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Dad studied the fibers in the tablecloth. “Thatcher?—”
I didn’t know what my dad was about to say, or what I hoped for him to say. I just knew things felt shitty for both of us, and it wouldn’t be bad to just sit in it for a second. We were the only two who could relate to the issue in this particular way. It affected us both, my gram’s health, and I just… I don’t know, wanted to talk to him about it.
“It’s a client. I.” Dad paused, studying his device. My dad didn’t generally do texts, but he was studying his screen after a buzz came in. He faced me. “It’s unfortunately an urgent matter I can’t ignore. It requires me to head back to the office.”
Which meant our lunch was done, and of course, I wouldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t have ended our lunch for anything trivial, and I knew that.
My hand gripped my Coke glass, and I studied the bread as my dad wrapped up the meal and motioned our server. There was still steam on the bread, but that was okay I didn’t get to taste it.
I had a feeling it wouldn’t taste right in my mouth anyway.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Aspen
Sunglasses obviously weren’t a good enough fucking disguise outside of that Italian restaurant.
Especially since he’d already seen me.
Thatcher and his dad immediately spotted me on the bench I occupied when they exited the restaurant, and my stomach dropped into my ass. The swirl of nausea only increased when the father-and-son pair pivoted in my direction, the two like dual colossal trucks, and my butt was out here like a sitting fucking duck.
Shit.
Telling Thatcher off had felt like a better idea when I’d been inside, and well, around other people. He’d proved in the past he didn’t generally give a shit about that, but he did give a shit about his father being around. That had completely rolled off him today inside the restaurant. He stood straighter in front of his father and delicately chose his words. He cared what his father thought, and I banked on that.
I mean, that was why I’d brought Mr. Reed in.
It was the only thing I could think of to keep his son in check, and I guess Thatcher and I had something in common. I was very aware of the things I said around my mother as well and certainly how I acted. That was about where my similarities with a certain Punisher ended, and I was forced to acknowledge both Thatcher and his father when they headed my way.
“Miss Davis?” Mr. Reed questioned, striding toward me. His son flanked him, and Thatcher’s expression was smug to his father’s right. He had his hands tucked firmly in the pockets of pleated pants that hugged his gargantuan thighs, and needless to say, they were a sharp contrast from his tattered jeans at the rave. Also different was the dress shirt he wore. His thick pecs and broad shoulders expanded the shirt to the brink of its seams. In fact, the button holes stretched every stride he took beside his father, and his ability to code-switch was quite frankly alarming as fuck. He had dirty, rave fuckboy and dashing, country-club playboy down, and there wasn’t one part he played better than the other. They were both well-versed. Dangerous.
That danger highlighted his glacial eyes and locked my stomach the hell up. I didn’t like how much fear he put in me, but at least fear was normal. He’d hurt me, then fucked me knowing he’d hurt me. Being scared of this tool was completely normal. What wasn’t was observing what he wore down to his fucking patent leather shoes, or wondering if his ability to code-switch stopped at his clothing choices. If he was more playboy or fuckboy behind closed doors and which one did he use more to get himself (and a partner) off…
No, that wasn’t normal. My stomach locked for a different reason, and it was like Thatcher’s ass knew my fucking thoughts. A dark gleam hit his eyes standing in front of me, and I focused away from that to his dad. From the far-off spaces of my mind, I heard Mr. Reed ask me if everything was all right.
Oh, right.
I supposed it was unusual I was sitting here… on a bench. I’d been sitting for about twenty minutes waiting for a car to pick me up. I lifted my phone. “I’m waiting for a rideshare, but it keeps getting canceled.”
I didn’t know if some event was going on or what, but every time I got assigned a driver, they’d cancel.
Mr. Reed’s head lifted upon my explanation, and I was surprised to see them both out here. I’d figured they’d be ordering lunch or something. Not that someone couldn’t eat lunch in twenty minutes, but that seemed fast.
I asked Mr. Reed if lunch was okay, and his son bristled for some reason. In fact, Thatcher’s entire demeanor changed. His attention hit the passing cars on the street, and Mr. Reed faced him.
“Had to cut things short today, I’m afraid,” Mr. Reed explained before smiling pleasantly at me. It was kind of crazy how two people could look so similar but come off completely different. Mr. Reed has his own intimidation factor, but he didn’t come across as evil like his son did. Just intense. He placed a hand on Thatcher’s shoulder. “Work. But we will reschedule.”
Thatcher’s nod was subtle, and during his silence, Mr. Reed asked if I needed a car called. I started to take him up on the offer…
“Actually, Dad. I can take Aspen home. We both stay near campus.”
My head swung in Thatcher’s direction, and that dark flare in his eyes was back again. It’d been devious-looking in our previous interactions, but it felt different now.
It felt cold.
He had a vacancy that reminded me of that boy back at the cabin.
