Page 107 of Taking Turns

Jesus Christ. He’s kind of a dick. I almost laugh at my blasphemy, since he is pretty religious. I don’t know him, but I know of him. “Oh, OK. I’m cool with dinner. Where we going?”

“Get dressed, Baldwin. We’re already late. And turn that music off.”

Right. I hit the off switch for the music as I hop up the stairs, hoping he won’t follow me. Because I don’t know how to explain the fact that I’m sleeping in a guest room and not the master.

But I don’t have to worry about it. When I get back downstairs, put together and my normally settled self, back in full swing, he’s standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of my nine-hundred-dollar-a-bottle Scotch as he talks business on his cell phone.

I wait patiently as he finishes his call. When he hangs up he looks me up and down like I’m cattle.

I’m a damn good catch, I think in my head. He can look all he wants. I’m not a chump.

Except I don’t think he agrees with my self-assessment.

Why do I care? I’m really not the kind of guy you bring home to your parents and all that good shit. But I’m not a chump.

He waves his hand at me, signaling we’re leaving now, and then heads towards the front door. “You’re riding with me, Baldwin. Chella says she has her car and I should bring you.”

“Did she now?” I mutter under my breath as I grab my coat off a bar stool. I bet she’s thoroughly enjoying the fact that I’m stuck with her father right now.

I wonder what Bric thinks about all this? I lock up the house and follow him out in to the snow. He gets in the back-passenger side, so I have to walk around and get in the driver’s side. We close our doors at the same time, and then Walcott says, “The Palm, Clarence,” talking to the driver. “I don’t get home to Colorado much anymore,” he says, looking out the window.

“Right. Chella mentioned that. We weren’t expecting you for Christmas.”

“I’m only here for one night, Baldwin. So don’t bother marking your territory.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t interfere with your plans.”

“Well.” I clear my throat, trying to process this man. “That’s not what I was insinuating. I’m sure Chella is thrilled you’re here.”

“I’m sure she is. But as I said, I won’t be staying.”

“Got it,” I growl.

Thankfully, the Palm is right downtown, so I endure a seven-minute silence as we fight our way through snow and holiday traffic. We’re dropped off just outside the restaurant and Walcott doesn’t even wait for me to walk around the car, just enters the building, me trailing behind him.

I’m kinda pissed off by this point, and wondering if she’s still with Bric, since it is his night. But then I see Chella, alone, dressed up in a black dress I’m sure she’s wishing she didn’t wear tonight, because her tits look fucking fantastic in it.

I smile, forgetting all about her dick of a dad as I walk up to her, slide my arm around her waist, and pull her close as I whisper, “I love this dress,” and then kiss her.

It’s not a sloppy I’m-gonna-fuck-you-later kiss, even though I really want to piss her dad off with one of those. Just a nice one. Which makes her smile.

“So,” she says, fake smile all over her face. “You’ve met my dad. How special.”

I nod. “Yup. So nice of him to drop by. I was afraid I wouldn’t have your full attention tonight with that party.” And then I look at the senator. “But now we don’t have to go. You saved us from a boring night of hell, Henry. I owe you for that.” I wink at him just to thrust that knife in a little farther.

“OK,” Chella says. “Dad, I know you’ve met, but this is Smith. We’ve recently started a relationship.”

“And he’s living with you already?” her father blurts. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Excuse me?” I say, pulling Chella behind me a little so I can look this piece of shit in the eyes. “She’s not,” I say in a low voice. “But even if she were, she’s a grown woman, Walcott. And she would tell her father about it when she was good and goddamned ready.”

“Senator,” a woman says, obviously uncomfortable with the tone of our conversation. “We have your table ready. Would you like to follow me?”

He stares daggers at me for a second longer than is polite, and I stare back. He can be a big old dick to me all he wants. But I won’t let him talk to Chella that way. Not while I’m around. And especially not in public.

Chella sighs as her father follows the woman. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers as we walk. “I had no idea he was going to show up. He told me he couldn’t make it for Christmas, so I naturally assumed—”