Page 12 of Can’t Say No

“Well, Lanie girl,” my dad says, undeterred by Delaney’s stony silence, “it’s a good thing you’re pretty intense too.”

She grumbles a non-response and I fight back another laugh.

“I’ve missed your moody ass. Here, eat some of this.” I say, sliding the platter of cake her way.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest as she sinks her fork into the half eaten cake. Her eyes go wide as she takes a bite and I’m stuck for a moment staring at her mouth. A little delighted hum escapes her lips and I think I might die on the spot. Who knew watching someone eat cake could be such a turn on.

Fuck, I gotta go for a run or something.

I dang near choke on the cake in my mouth when Delaney’s tongue swipes out across her plump bottom lip to lick off some frosting. She catches my eye and shoots me a demure smile.

I scrub a hand over my face, “We gotta get going soon. Delaney, I’ll meet you in the car.”

My head is spinning, and I feel like I’m sixteen again, down bad for a girl who’s never given me a second thought. I’ve only been back in her orbit for one day and I’m just as starstruck as I’ve always been.

5

DELANEY

“It was honestly so bizarre, Matty.” The late evening sun is putting on a show, casting an amber glow across my bedspread as I fill my best friend in on details from the day.

“Feels like I’m a kid again, following a class schedule, asking permission to leave my seat. Mrs. Crane had me doing little errands all day. I don’t know. It’s so dumb. And being around Connor is…” I search for the right word.

I missed him, more than I care to admit, but seeing him again has opened a whole messy can of worms and I really don’t want to get my hands dirty sifting through it all.

“Being around Connor is tedious.”

“Just gotta play it cool and not run that big mouth of yours, then you’ll be back home with me. Pookie misses you by the way.” As if on cue, I hear a loud yap through the phone, Matty’s miniature poodle.

“Miss you, too, Pooks.” I mumble.

I’ve done plenty of things I didn’t want to do in my career. Early morning media appearances, commercials for a hemorrhoid cream, performing in the rain–those things come with the territory. But weeks stuck in the middle of nowhere, working as a glorified errand girl, and taking endless pictures? This takes the cake. And being back in this town, in this house… it’s oppressive. My skin feels too tight and the urge to tuck my tail and run is high.

The setting sun on the horizon teases me. It gets to leave, to disappear, at least for the night. Never thought I’d be jealous of a fucking ball of hot gas, but then again, I never thought I’d be back in Ridgecrest for an extended amount of time.

“I gotta go, Matty. That post looks great, thank you.” He uploaded a few of the pictures I took today with a sweet little caption that makes the return to my hometown seem entirely like it was my idea. The fans will eat it up, as will the tabloids.

Good girl image still intact.

I shimmy out of my jeans and riffle through my drawers for some running shorts and a sports bra. The August sun has almost disappeared behind the tree line, but I haven’t been away from Tennessee for so long that I’ve forgotten that it’s still hot as hell. And humid, so miserably humid. Tugging my hair up into a tight bun, I inspect my roots.

Gotta find a decent salon out here. And I probably should get my extensions redone too. It takes a lot of effort to maintain my girl-next-door look. If I had my way, I’d cut my hair short. Or hell, buzz it all off. But that would never be allowed. I’d be stuck wearing wigs for the rest of time. I can picture my dad shaking with rage.

On second thought, maybe I ought to shave it for his reaction alone.

Making a mental note to book a hair appointment, I meander down the back stairs to the kitchen. The sound of my dad on the phone has me slowing to a stop. I figured after he saw me off this morning, he’d be on a plane, chasing after one of his other business ventures. He’s an entrepreneur through and through, and he’s got his hands on a little bit of everything. A few local businesses, a candy company that never seems to be turning a profit, and of course, micromanaging my career. Plus, I’m pretty sure he just bought a minor league soccer team.

“Yeah, I saw the post.” He sounds pissed, talking to someone on my management team, I presume, but anger is generally his baseline emotion, so hard to say if something is actually wrong. That’s the game I’ve played my whole life with my dad: Is he normal angry or extra angry?

He sighs. “It’s good enough.”

Alright, looks like we’re going with normal angry today.

“Tells a good story. Let me know what rumblings you hear across the internet.”

A wait a moment to hear some kind of ending to the call, but of course he doesn’t say goodbye. Typical.

Taking a big inhale to prepare for the inevitable battle, I step into the kitchen “Hey, dad. The first day went well, I think. The principal took a bunch of pictures of me working.”