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“You’re Brice’s kid.”
“I am.”
I watch Aiden’s head move, and I try to step to his side, but instead of letting me, he backs me up so that I’m almost pressed into the hallway wall behind him.
“You think I’d touch her?” Dad asks, sounding both amused and offended.
“I don’t know you.”
“He wouldn’t,” I tell Aiden, rolling my eyes at his back before I somehow manage to get free with a huff. “I haven’t had coffee, and I need it to deal with this situation.” I glare at the two of them, then leave both men standing in the hall while I go to the kitchen. A moment later, Aiden joins me where I’m standing, filling a filter with coffee grounds, while my dad stands on the opposite side of the island.
“So explain to me what happened last night and why Herbert was the one to tell me that you’re dating Brice’s son.”
“First—” I plunk the coffee carafe down in the sink before I flip on the water. “—who Aiden’s father is isn’t an important piece of information so there’s no reason I’d think to share that. And next, I’ve only been up for about twenty minutes, so I haven’t had time to tell anyone anything.” Not that I would have told him what happened anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I don’t like this,” Dad says, and I drag in a breath, then let it out while holding his gaze.
“Why not?”
“Because I know the kind of people the Benders are.”
“You don’t know Aiden,” I tell him, looking over at the man standing just a few inches away from me like he’s waiting for something to happen that he doesn’t like, so he can get between my father and me again. “And if you got to know him, you would like him.”
“His family auctioned him off while he was there with you.”
“You’re right. That happened. But he didn’t know they were going to do that, and he was as angry as you are right now when they did.” I take the water to the coffee machine and dump it in the back before turning on the pot, then I look at my dad. “We’re not doing the whole Romeo and Juliet thing here. Whatever issues you have with Aiden’s father and his company have not one thing to do with my boyfriend,” I tell him, wondering why the word boyfriend doesn’t feel right.
“Doll,” Aiden mutters, and I look over to find him smiling.
“What?”
“Romeo and Juliet?”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes at him, then my gaze moves to my dad when he laughs.
“All right.” Dad pulls out one of the stools at the island and starts to take a seat but stops when the doorbell rings.
“Now what?” I sigh.
“That’s probably your mom,” Dad tells me, and I toss my arms up in the air before I walk to the front door.
“I told him not to come over, that he should call you,” Mom greets as soon as I open the door, finding her with her hair sopping wet and dressed in a pair of sweats and a baggie sweatshirt.
“He didn’t listen,” I point out, heading to the kitchen with her right behind me.
“Did you really leave while I was in the shower?” Mom asks him, planting her hands on her hips while narrowing her eyes on his.
“I knew you’d try to stop me,” he tells her, pulling out the stool right next to him.
“Yeah, because you were being an idiot,” she huffs, and he smiles at her, patting the chair. “Come here, baby.”
“I’m angry at you,” she says, then she looks at me. “I heard what happened last night. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, because really, there is nothing else to say.
She looks at Aiden. “And you?”
“Yep.” His eyes come to me and fill with warmth.
“Well, good.” She lets her arms fall to her sides, adding, “I hope I never have to be in the same room as your mom or your sister.”
“That’s going to be difficult when you start planning their wedding,” Dad mutters, and I drag in a sharp breath, while Mom mutters back, “True.”
“Oh my Lord, can you two not start?” I beg, and both my parents laugh.
Aiden steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, then his lips brush my ear as he whispers, “Don’t worry, doll. We’ll go to Vegas.”
“Not you too.” I glare at him over my shoulder, and he grins at me.
“So what are you two doing today?” Mom asks, dragging her stool away from Dad and taking a seat, which does zero good, because he pulls her and the chair across my wood floors right back next to him.
“We’re having dinner with my best friend’s family, who I basically lived with growing up.”
“I never agreed to go with you to dinner tonight.”
“You’re coming.”
“I’m not. I have stuff to do.”
“Like what?” he asks, letting me go so he can pull down four coffee mugs from the cupboard next to the stove.
“Like… stuff,” I tell him, and he smiles. “I’m not going,” I repeat for good measure.
“Okay,” he agrees, and I sigh, because I know that “okay” means that, like it or not, I’m going to find myself going to dinner with him tonight.
