Trust in Me

“Does it matter?” He flashed a grin. “Cam, you’re a damn good player. Soccer is, or at least, was a passion. We have videos to send to coaches. And you know the coach at Shepherd would help you take new ones.”


“I know.” I sighed, shaking my head slowly. “And I keep up my workouts and practice with the guys when I can, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe next year, when I’m about to graduate . . .”

“Uh-huh.” His gaze was shrewd. “Cameron . . . Cameron . . .”

Yakking on about soccer was hard for me. Wasn’t like a future playing was completely out of the question. That was why I kept up the training, but there was nothing I could do about right now.

“Is there a young lady in your life now?” he asked.

Perhaps I should’ve let him ask about soccer. “Dad . . .”

“What?” He smiled again and then finished off the beer. “I like to have the four-one-one on my son’s life.”

My head dropped back. “Four-one-one? Are you drunk?”

“I’m buzzing.”

I laughed out loud. “Nice.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Reaching for the bottle, I eyed my father and then laughed at myself, because I knew what the words that were forming on my tongue were before I spoke them. “There’s . . . there’s someone.”

“Do tell.” Interest sparked in his eyes.

I smiled as I took the last gulp from the bottle. “We’re friends.”

“Friends as in . . .”

“Oh, come on, Dad.” I groaned, shaking my head.

“What?” He cocked his head to the side. “Like I don’t know what you kids are doing. Like I didn’t do the same thing when I was your age.”

I might vomit. “We’re not like that. Avery isn’t like that.”

“She has a name? Avery?”

Shit. I couldn’t believe I even said her name. Was I buzzing? “We’re friends, Dad. And she’s a . . . she’s . . .”

Dad’s dark brows rose. “She’s . . . ?”

Perfect. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Prideful. Infuriating. The list could go on and on. “I’ve asked her out a couple of times.” A “couple of times” was literally the understatement of the year. “She’s turned me down each time.”

“And you keep asking?”

I nodded.

“And you think she’s going to say yes eventually?”

Smiling a little, I nodded again.

Dad leaned forward, crossing his arms on the round, oak table. “Did I ever tell you how many times your mother turned me down before she agreed to go out me? No? A lot of times.”

“Really?” I hadn’t known that.

Dad nodded. “I was a bit of a . . . rakehell in college. Had a reputation.” One side of his mouth tipped up, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. “Your mother didn’t make it easy.”

“So what changed it?”

He shrugged. “Ah, she was secretly in love with me from the beginning, but you know what? I had to chase her, and to be honest, if you don’t have to chase a woman, she’s probably not worth the effort. You get what I’m saying?”

Not really. There was a good chance my dad was more than just buzzing, but I nodded, and then he said something that sort of clicked in my head.

“Surprise,” he said, winking. “Surprise the girl. Do something she’s not expecting. Always do something good she’s not expecting.”

Surprise her? There were a lot of things I could do that would surprise Shortcake, but I doubted he meant any of those things. But as I said good night to Dad and started toward the stairs, I knew what to do.

And I wanted to do it.

I smiled as I took the steps two at a time. As I rounded the second floor, I caught sight of Teresa slipping into her bedroom. I opened my mouth to call out to her, but the door closed quietly before I could utter a word.

Okay.

Shaking my head, I continued on to the guest bedroom Jase was in—the green room. Or at least that’s what Mom called it, because the walls were painted a deep olive green.

The door was cracked and I pushed it open. Jase sat at the foot of the bed, bent forward slightly, his arms resting on his thighs, hands over his face.

“Hey, man.” I entered the room, concerned. Had something happened back home? “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said, standing up and smoothing both hands through his hair. He walked over to where his duffel bag was and pulled out a pair of nylon shorts. “I’m just not feeling . . . well. Beer didn’t settle right, you know? What’s up?”

Hadn’t he only drunk like two beers? I watched him toss the shorts on the bed, his back a tense, rigid line. “I was thinking about a change of plans.”

“Oh, yeah?” He moved to the nightstand, dug out his cell and dropped it there. “What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking about leaving really early in the morning,” I told him. “Probably close to five or so. Is that cool with you?”

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, man, that works perfectly. Just wake me up.”

“Cool.” I backed up and stopped at the door. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect,” he replied, sitting down on the bed again. “See you in the morning.