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“Pretty much.” I shrug, playing with the rim of my glass of orange juice. “You get used to it, and Dad laps that shit up. He’s the best guy in the world, but give him an awestruck fan, and he’s all smug smirks. Whereas, if you ever meet my Uncle Jasper, he’s the only one in the whole band that isn’t big into the whole fanfare of being famous.”
“And he’s the singer? The hot one, right?”
“Ew, no.” I scoff, shaking my head. “But yes, he’s the singer.”
“Interesting . . .” She waggles her brows up at me. “Anyway, speaking of your dad. A little convenient that he would pop in for a visit today, don’t you think?”
I lift my glass to my mouth, rolling my eyes at her.
“I’m just saying, I need all the tea, and you can hardly tell me with your dad here. Like I said, convenient.”
“You’re so right, I called my dad here despite him being on tour.” I laugh, eyeing her. “Just so you have to wait to hear what happened last night, which by the way, I’m not telling you anyway.”
She gasps, slapping a hand to her heart as she pushes her bottom lip out. “I thought we were besties.”
“We are besties, and that’s exactly why I’m not telling you. Some things don’t need to be shared.”
“I tell you everything,” she quips, narrowing her eyes.
“Yeah, and I don’t need to hear about what happens in the bedroom between you and Nash, thank you, or any of the other guys you’ve slept with since you’ve been here. Your openness is admirable, but Mais, I don’t need to hear about how hard you getrailed.”
She shrugs, chuckling. “Please, you probably learned some exciting tips that you obviously put to good use last night.”
I open my mouth, ready to deny every single thing she’s saying, but Dad sidles up to the table again, sliding into the booth beside me. “What happened last night?” he asks.
Maisie snorts, shoving a napkin against her mouth to hide it, but my cheeks burn in mortification. I glare at her, shaking my head while running through answers in my head.
The silence drags on as Dad flicks his gaze between us, impatience in his green eyes—the same shade as mine. Between my parents, I resemble him the most. The only thing I seem to have gotten from my mom is the ginger hair.
Maisie’s shoulders shake as she tries to muffle her laughter, and I know in about three seconds she will blurt out the truth if I don’t come up with something . . .
“I want to start dating again,” I blurt, my eyes widening as Maisie laughs even more. Dad turns to me with a raised brow, and I know that didn’t answer his question, but I’m stuck in it now. “Maisie was giving me tips and tricks on how to make a dating profile appealing, you know? How to reel men in.”
“Righttt.” Dad stares at me like I’ve got two heads, and honestly, in this moment, that would be better than the truth.Fuck. Where did this topic even come from?
“Ready to get back on the horse and all that,” I continue, not that he even asked but keeping my mouth shut seems impossible as I dig myself further into this hole.
“Yeah, so we were just testing out the waters, Daddy Fletcher.” My shoulders sag in relief, shooting Maisie a silentthank youas she comes to my rescue, having composed herself long enough to speak.
“Are you really ready for that?” Dad asks, a crooked smile on his lips, but there’s caution in his eyes. The warring emotions pouring from him, hope and worry, flood me, and I hold my breath for a moment, giving myself time to think over the answers. I hate lying to my parents, though I do, a lot. But the hope lingering behind his concern has me pausing.
“Yeah,” I say finally, believing it. While there’s a lot of things I’m not ready for, last night showed me one thing. Maverick may not be the right guy for me to move forward with, but I at least proved to myself that I can have an intimate and physical connection with a man without it sending me in a backward spiral. “Yeah, I am.”
Maverick
Coach calls us over to him, his hands propped on his hips as he rakes his gaze over the team. When he zeros in on me, I half expect him to cuss me out for something, but he only laughs and claps me on my shoulder.
“Whatever just happened out there”—he gestures to where the ball sits in the center of the field—“you bring that to next week’s away game and we’re on the straight and narrow for playoffs next month.”
“Yes, sir.” Nodding, I accept Gray’s high-five, a chorus of cheers following as Coach continues to dissect our game. I try to focus on his words and take in what he’s saying, but my eyes wander over the field, looking out into the parking lot beyond.
A familiar Range Rover pulls up outside Havers, and while at this distance I can’t read the license plate, to know exactly who that car belongs to, I don’t need to. Especially not when a giant covered in tattoos hops out, jogging around the front to pull open the passenger door.
“Yo, is that Poppa Fletch,” Nash asks, his eyes following my line of sight. I nod as Beatrice steps out, glancing up at her dad. Even from meters away, the wide smile on her face is almost as blinding as the sun as they huddle against the car.
My breath halts at the sight of her, the memories of last night flooding me in an instant. Closing my eyes, I roll my shoulders back, forcing the images from my mind.
We had a deal. One night. Just one night to give into the heat between us. However, I’m not sure one night is enough. I’m thinking it was stupid of me to ever believe it could have been.
