Kissed and Missed (Daddy Issues #2)

Chapter 2

2

HONOR

PRESENT

I s there anything more awkward than third-wheeling it with your best friend and your father?

Absolutely not.

To their credit, Sophie and Dad have been good about not rubbing my face in their new relationship. While I pride myself on being fairly “chill” I am nowhere near unflappable enough to withstand any kind of PDA from the two of them. Nor am I ready to accept that they almost certainly do it on a regular basis.

There’s no ignoring the signs, though. When two people spend a lot of time together, when they honest-to-god love each other, it’s hard to hide. Which is why I’ve been avoiding prolonged contact with them as a couple in the six weeks since they broke the news of their relationship, hiding behind a meticulously constructed wall of denial and avoidance.

That’s all over now.

Today, my sister is performing her very first principal role in a very fancy sounding ballet I can’t pronounce. It’s a big deal, and she deserves it after several decades of cramming her feet into the most uncomfortable shoes on the planet, braving stress fractures, pulled muscles, and sticking to an insane diet. I’m excited for her.

I am less excited for myself, because going to support her means enduring a two-hour long car trip into the city with the happy couple, who are trying to downplay how happy they are to spare my feelings. Even going in, I knew the situation was rife with potential awkwardness, and it was only the thought of disappointing three of the most important people in my life that kept me from pretending I had a migraine and watching reality TV all day.

It was bound to happen eventually. I love both of them, and they’re together now, which means I have to get used to this at some point. Ergo, I’m looking at today’s outing as a good old-fashioned session of immersion therapy. With any luck, by the end, I’ll be so desensitized to their coupleness that I can stop sprinting into my room and pretending to be asleep when Sophie sneaks back into our apartment every morning.

After all, I have no business throwing a fit over their relationship. Not when the man I’ve been thinking about for the better part of two months is probably an even more inappropriate romantic prospect than Dad was for Sophie.

I sink lower in my seat as scenery blurs by outside the window, listening to the music playing quietly on the radio. From her spot in the passenger seat, Sophie is gazing at my father, her lips curved into an adoring smile. Meanwhile, the man who raised me keeps reaching over to lay his hand on my best friend’s upper thigh, neglecting to consider his window’s reflective surface, which is giving me a clear visual.

Lovely.

The feeling of my phone vibrating in my purse is a welcome distraction, and I dive for it. Butterflies erupt in my belly when I see who it’s from, a helpful reminder of why I can’t throw myself out of the car without being the world’s biggest hypocrite.

Julian: Did you end up going to NYC?

It would probably be less suspicious if I didn’t reply in about ten seconds, but I’m so far past playing it cool with this man. Every time we talk, which is often, I get a little more invested. Even if I know—in the back of my dumb, infatuated brain—this is headed for trouble, I can’t seem to help myself.

Honor: We’re on our way there now. Any chance you can hack my father’s navigation system to take us home instead?

His reply comes immediately, as if he was staring at his screen, waiting for mine.

That bad?

They’re fine. It’s me.

Me, a notorious serial monogamist and romantic, who is feeling painfully lonely and single in the run-up to the most romantic holiday of the year. Everywhere I look there seem to be hearts, advertisements for flower deliveries, and couples holding hands. There are two wedding invitations and four more save-the-date cards stuck to Sophie’s and my fridge, so I can’t even get the milk for my coffee without a reminder I’m alone.

Maybe alone wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t gone to California over Christmas with the intention of reconnecting with my long-distance girlfriend and meeting her family, only to come home single and pining for her father.

Oops.

“Would you rather be hunted by a pack of wolverines or stuck in quicksand?”

I blink, looking up to find my best friend beaming at me over her shoulder. Discreetly, my father’s hand slips from her lap back onto the wheel. My answering smile is stiff. “ Um . The wolverines I guess?”

“You see?” Dad laughs as Sophie waves him off, scoffing.

“But hear me out—” she begins, still smiling.

I return to my brooding, wishing I could pretend I was even a little interested in my friend’s impassioned argument over why getting stuck in quicksand would be preferable to trying to escape a pack of hungry wolverines.

Sophie has been my best friend since we were eighteen years old, thanks to a random selection at our university’s housing office. We lived together, studied together, ate together, and went off into the big, scary, real world side by side. She’s my ride or die. I love her.

Which makes it so much harder to admit that I’m also a not-so-tiny bit jealous of her now. Only a few months ago, I was in a serious relationship while she pined away for a much older man she thought she could never have. Now, the tables have turned spectacularly, and I doubt my story will turn out as happily as Sophie’s did. After all, the list of problems that may prevent me from ever having a chance with Julian Ballard isn’t short.

