On Loverose Lane (Return to Dublin Street #1)

14. Beth

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BETH

I could barely take in the conversation at Mum and Dad’s that Sunday, never mind the food. Last night I’d gone out on another date. Neil. He was a veterinarian. It had been like pulling teeth to get conversation out of him and then he asked me as we walked out of the restaurant if I fancied giving him a blow job.

I’d laughed in discomfort, thinking he was being inappropriately funny.

He was completely serious.

To which I replied that I did not fancy giving him a blow job. That I would in fact rather choke on a banana covered in fire ants than give him a blow job.

He’d shrugged and said, “No worries, see you around.” And then walked away.

I was really beginning to despair that my perfect match even existed. Also, going on these dates was eating into my work time. Was it even worth it at this point to try to juggle a personal life if these were the nonstarters I kept finding myself on dates with?

As soon as it was polite to, I excused myself from Sunday dinner, citing work, which wasn’t untrue. I hugged my family goodbye and was out the front door when I heard Dad call my name. Stopping on the front stoop, I turned to face him as he approached.

A frown marred his brow and he asked without preamble, “What’s going on?”

Guilt suffused me for being so distant. “Just work, you know.”

“Not buying it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Dad had always been the harder of my parents to deceive. It wasn’t because my mum wasn’t hands-on and interested. Both my parents were overly involved and overly protective. Which I’d take over the opposite in a heartbeat. However, Dad was the perceptive one. Mum had said that his ability to see right through people had only failed him very few times, and it was the reason he was so successful in business. She’d hinted it was even the reason he’d won her over. I wasn’t sure in what way she meant. Dad might joke about working hard to make Mum fall in love with him, but I couldn’t imagine that.

However, as much as I adored my dad, I could really do without his perceptiveness tonight. “I’ve been thinking about Amanda a lot lately.”

His expression softened in sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

I shrugged unhappily. “What can you do? Other than throw yourself into work.”

“Or spend more time with your family.”

“Dad, work is seriously kicking my arse. You know what that’s like.” Even at uni, when I’d done my best to hide my anxiety from my parents, Dad always seemed to sense it. At the height of my stressy moments, I’d find myself whisked off at Dad’s arrangement for a weekend break to the beach or a European city where I could do nothing but be with my family. It usually always worked to calm me down a bit. I’d led a privileged life, in more ways than one.

“Beth—”

“Dad, I love you, but I’m tired.” I reached up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “See you later.”

As I was walking down the steps, he called out to me, “You’re more stubborn than your mother.”

I grinned over my shoulder. “She says I’m more stubborn than you.”

Dad didn’t smile. “I’m here if you need me, kid.”

I stopped, filled with utter love. “I’ll always need you, Dad.”

Tenderness gleamed in his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Text me when you get home.”

I smiled at the command and walked away. The momentary reprieve from my worries dissipated, however, as I found myself going over and over everything I needed to do this week. I was barely aware of walking down the sloping hill of Dublin Street. Of hitting the cobbled street of Drummond Place and passing the small park in the middle of it.

It was a wee bit quieter here, with fewer people out and about at this time in the evening, despite the late summer daylight. The quiet made it even easier to catalogue the tasks on my agenda as I walked Great King Street, with its row of Georgian townhomes that housed residences, flats, and businesses.

The sound of a horn blaring on Dundas Street where the traffic was still fairly busy and there were more people around brought me out of my overthinking fog. If I got home quickly enough, I could draft a few emails that needed to be sent tomorrow before heading to bed for my early start at the gym. I hurried my steps until I reached the corner where my modern apartment building stood out against the Georgian architecture around it. Some locals called it an eyesore. But I thought the sharp granite angles and dark paned glass created a nice juxtaposition with the period buildings it was nestled among.

Relieved to be nearly home, I practically jogged down Loverose Lane and through the gates into the car park. A loud noise jolted me from my dash toward the entrance. I followed the sound and found Callan striding toward me, his training bag looped over his broad shoulder.

My entire body zinged with awareness.

I wasn’t going to analyze that.

Instead, I swiped my key card over the entrance and held the glass door open for him as he approached. He looked a wee bit tired in the eyes, but otherwise, he was as sexy as ever.

The arsehole.

I knew they’d obliterated Strathmore United last week, but today Caley were up against Dalmarnock Thistle, the team that had won the Scottish Pro League nine out of the last ten years.

And I only knew that because I might have googled some facts about the Pro League a few weeks ago.

I wondered how the game had gone.

Callan acknowledged I’d held the door for him with a nod, but he strode right by me without a word and took the stairs as if I were a stranger.

A wave of déjà vu hit me, and suddenly, I was a teenager again …