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Downstairs.
I sighed. Good thing he spoke more with his body than with his lips or fingers or we’d never communicate anymore.
“Gotta go, Dad,” I called.
“Wait, you’re not going with your girlfriends?”
“You know I already have plans with Emerson and JC.”
“So why didn’t you invite the girls over too?” He appeared in the doorway between the living room and the foyer, his face cast in the flickering light from the TV.
Because I’m nearly positive they don’t want to see me fuck my two best friends.
“They were headed out to eat, and JC already ordered for us.” I rushed to him and pressed a kiss to his bearded jaw. “Gotta go, Daddy. Emerson just got here and he’s running behind.”
“Then you tell him to come in when you get back, you hear?”
“We’ll probably be late—”
“Just make sure it’s not too late.” He said that almost every time I went out at night. I rarely came home more than a few minutes past the time I said I would, but sometimes even that was enough to make him antsy.
Considering what he’d gone through, I supposed I couldn’t blame him.
“It won’t be,” I promised.
“Don’t make me worry about you,” he added, and I nodded, just to get out the door.
I rushed the flights down to the street and yanked open Emerson’s door, sliding inside with a gusty sigh. “God, next time, you gotta go up there and appease the old man, would you?”
He barely spared me a glance. “I talked to him last week.”
“Talking isn’t seeing, and you know how he gets if he doesn’t get to shoot the shit with you on a regular basis. Especially all his fight talk.” I snapped my belt into place and pretended not to be bothered by his lack of a hello any warmer than usual.
So what if I’d let him come in my mouth last weekend? No big.
He hadn’t hugged or kissed me during the past week either, but that had been different. We’d been out in public, either at the gym or in a restaurant. With all of our crazy schedules, it was harder to coordinate getting together during the week. I guess I got why he wouldn’t lean across the seat and slip his tongue into my mouth when my dad was just upstairs and happened to own a high-powered telescope, but why did it feel like he’d be no different when we walked into JC’s front door?
I wouldn’t let him retreat from me, from us. From this. I just wouldn’t. Not after what we’d experienced last weekend. I wasn’t ready to let it go.
“How are you?” I asked as he signaled away from the curb.
“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Fine. You?”
“Good. Carly and Jenna from the gym just stopped by. Jenna called you a hottie.” I didn’t add that her remark had made me a little uneasy, because he was a hottie and he wasn’t mine, the previous weekend’s activities notwithstanding.
He smiled faintly and didn’t reply.
“How’s training going? You have another fight on Friday?”
“Mmm-hmm. It’s going well. I should beat Levy, no problem.”
“That’s great. Dad will want to hear about—”
“Will you lay off about your dad? I got it. He wants to see me, and you want me to pretend everything’s the way it used to be.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “Sorry, but I guess I’m just not as talented a liar as you seem to be.”
The retort stung, especially since he was the king of shutting down his emotions and diverting uncomfortable topics. He’d been doing it for years, since long before we’d gotten naked together.
Screw approaching this delicately. I was about to raze shit.
