia like a queen offering her jewels. “Told you,” she said, wiggling her toes. “Everyone’s got a thing. Mia’s dad just happens to have excellent taste.”

Sophie watched, half-horrified and half-fascinated, as Mia abandoned Gemma’s foot abruptly and took Jess’s foot with the reverence of a priestess handling a relic. Her fingertips traced the delicate bones, pausing at the dip where the ankle met heel. When Mia’s tongue darted out to lick a slow stripe along the sole, Jess’s sharp gasp cut through the park’s quiet like a knife.

“Right,” Mia said. “So we agreed?” Her gaze swept over them, lingering on Sophie’s flushed cheeks. “We find each dad’s exact kryptonite. No half-arsed seductions. We go in armed.”

The park gates clanged shut behind them with finality, splitting the group like a knife through wet cake. Gemma peeled off first, her cheerleader’s skirt swishing with each step as she headed toward the bus stop without looking back—though Sophie could’ve sworn she saw Gemma’s fingers brush her own lips once, twice, like she was checking for Mia’s lingering gloss.