When I stopped to sign a couple of autographs, my father witnessed my playful exchange with Summer after it. Like everyone when they see us together, he assumed we were a full-fledged couple, so I went to great lengths to prove him otherwise, only to undo my efforts mere hours later.
I take back my earlier assumption.
I’m a fucking idiot.
When Summer waves her hand in front of my face, drawing me from my thoughts, I say, “Sorry, what were we talking about? I zoned out. Too much alcohol does that to me.” That was a cheap fucking dodge, but I’ve been known for worse when endeavoring to dig myself out of a hole.
“Cubie,” she replies with cheeks nowhere near as bright and her smile nowhere near as bliss-filled. “You’re going to take her to training while I hail a cab for my meeting with Felix.”
“Right. Cubie.” I breathe out like I haven’t spotted her panties shredded at the foot of the bed we obviously utilized last night. “And your meeting starts at five?” When she nods, I say, “Then we should meet up after that. Say in the parking lot around six? We could grab an early dinner and spend the night in. After last night’s effort, I don’t feel like going out.”
I swear on my mother’s grave that my reply is solely based on not wanting another run-in with my father. It has nothing to do with the memories flashing up in my head, although Summer doesn’t see it that way. As her cheeks whiten, she mumbles, “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll meet you in the parking lot at six.”
When a knock sounds through our hotel room for the third time, I nudge my head to the door. “That’s probably housekeeping. I’ll ask them to come back in an hour so you have time to pamper yourself.”
My last two words are spaced by a husky moan when I remember how our exchange commenced last night. The image of Summer fondling her clit mere inches from my face is the stuff legends are made of. I couldn’t be harder if I tried, but I must tread carefully, or my inability to see my best friend asonlymy friend will hurt Summer more than me pretending I drank more than I did last night.
With the memory of what my mother went through in the forefront of my mind, I wait for Summer to issue her thanks with a halfhearted smile before moving for the door. Although she slips behind the bathroom door just as quickly, our departures aren’t quite fast enough to skip an interrogation about what happened last night.
“Hey, Lennox?” When I crank my neck back to face her, conscious of her next set of words before she’s articulated them, she asks, “What do you remember about last night?”
I lie through my teeth to save more than my own hide. “Umm… not much. Why? Did I say something stupid?” My deceit isn’t because I’m horrified about what happened. The stiffness in my pants leaves no uncertainties to this. I’m merely endeavoring to protect Summer from the person I spotted through the frosted glass edging of our hotel room door. It isn’t housekeeping as suspected. It’s the man responsible for me ditching Summer last night. It’s my father. “I can be a little devious when I’ve had too many Jagerbombs.”
I’d be a liar if I said Summer answers me the way I’m hoping. Unlike last night, her husky voice doesn’t serenade me into believing I can do no wrong. It reminds me that even sexy scientists have regrets. “No. You didn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary.” As her confidence dips as low as her voice, she whispers, “I’ll see you later.”
She mouths a goodbye before closing the bathroom door. I stare at the gleaming white material for several long seconds before switching my focus from one shitstorm to another.
My father is so arrogant, even with three knocks going unanswered, he continues banging on my door like he believed every lie spilling from my mouth last night so well. He knows he won’t interrupt anything risqué by arriving unannounced at the hotel room I share with Summer.
To ensure I give him no misconception to this, I snatch up Summer’s panties from the floor and stuff them into my pocket before swinging open the door. My lips tug high at one side when my father falls into my room, his footing nowhere near as steady as it was in his heydays.
“Figured you would have slept in,” he remarks in a gravelly tone that makes it seem as if he caught more fastballs with his throat instead of his glove. “And since it’s technically my fault…” he leans in close like I’m deaf, “… I did tip the barmaid to add a couple of extra nips of vodka into your Red Bulls…” He yanks back like my face isn’t wearing half the annoyance it is. “I thought I should smooth things over with your coach. When he learns you’re my kid, you won’t need to train, yet you’ll still play every week.”
“I don’t need your help. Didn’t when I was sixteen, and I sure as fuck don’t now.”
“Come on, Jamison. That isn’t what you said last night.”
I laugh in his face. “Like you heard a word I spoke. You were too busy ramming your tongue down a college girl’s throat, and she wasn’t your wife, but that’s not surprising for you, is it?” I step up to him until we’re both in the hallway instead of my room. I don’t want to risk Summer exiting the bathroom in only a teeny tiny towel, or the shield she wears to protect herself from men like my father will be null and void. “And I also asked you not to call me Jamison.”
That’s what my teammates call me, and he sure as fuck isn’t on my team.
“You said that while telling me you didn’t have a chub for the little blonde thing who was hanging off your every word last night, so how was I to know if you were lying then like you were when you said you’d never be tempted to taste her.”
“We’re friends. That’sallwe are, and all we willeverbe.”
While following me down the hallway, my father says, “Then introduce me to her.”
I vigorously shake my head. “No.”
“Why not?” he asks, his tone pompous. “Afraid she might be a Cabarello fan?”
“Even if your face were on every cereal box in the country, Summer wouldn’t know who you are. She doesn’t chase fads. She makes her own.” Realizing the admiration in my voice will steer my father in a direction I don’t want him to take, I resort back to lying. “Besides, that wasn’t Summer showering in my room. It was the waitress from last night.”
His eyes light up like a Christmas tree even more than the hotel patrons in the foyer who recognize him. “Which one? The two-for-one blonde who invites her friend into every festivity or the busty brunette who tracked you down from dinner?”
“The brunette,” I lie. “Her squeals had Summer rethinking her time in Ravenshoe. She’s considering traveling home this morning.”
He slaps my shoulder like I told him I filled in every badge on my scout’s sash. That isn’t close to the truth. I left my local scout chapter after only one session. That’s how long it took for my father to ruin another marriage. I stopped participating in group activities ever since.
