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“The only reason you need to go inside is to stall.”
“Traitor,” I grumble again, making her laugh.
“Seriously, Paisley, just woman up and face him. You’re an adult.”
“This is my dad we’re talking about. He’s going to want to know who Cameron is, and I have to tell him that he’s just some guy I was sitting next to at the game and had the hottest kiss of my life with.”
“I’d leave that last part out. And you don’t have to tell him he was a stranger. Just tell him his name is Cameron, and it was for the kiss cam.”
“Like Dad is going to let it go after that. I’m screwed. I’m going to have to sit through him lecturing me about safety and how dangerous it was.” What’s worse is that he’s right. It was dangerous, but I had no control over the effect that Cameron had on me. I still don’t. It’s been two weeks, and he’s commandeered every waking moment of my thoughts.
“I get his point, but we were in public, and it was being taped. You were fine. Not to mention that everyone in that stadium knows who you are, well, aside from Cameron. Wait. You don’t think he knows that you’re Easton Monroe’s daughter and the new athletic trainer for the Blaze, do you?”
“No. I don’t think he’s aware of either.” At least, I don’t think he is. If so, he didn’t let on at all that he knew who my dad or I was.
“It will be fine. He loves you. You know he might lecture you, but you have him wrapped around your little finger. Hell, your mom and sisters do too.” She chuckles.
“I know it’s out of love, but I hate disappointing him,” I say as I pull into their driveway. I see my youngest sister, Peyton, pull back the curtain, and then she’s gone, and the door is being thrown open.
“Paisley!” she calls out, making me smile.
Peyton is twelve going on eighteen and wise beyond her years. She’s always smiling and happy to see me. As she jumps off the front porch and makes a beeline for me, I brace myself for her hug. When she wraps her arms around me and tells me that she missed me, I give myself a moment to hug my baby sister and pretend my dad isn’t inside, waiting to grill me.
“Why has it been so long since you’ve been to see us?” Peyton asks once she’s released her hold on me. I look down at my baby sister, who stares right back with her hands on her hips. I can’t help but smile. She looks like Mom when she’s scolding us.
“I started a new job,” I explain.
“Yeah, but do you work all the time?” She tilts her head to the side, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing at her and all of her twelve-year-old sass.
“You plan on standing out in the driveway all night?” My dad’s voice meets my ears.
Looking up, I find him standing on the front porch. He’s leaning against the post with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at his ankles. He’s going for casual, but I know he’s hurt and pissed that I’ve been avoiding him.
“Just saying hello, that’s all,” I call back. Reaching into my car, I grab my phone and shut the door. Peyton takes my hand and Willow’s once we join her, and the three of us walk to the front porch in solidarity.
“Willow, it’s nice to see you.” Dad greets her with a hug and a smile. “Lady,” he says, referring to the nickname he gave Peyton the day she was born. “Why don’t you take Willow inside so I can talk to your sister.”
“I already yelled at her for being gone so long,” Peyton announces proudly.
Dad pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says softly before releasing her. I stand frozen as my best friend, who I hoped would be a shield, and my little sister disappear into the house. “Sit with me.” Dad holds out his hand, and I take it without hesitation.
He might be angry and disappointed with me, but my father would never hurt me. I’m not afraid of him, but I hate knowing that I hurt him and disappointed him. He takes a seat on the front porch swing and pulls me down next to him, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and hugging me close.
“I missed you, princess,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of my head.
My shoulders deflate. “I missed you too, Dad.”
We’re both quiet for a few minutes when he finally asks. “So, who’s the guy?”
“I don’t know him,” I tell him honestly. “He was sitting next to our seats. His name is Cameron. He plays for the Outlaws.”
“Do you make it a habit of kissing strangers like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence when we both know that it’s complete bullshit.
“Like he’s your air.”
I pull away so I can get a good look at him. “I wasn’t,” I defend.
