AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Great.” My answer comes out excited and fast, and my enthusiasm draws a breathy laugh out of him.
“Okay then, Brooky. We’ll make you a climbing beast in no time,” he says, his mouth landing in a closed-lip smile as he backs away.
I should hold up a hand now and say thanks. I should nod in agreement and be on my way, tell him it sounds like a good plan. And I should probably throw something at him to make him stop calling me Brooky. I’m not doing any of those things, though. Instead, I rush forward, almost in a panic, grab his bicep, and smash my lips to the side of his face.
Mortified in an instant, I blurt out, “Thanks,” and rush off to my dorm.
I’m talking to myself by the time I get to my door, my confidence bounding around internally like a racquetball. I’m so proud of what I did tonight, right up until the end when I turned into a Jane Austen heroine who hasn’t yet hit her stride. My pulse is racing, and while I’d like a redo on ending my night with Cameron, I can’t say I regret it completely. Maybe I don’t regret it at all.
All of those giddy feelings puddle at my feet the moment I am lit up by my father’s severe glare and the wide eyes of both of my roommates, who now know I lied to them, and have probably done a piss poor job of trying to pacify the man who never waits long for anyone.
“Brooklyn, what in God’s name are you wearing?”
“Oh, my God, you’re bleeding!”
My father and Lily overlap one another with their initial reactions. The difference in tone matching their words.
“I f—” I stop myself from using the wordfell.“I tripped.”
I’ve learned a fall makes everyone worry, makes me sound unstable—at risk. Tripping is just me being clumsy.
“Were you out practicing walking?” That’s my dad’s attempt at humor. It’s dry, which I guess is perfect for a politician until it’s misread by the press. Basically, everything about my father is politics perfect—six-foot frame, dark hair that sits in a perfect wave atop his head, brown eyes framed in black-rimmed glasses, and a chiseled chin. He’s Clark Kent with a touch of gray, an engineering degree, and a captain’s rank.
“No,” I huff, moving toward our sink to clean up my knee. “I was trying to get a workout in, like I’m supposed to.”
I say that last part with some zip, as if I’ll get credit somehow for doing something I’m constantly putting off and should be doing anyhow. My dad doesn’t care where I’ve been, just that I wasn’t instantly accessible. I slip my phone from my pocket and set it on the counter by the sink and note the four missed calls and sixteen text messages.
“Why are you here?” I ask, keeping my back to the three people no doubt staring at me with their own individual suspicions. I pat my knee clean with a wet towel and pull a bandage out of my small First-Aid kit, sneaking a peek at my phone again to sort out who left me messages. As I predicted, one call from my dad. Every other notification from my friends.
“I’m on my way to a summit, in Canada. I knew I wouldn’t see you for a couple weeks and wanted to make sure you had the gala tickets. Remember, it’s formal.” He pulls a yellow envelope from inside his gray suit jacket and drops it on Morgan’s bed.
“I’m over there,” I say, nodding toward my bed, which is made perfectly as if I were in the military. Crisp sheets tucked in all the way around, comforter folded over right at the golden stripe in the pattern, pillows straight out of a Ritz Carlton photoshoot. He should recognize it. The Bennett house has always been in extreme order. My older brother, Sam, followed my dad’s military footsteps, and now runs his house the same way—Navy, tight ship. Morgan and Lily’s messy beds have to be driving my father crazy.
“Right,” he says, reading something on his phone as he picks up the envelope and moves it to my bed.
“I have to go, sweetheart. But you will be at the gala, right? It’s very important.” He doesn’t look away from the message he’s reading, but he moves toward me and bends down to plant a kiss on top of my head. He may be an unfeeling person in many ways, but these little things remind me I’m special. I’m his little girl.
“I promise, Daddy.” I smile up at him from the place where I’ve propped myself against the sink. His dark eyes meet mine briefly and I get a flash of his smile before he turns to my friends.
“Ladies. It’s been . . . interesting,” he says, surveying the clothes strewn around Morgan’s bed and the papers scattered around Lily’s.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Bennett,” Lily says, awkwardly shaking his hand. Morgan and I cringe behind her back, and when my father leaves, letting the door close behind him, she falls on her back and slaps her palm over her face.
“Why do I act like such an idiot around your dad?” she exasperates.
“Because he’s fucking hot, that’s why,” Morgan adds.
I pick up a nearby towel and toss it at her. She promptly snaps it at me.
“Don’t you try and change the subject, miss ‘I’m having dinner with my dad.’” Morgan levels me with her tight-lipped smirk while Lily plops down on the bed behind her, both of them staring at me armed with enough suspicion to put Sherlock and Watson on edge.
“I was really working out. Like I said,” I say with a shrug. I roll down my leggings and survey the tear in the knee. Meanwhile, Morgan picks the towel up again and snaps me with it.Again.
“Dammit, that hurts!” I swat at her.
“Brooklyn Marie Bennett, don’t you dare be evasive with us. Now spill it,” Morgan demands. Lily nods over her shoulder.
I rub my eyes with the butts of my palms and remember how I felt when I made it through that second step. How I felt when Cameron caught me. The lame way I ran away from him after planting a kiss on his cheek.
