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“Is this okay?” he asks. He’s so close to me now that I can smell his shampoo, or aftershave, or something vaguely spruce-like. I want to breathe it in deeply but resist the urge.
“Yes,” I murmur.
“So what exactly happened?” Rick smooths back my hair from my forehead to better see the wound. It’s hard not to lean into his warmth.
“Um,” I say eloquently. I wonder if I should confess that his daughter and I were at a party. Then, he’ll definitely know that I was drinking while underage. I decide that it is better to be honest, and am confident he won’t judge me too harshly. “We were at a frat party. Some guy started talking to me when I was outside, and he was… I guess, hitting on me a little too aggressively. I didn’t want him to, and he got mad and pushed me. I think I hit my head on the railing of the deck.”
“Are you kidding me?” Rick sits back on the stool, his brow creased in annoyance. “God, I am going to find that little fucker and…” He trails off, shakes his head, and smiles ruefully at me. “Sorry. I just can’t believe someone would do that to you.”
I shrug, secretly flattered that he’s so upset on my behalf. “Maybe he was drunk. I don’t know. I honestly hope I never see him again.” I shudder just thinking about it. “Everyone was really helpful and nice at the end, though.”
Rick rises to look at my wound again. He takes a warm wet cloth to it, cleaning away what little blood remains. Is my desire-addled mind playing tricks on me, or did he just caress the side of my face? I look searchingly into his eyes, and for a moment, he stares back just as intently. My lips part in wonder. Does he feel something for me too? But no, that can’t be possible. To him, I’ll always be just his daughter’s best friend.
Confirming my thoughts, he clears his throat and turns away from me, typing something onto the tablet. “I think you’re going to be just fine,” he says. “That wound doesn’t even require stitches. Sometimes head wounds--”
“Just bleed a lot,” I finish, laughing. “That’s what I kept trying to tell Bailey and Christopher, but they insisted on bringing me here.”
“They care about you,” he says, and puts his hand on my knee. “And I know Bailey loves you.” For one electric moment I imagine him sliding his hand up past the hem of my skirt and beyond… and then just as quickly, he removes it.
“I love her, too,” I say, desperate to fill the silence.
He looks at for a moment, his expression casual yet intense.
“What do you think about their relationship?”
The question catches me off-guard, and I blink a few times in surprise. I’ve never been anything but happy for Bailey and Chris, despite the age difference because it’s clear how much they care about each other, and how well they work together as a team. I just wish Bailey had told me sooner. That girl kept it a secret from me for months.
“I think they’re great together,” I say. “You can tell how crazy they are about each other. And I can’t wait to be an aunt!” I beam at Rick, and he laughs, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I’m not sure I am ready to be a grandpa,” he says ruefully, rubbing his face. “I’m a little young for that, don’t you think?” His chestnut hair is rumpled, and his tan skin creases slightly at the eyes as he smiles.
“You’ll be a hot grandpa,” I say, and immediately regret it. Rick quirks a curious brow at me, and I feel my face flame in a blush. Sometimes, I just wish I could keep my mouth shut.
“Thanks,” he finally says, laughing. “I’m not sure I agree but I appreciate the boost to my ego.”
Then, I quirk my head at him.
“Why are you asking about Bailey and Chris?” I question, wondering if he wants to discuss the age gap.
He looks at me sharply.
“I was concerned about the May December aspect at first,” he acknowledges, and I nod in understanding. I’m sure it would initially be startling to see your teenage daughter dating someone twice her age. “But Chris has been my friend for ages and he’s a good guy. Now …” His voice trails off, and he shoots me a look that’s impossible to read. Yet, it’s one I am desperate to understand. “Now, I guess it doesn’t seem so crazy,” he finishes.
As I struggle to gather my thoughts--what does that mean? What is he thinking?--he changes the subject.
“So what exactly were you doing at a frat party? And how in the world did you convince Bails to go with you?”
“Bailey is a great friend, that’s how,” I reply, grinning. “And I don’t know. I like parties because I like being around people, but they can be pretty overwhelming. And it just seems like the college thing to do, you know?”
