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But what I really can’t stop staring at are his dark eyes that appear almost black right now. Those eyes have a language of their own that no one is allowed to learn, no matter how much they attempt to.
A language that I’ve been desperately trying to speak for a while now.
I grip the phone harder, needing the courage it provides as I speak, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“One less thing for King to worry about.”
I bite my lower lip, unable to hide the disappointment at how he blatantly ignores my statement and pushes it all to Dad.
It’d be better if I stopped.
Usually, I would.
Nate isn’t the type of man anyone likes to push—and I’m no exception.
But if I did, how would I accomplish what I’ve strived for? I waited for my eighteenth birthday to shout that I’m a woman now.
That I want him to see me as one.
That’s probably why I ask, “Do you think I should have a boyfriend?”
“That’s none of my business, kiddo.”
“I-I’m not a kiddo.”
His lips twitch. “You just pouted like one.”
Damn it. I knew he still thought of me as if I were a little girl. Can’t he see I’m all grown up now? That I’m looking at him?
That I can’tstoplooking at him?
“I’m making it your business,” I insist. “So what do you think?”
“About?”
“Should I get a boyfriend?”
“No.”
My heart nearly rips my ribcage open and hops out to dance at his feet. He said I shouldn’t get a boyfriend. That can’t be meaningless, right?
“Why not?” I try to sound cool, but I can’t control the tremor at the end.
“King wouldn’t like it.”
Oh.
So it’s back to my dad again.
Seems I’m out for blood, though, because I still refuse to drop it. “How about you?”
“How about me?”
“Would you like it if I had a boyfriend?”
He pauses, then says, “I would be neutral.”
Right.
