“I don’t think you do.”
Dad is obviously uncomfortable, and I can’t really blame him. I’m not exactly comfortable either. But he’s not going to let this rest until he’s sure I know what I’m doing. Even though I might be eighty and he might be in a nursing home by the time that happens.
“Dating a prospect means I’m dating the club. I get that. I know he might have to leave at any time, and sometimes the stuff he has to do for the club is dangerous. Give me a little credit.”
“You will never come first,” he says. “I don’t want that for you.”
“But you want it for Holly?” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Don’t want it for Holly either. But I’m a selfish prick,” he says with sorrowful eyes.
That I can agree with.
“I’m going out with Jeremy,” I say.
Dad stands in an awkward silence with an obviously uncomfortable stance. His shoulders are slightly hunched forward, with his hands on his hips and his head tilted down but his gaze to the side. I know that stance. He’s recognized defeat. The thing is I know what he really wants to say. What he really wants to say is that dating a club member, even if he’s still prospect, is a commitment to more than just a man. I’ve heard the speeches, and I know how this goes. The thing he needs to understand is that I’m ready for this.
I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I used to think there could be nothing more attractive than a man in uniform. You know, like the football uniform with the tight spandex pants. Or even the baseball uniform with the cup and the hat. Hockey uniforms aren’t really all that hot, because you can’t see anything. But I sure don’t mind watching them body-check each other up against the Plexiglas in the rink.
But that was before. Because once things started getting dangerous for whatever reason with the club and the prospects started hanging out here, I started to wonder what it would be like to date a club member. If Dad knew the thoughts that have gone through my head, he would have a coronary and fall to pieces on the floor right now.
“You’re starting to act like an adult, and I don’t like it,” he says.
I offer him a sad smile and shrug my shoulders. “And you’re starting to sound like a sane person.”
He lets out a brief chuckle before he shakes his head, points his finger at Holly, and directs her to the open door. He does a lot of pointing with her, and she does a lot of eye rolling with him.
As Holly walks past Dad, his hand comes down and smacks her on the butt, creating a loud slapping sound in the room. She gasps and turns around, giving him a dirty look. But I’m starting to figure out what Holly’s dirty looks mean. She gives them constantly. To me, to Grandma, but to Dad most especially. Holly’s look right now is one more of disapproval than of actual anger. When she’s really angry, she doesn’t even give him a dirty look. She just kind of looks past him blankly. It’s a little intimidating, and I don’t want to ever be on the receiving end of that look. So I shut my mouth, stay in the corner, and decide if she’s happy getting spanked in front of her boyfriend’s teenage daughter, then who am I to judge?
The doorbell rings loudly from downstairs as Holly is leaving my bedroom. But I can’t let her get to it first, so I push past her, offering my apologies on the way down the stairs. By the time I get to the front door, I have to pause for a moment to stop myself from hyperventilating. Did I put on lipstick? Jeremy said no lipstick. I press two of my fingers to my lips just to make sure I didn’t and thankfully find a pair of dry lips. I guess Jeremy just doesn’t like the look of lipstick or something. I don’t know, really.
Dad moves slowly but purposefully behind me, his heavy footsteps getting closer and louder with every moment.
I open the door and am met with a smiling Jeremy on the other side. My face flushes, and I lose my breath for just a moment. He’s that good-looking.
With his strong jaw, straight nose, and dark navy-blue eyes, Jeremy Whelan is hot as hell. He’s what Holly keeps calling a heartthrob. He’s what grandma called a babe. But I’m not old and I’m not prehistoric, so I’m not using either of those terms. He’s the kind of hot you can’t manufacture with expensive clothes or arrogance. No, Jeremy is the kind of hot that radiates out of his skin and infects everyone around him.
“Looking good, babe,” he says. A breathy sigh escapes me, and my face reddens. I might not survive the night if he keeps looking at me like this.
“I wore pink,” I say.
He nods and grins. “Yeah, you did.”