“You kids run along now and have a good time. You don’t want to be late.” My father ushers us out of the small entryway.
“How exactly are we getting there?” I was supposed to get picked up in a limo, but because I now have a plus one, there’s no room.
“Vroom? Vroom?”Damon snaps his wrists like he is switching gears on a bike.
“Hell no,” I put my foot down. “I’m wearing a three-hundred-dollar prom dress. I can’t get on the back of a Harley.”
“Ahem. I was getting to that.” My father pulls a keyring out from the front pocket of his faded jeans. “Gambit pulled a string at the shop for me.” He tosses the keys to Damon. “Across the street.”
Damon looks up and nearly wets himself. “No way. The red one?”
“That’d be the one,” my father confirms.
“That’s a 1969 Mustang.”
“Convertible. In mint condition.” Daddy is so proud. I want to puke. This is supposed to bemynight, and all it is is ruined.
Damon is the one getting all the perks.
“Awesome. Let’s go.” I lift the hem of my dress and begin to walk.
“Hey there, speed demon.” My father pulls me back. “You should be excited. You’re going to have the coolest ride at the dance.”
“It’s theprom,” I correct him. “I’m supposed to be showing up in alimo, with all my friends. Not an old piece of junk with Damon.”
My father sighs, irritated. “Breaker, why don’t you go fire up the engine. I need a word with my daughter.”
Damon takes the hint and scrams.
I cross my arms and glare up at my dad. His beard is long and graying, his shirt is old and tattered, and his eyes are creased with crow’s feet. He is a rugged, older man, with miles of life under his belt.
“Livey,” he says my name sternly. “I know you're not happy with me right now, but I’m your father, and I know best. You need someone with you.”
“I have people with me,” I argue.
“No.” He holds his hand up and strongly disagrees with me. “A bunch of scatterbrained girls looking for a good time is not what I call the right kind of people lookin’ after you. I like your friends, don’t take what I’m sayin’ the wrong way, but I was young once, too. And I know the things that can happen.”
“Daddy—”
“No, baby, you’re not swayin’ me on this one. You’re my daughter, and it’s my job to protect you. Even if that means sending you to the prom in an old piece of junk with Breaker.”
“Ugh, fine.” I drop my head back in defeat.
“I knew you’d see it my way.” He kisses my forehead.
“Do I have any other choice?”
“Nope.” He smiles victoriously. “I’m sure gonna miss you when you leave.”
“That’s not for another two weeks. You still have time to torture me,” I smirk sarcastically.
“There is never enough time,” he sighs.
“Dad, you’re depressing me.” I grimace.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat and dons his badass biker expression. It’s sort of a cross between Clint Eastwood and Jack Sparrow, and not nearly as intimidating as it used to be “All right, go on. I gotta go clean my guns.”
I shoot him a blank stare.Really?
