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Thinking it best not to let Paige fight all my battles for me, I transfer my plate to my left hand and reach my right around her, offering it to her father.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
He accepts my hand, gripping it firmly, but not attempting to crush any bones.
“Good. Now we’re all friends. Here’s your punch.” Paige hands me my cup, turning her back on her father to do so. Without her focus on him, I watch as some of the amusement fades from his expression, and he keeps his sights locked on me.
“What is it you do, Dash?” He keeps his tone neutral.
“I’m an adoption coordinator at the NOLA Animal Rescue.”
“And on the side, he’s a dog trainer. You’ve seen how well-behaved Pumpkin is. That’s all because of Dash.”
Paige’s defense of me is sweet, but despite my unease toward her father, I don’t need her protection. I’ve handled myself around much scarier individuals, ones who wouldn’t hesitate to inflict creative methods of torture on me if I crossed them.
Besides, Paige is making it sound like she hasn’t done any of the training herself. “Not just me. You’re the one working with her every day.”
“Yes, but you showed mehowto work with her. Try the punch, it’s delicious. And stop acting like you aren’t awesome at your job.” Paige stares up at me until I take a sip.
Only when I make an appreciative noise does she smile in a blinding way that almost makes me swallow my tongue. Or lean down to kiss her.
I doubt Mr. Herbert would take that very well.
Paige twirls back to face her father, and I wish I was wearing shorts, so I could feel the light brush of her skirt as it swishes against my legs.
Mr. Herbert kept his face void of expression during our back and forth, and I’m having trouble reading what exactly he thinks of me. But I could make an educated guess. The guy probably wouldn’t mind if I had a sudden emergency that took me far away from his house and his daughter.
I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t be any parent’s first choice.
“Mom wants us to dance. You’re not going to, are you?”
It’s almost comical, the look of horror that crosses the man’s face at such an innocent statement.
“Good god. No. We agreed to costumes. No performances.”
“Then you better hide the microphone. And the bourbon. That’s a bad combination for her,” Paige says.
Her father opens his mouth to respond when a man dressed as the devil calls out to him and waves. He grimaces at his daughter good-naturedly, sweeps me with an arctic stare, then strides away.
“Here, I’ll hold that, so you can eat.” Paige retrieves the cup of punch from my hand.
“What about you?”
She shrugs. “I was snacking on it all when they set it up. Plus, I’ve been sneaking pieces of candy while I was handing it out. I’m good for now. Eat. Please.”
I oblige, biting into a crab cake and somehow stifling my moan as the deliciously flavored meat hits my tongue. As I chow down, I observe Paige.
Her eyes flit around the crowd of people, a frown tugging at the corner of her mouth, although when she looks back at me the disquiet temporarily disappears.
A few party-goers approach the food offerings, and her shoulders get rigid.
“Let’s find somewhere else to stand. Don’t want to be a human barricade in front of the food.” She cups my elbow, guiding me away from the large group of mingling people and settles us by the fence.
I don’t mind hovering on the outskirts of the party as I eat my food, I’m just not sure why Paige wants to be so far away from everyone.
Aren’t any of these people her friends? Does she dislike everyone that her parents associate with?
Although thinking of the company my parents keep, I’m not really one to throw stones.