Problem #1: We live on opposite ends of the country.

Problem #2: He is a literal billionaire.

Problem #3: He’s twice my age.

Problem #4: I used to date his daughter.

Any one of those could be a dealbreaker. Spending three days with him over Christmas, stranded in California while fresh off a breakup with his cheating daughter, shouldn’t have done this to me.

Maybe I would be over whatever connection there was between us if I’d made a clean break. That isn’t what happened, though.

The embarrassing truth is I missed him from the moment I got out of his car and walked into the airport. When I got that first text a few days later, it was like I could breathe for the first time since leaving California.

Which is a really, really shitty way to feel about your ex-girlfriend’s father.

When I stared down at that first polite inquiry as to whether I’d made it home alright, I knew I shouldn’t respond. I knew exactly what would happen if I kept that door open, and it wasn’t pretty. If I felt so much for the man after only a few days together, what would happen if we kept communicating? I couldn’t bring myself to just walk away, though.

A tiny, self-destructive part of me, the part dissatisfied with my quiet, ordinary life, wanted to feel every single thing Julian Ballard could give me. Even if that included heartbreak.

I responded anyway, and my initial suspicions were dead on. Now, I’m hooked. Hardly a few hours go by without us talking, even if it’s just to exchange a few texts complaining about our shitty lunch or exchange commentary on whatever current event is sweeping the news. I stay up late, curled alone in bed with my phone pressed to my ear, talking to him until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. In the morning, I wake up damp with sweat and unspeakably horny because of whatever dream-Julian did to me overnight.

My freaking vibrator dropped dead from overuse last week, and I had to pay twenty-five dollars to overnight its replacement.

Being attracted to him is bad. What’s worse is walking around with a permanent ache in the middle of my chest; a deep, piercing wound that throbs every time I think about Julian Ballard.

It’s unreasonable to have such a strong connection with someone you only spent a few days with. If a friend was in this situation, I would tell them to get their butt on a dating app and move the hell on.

Except, I feel it .

There’s no denying there’s something there, but if keeping a normal, uncomplicated relationship going has been too much for me thus far, what are my chances of making it work with Julian? The answer to that is a bitter pill to swallow, and I keep my gaze trained on the window, watching the traffic grow denser as we get closer to the city.

Friends . We’re friends now. Just friends . In my lap, the phone vibrates again.

Have you given any more thought to the job?

I have to bite back a smile, even as the wound in the center of my chest aches worse than ever. He asks me that about once a day, apparently hell-bent on tempting me back to California.

You’re not used to hearing the word “no” are you, Mr. Ballard?

As a matter of fact, no. I’m not.

I don’t know what to say to that, but as I stare at the screen, bubbles pop up to indicate Julian is typing, then disappear, then reappear. Finally, another message comes through.

Can we video chat tonight?

I’d like to see you.

My stomach drops . He wants to see me? Why? Until now, our relationship has been comprised of purely platonic texting and phone calls, colored by the unspoken understanding that we want to be together, but can’t, and the memory of the one and only moment we stepped over that line. A video call is unquestionably more intimate, and I can’t let myself go there. I just can’t. God, just the thought of seeing his face…

My thumbs are stiff as I type out my response, completely absorbed in the little glowing screen that connects me to Julian Ballard.

That’s probably a bad idea

A stripping naked and spreading my legs to show him how wet he makes me level bad idea. Which is almost certainly how repeated video chats would end up.

I’m willing to risk it.

I blow out a long, uneven breath. He might be willing to risk it, but I’m not. Despite exclusively dating and sleeping with women until now, I’ve been attracted to men before. Unfortunately for me, I’ve also never been as attracted to anyone, of any gender, as I am to Julian Ballard.

Chest tight, I turn my phone on silent and shove it in my purse without replying. Then, because the universe clearly has decided to shit on me today, Sophie reminds my father they’re out of toothpaste and need to stop on the way home .

God. Would it be so bad if I jumped out of the car? Because I kind of want to jump out of the car. We’re not even going that fast.

“How far is this place?” I ask, my voice a pitch higher than usual as we slow to a stop in city traffic.

Dad’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. He frowns. “Honor?—”

Whatever he has to say is lost in the sound of his phone ringing, and I turn back to stare at the grimy windows of the storefronts we pass, lost in thought. Until Dad’s next words make my heart plummet right through the floor of the car.

“ Which hospital?”