Page 51 of King of the Crease

“I hate flying. It terrifies me. There’s a reason why Brody and I only took road trips for vacations.”

I love flying, but I get to fly on a private jet. I’ve done it so much, I’m immune to the fears. I can see how it’s a scary proposition. Sitting in a metal tube that hurls itself into the sky, held aflight by the graciousness of nature, is quite the leap of faith.

“I haven’t told Brody. I don’t want that to influence his decision. If he gets into Stanford and wants to go, I will face my fears. I heard the seats don’t go back anymore. Is that true?”

“I don’t know. I took the train up from Baltimore.”

“There’s a train?”

I sip my beer to hide a quick surge of panic at being caught in a lie.

“Of course there’s a train. There are trains everywhere.” Hank laughs to himself.

“Wait. Come here a second.” I reach behind him and fix his collar. It gives us a moment to lock eyes and reaffirm that what happened last night wasn’t a fluke for either of us.

Hank steps forward and closes the space between us with a soft kiss that has me levitating. Gentle, but firm. He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, and I sink into his touch. The taste of beer coats his tongue.

“I didn’t want to wait until the end of the night to do that,” Hank says in a soft growly voice that makes my stomach flip.

A door upstairs slams shut, breaking the moment.

“Dad!”

The thundering clumps of a teenage boy barreling down the staircase causes the pictures on the wall to shake. I smooth out my sweater and make sure my dick isn’t protruding out. That would be an awkward first impression.

“Dad!” Brody rushes into the dining room. His brown eyes are jutting out in full-blown panic.

“What’s wrong?” Hank immediately goes into protective dad mode. (Sexy! But not the time to ogle him for that.)

“I’m screwed.”

“What happened?”

“I’m never getting into college.” He paces the length of the dining table. “I’ve been emailing with my guidance counselor, and I’m missing a required class. My transcript is incomplete.”

“How is that possible? Seems like something you should’ve gotten, I don’t know, guidance on. Brody, try and relax. Take a seat.” Hank looks at the six-pack of beer for a second, but wisely thinks otherwise. He pours him a glass of Sprite. Brody takes a huge gulp.

“I was supposed to take one marking period of public speaking. It’s required. I was going to take it sophomore year, but then I wound up doing that independent study, and I forgot to add it to my junior or senior year schedule.” He chugs the rest of his soda, then holds out the glass to Hank not unlike a bar patron begging the bartender for another shot.

Hank refills his glass. “How did your guidance counselor miss that?”

“They hired a new guidance counselor, and I guess the old one forgot to leave a note for her in my record. I don’t know.” He rips a piece of pepperoni pizza from the pie and takes a huge chomp out of it. “Oh, hi. I’m Brody,” he says to me with a full mouth.

“Nick. Nice to meet you.” I consider trying to shake his hand, but that’s too formal. Plus his hands are coated in pizza grease and Sprite. “Certainly there has to be an alternative solution.”

“You’re a straight-A student. They’re not going to hold you back a year,” Hank says.

“No. That would be better than what Mr. Bright is suggesting.” He takes another bite by placing the pizza in his mouth and yanking it away.

“Isn’t Mr. Bright your history teacher?”

“He wrote my recommendation letter. I called him up because I was freaking out. He’s friends with Mr. Calloway, the drama and public speaking teacher. Since theater is performance based, it can be an alternative for the public speaking class. Dad,” Brody says, looking up at both of us with wide-eyed fear, “they want me to be in the musical!”

“That could be fun, pal.”

“Getting on stage and singing and dancing in front of my classmates?”

“You’ve presented at science fairs and competed in quiz bowls.”