I can’t argue, seeing how I did. But lying to her feels wrong. So I tell her as much as I can. “What you said made me think. About things that can go wrong when you get wasted.”
“Have you done things you regret when you were wasted?” The corners of her mouth lift a little when I don’t answer. “I’m not judging you, Finn. I’m only asking. But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“All the damn time,” I say before she finishes speaking. I could’ve lied. God knows I do it all the time, pretending everything is fine. But I don’t like lying to Sol. Hell, I don’t like lying to anyone. But sometimes it’s like I have to, or need to―to keep people off my back or to at least help them sleep at night.
“Do you think you should stop? Drinking I mean,” she adds.
“I don’t know. I like beer. I like the feel of that cold bottle in my hands when I’m talking to people. It helps me relax.”
“The alcohol, the buzz, or the way that bottle feels?” she questions.
I slip my arm around her shoulders and think things through. She surprises me by leaning her head against my chest as she waits for me to answer. She feels good against me. Comfortable. Like this is something we’ve done a hundred times.
“I think it’s all of it,” I admit. “The bottle itself is cold, soothing. It also gives me something to do with my hands.”
“You need to do something with your hands?” she asks. She laughs when I flash her a sly grin. “It wasn’t an offer,” she says, lightly stroking my pecs.
“I’m not one to keep still,” I admit, chuckling. “Even when I’m lying in bed, I’m texting or something. But yeah, I like the buzz, and the booze itself. I’m okay sometimes. But when I’m not, I’m really not.”
“Have you talked about it with Mason?”
“Not really,” I confess. Unless you count him recommending I don’t drink.
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s easier to talk to you about it.”
Her cheek falls against my shoulder. “But I’m incapable of helping you, Finn. I want to, but I’m not qualified yet.”
“You may not have the degree, or have taken whatever test you need to take, that doesn’t mean you’re not helping.”
She lifts her head. “I’m helping you?” she asks, sounding shocked and maybe a little hopeful.
“Yeah,” I answer, my gut twisting a little when I realize exactly how much.
“Good,” she says.
By the way she’s looking at me, I know she wants me to kiss her again. And the way her heart is pounding against mine, I know it’s going to be one damn fine kiss. Well, at least it would have been if it weren’t for the scowling face peering at us from the passenger side window. “Sol . . . Is that your dad?”
She turns, jumping when she sees him. “Yes, that’s him,” she says, her cute face scrunching. “Sorry, I better go before he shoots you between the eyes.”
By the way his glare cuts my way, I don’t think she’s kidding.
She slips out of my truck, shutting the door behind her. I’m supposed to speed away now, seeing how that’s what any reasonable, non-wanting-to-die kind of guy does when an angry Latino father catches him trying to make-out with his daughter. So what do I do? Jump out of the truck, of course, and jog around to the other side.
I hop onto the sidewalk as Sol and her papasito start speaking rapidly in Spanish. “Hey,” I say, causing them both to freeze.
Sol shoots me an apprehensive glance before sighing and turning to face me. Her father faces me, too, albeit in that same looming “What are you doing with my daughter” way he’s supposed to.
“Finn,” Sol says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is my father, Lino Marieles. Papi, this is Finn. Sofia’s brother in law.”
I hold out my hand. “Hola, Se?or Marieles. Como le va la noche?”
Having grown up with Sofia and her family across the street from us, I picked up on enough Spanish to ace it in school and usually charm. Yeah . . . my “Hi, Mr. Marieles. How’s your night going?” does jack to impress Sol’s father.
He scowls at my hand as Sol mutters in Spanish, “Papi, behave.”
Not only does he not behave, he crosses his thick arms and resumes his glare. I keep my grin. “He’s going to hunt me down and chop me into hamburger with his machete, isn’t he?” I ask Sol.
“And make it look like an accident,” Lino answers for me.
It’s then I lose my smile. Funny thing, Sol just laughs. She strolls up to me, clasping my elbow as she stands on her toes to give me a kiss. “Goodnight, Finn,” she says.
It’s just an innocent kiss, likely no big deal around most other dads with grown daughters. But this is a very traditional Latino father so I pretty much think I’m about to die.
“Let’s go, Papi,” she says, hooking his arm with hers when he takes a step toward me.