Chapter 12
12
OLIVIA
M y Dad isn’t good at taking no for an answer.
When I told him last week that I was going to have to pass on his offer to come down to Charleston and act in Last Bus Out , I was surprised how easily he accepted my decision.
I should have realized he’d accepted it too easily.
It turns out, he hasn’t really accepted it at all. Instead, it’s more like he made a temporary retreat.
Over the last couple days, he’s launched a counter-assault on my better judgment, texting me and calling me constantly, trying to convince me that this is just too good of an opportunity to turn down.
It’s frustrating. I know it’s a good opportunity. I’m not happy about turning it down. But this is my future we’re talking about, and I know for my future, going through with this internship is the best decision.
It sucks to make a disappointing decision that you know is the smart thing to do, even if it’s the boring thing to do. Having people try to talk you out of it only makes it worse.
I’m currently taking a deep breath as I hold my phone to my ear, enduring more of my dad’s persuasion.
“Daddy,” I say, a bite to the word after he finishes his spiel. Normally I call him Dad , but I’ve developed the habit of going back to Daddy when he annoys me. I think it butters him up and makes him less eager to argue with what I’m saying. “I know you wanted me down there to act with you. I wish I could do it, too. But I’ve already committed to this internship. It would be a really, really bad look if I backed out. It could hurt my professional reputation.”
Static hisses from my phone. “What was that, dear?” my dad’s voice comes out sounding choppy. “I think I’m breaking up. I’m …”
The call drops.
I let out a sigh of relief.
I don’t know what happened to his signal, but as long as it isn’t a life-threatening disaster, which I doubt, I’m thankful to it for cutting our conversation short.
That was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that just repeats the same argument over and over, each time with more stress on the words, but without altering the logic one iota.
My stomach churns in annoyance as I feel my phone vibrate again. I guess my dad’s signal is back.
Without even looking at the screen, I slide open the call.
“Yes, Daddy?” I answer.
But there’s just silence on the other end.
Until, after about two beats, I hear a sharp breath.
Even though it’s just a breath, it doesn’t sound like my dad.
“Hello?” I ask into the phone.
There’s a cough on the other end. This time, I pick up a hint of the voice, and my chest catches as I seem to recognize it. Dread pools in my stomach, thinking that surely it can’t be …
“Sorry. I just … I need a minute.”
My stomach drops. There’s no mistaking the voice. No mistaking who I’m on the phone with.
I just called Tuck McCoy daddy .
He takes another deep breath and lets it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. “Still need a minute here. To recover. I just didn’t think … I didn’t think we were at that point in our relationship yet.”
I roll my eyes and groan. “Tuck, I …”
“No, no,” he interrupts. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’m really not complaining.”
“I didn’t know it was you on the phone.”
There’s another beat of silence. When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, rough and gravelly, with a sharp edge to it. “Who else are you calling daddy ?”
There’s an unmistakable undercurrent of jealousy in his voice— real jealousy. For some reason I’d rather not examine, it makes me feel a tingle low in my center.
“Uh, my actual father,” I answer.
“Oh. I guess that’s acceptable.”
“That’s a relief,” I snark. “You know me, always desperate for your approval.”
“Are you desperate for my praise , too?” Tuck asks, his voice throaty and suggestive.
There’s that stupid tingle again.
“How did you get my number anyway?” The question suddenly occurs to me, and asking it is a great excuse to get us off the unfortunate track this conversation is currently on.
“Summer gave it to me,” he answers.
I gasp. “The little traitor …”
He chuckles, a smooth and rumbly sound. If it were anyone else’s chuckle, I’d probably reflect on how good it sounds, how its vibration is like a massage to my ears …
“Don’t blame her. I begged for it because I need to reschedule Monday’s tutoring session. We’re throwing a surprise birthday party for Kiran, one of my teammates.”
I roll my lips. “Are you sure you’re not putting it off because you won’t have the first draft of your essay done in time?”
“No way. I finished it already. And it’s by far the best essay I’ve ever written. I’m really proud of it. Seriously, you’ve been a lifesaver showing me how to outline and organize my thoughts and shit.”
It’s maybe not the most eloquent compliment I’ve ever received, but it is a compliment, and it sounds genuine. There’s a bright, happy feeling in my chest, and I even feel an involuntary smile tilting on my lips.
“Alright. We can reschedule. How’s Tuesday, same time?”
“Perfect. I’ll do an extra shot in your honor at Kiran’s party as a thank you.”
I laugh. “That’s really not necessary.”
There’s another pause on his end. “Hey, Lockley?”
“Yeah?”
“I just made you laugh.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh again. “Wow, aren’t you observant?”
“You didn’t even try to hide it. I think this is a milestone in our relationship.”
“See you Tuesday, Tuck,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You sure will.” He disconnects the call.
Tuck is just too much. Too ridiculous. Too obnoxious.
Why did talking with him just put me in a better mood?