38. Lyla
Chapter thirty-eight
Lyla
It took Deacon twenty minutes to get me into his car.
Because Aaron Brooks required a specific star rating to dine, the small, homey, and perfectly remarkable restaurants in Bowling Green just wouldn’t do. When I received directions to a high-rise steakhouse in downtown Toledo, my stomach sank. It felt too familiar, and I wasn’t sure if Deacon was prepared for it.
“Park near the back,” I instructed when we pulled into the lot. I pointed to an empty spot near the exit and smoothed out my dress. It was starting to wrinkle since I hadn’t steamed it. I was a college student who didn’t own a fucking steamer, and I knew it would be on the list of insults my dad could throw.
Deacon followed my directions and put the car in park. “Why the back?”
“Because I don’t want him to see your car. I adore your car, but I don’t want to give my dad a reason to comment on something that he has no right to comment on.”
Deacon gave my hand a light squeeze. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just dinner. I’ll try to do most of the talking so you won’t have to.”
Deacon slipped his hand through mine as we walked across the parking lot. He held open the door, and I caught myself taking in the full view of Deacon Scott in dress clothes. He looked deliciously downright delightful in a crisp white shirt and black dress pants, both tailored to hug every curve of his body. I’d just keep adding Ds to the description of my fake boyfriend since I wasn’t getting the D I truly wanted from him.
Cue the alarm bells. For fuck’s sake Lyla.
We boarded the elevator, and I almost buckled when Deacon rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I pressed my lips together so my mouth didn’t fall open, focusing on the task at hand instead of his forearms. In just a few short moments, Deacon would be seated across the table from Aaron Brooks, and all of the strides I’d made toward getting out from under my dad would be in jeopardy.
Deacon squeezed my hand again. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop getting into your head.”
I rolled my eyes as the elevator doors opened, and a friendly hostess greeted us. As I mentioned my father’s name, her expression shifted to disapproval. She must have already met the man of the hour.
The hostess led us to a table near the back of the restaurant. It sat in the middle of a floor-to-ceiling window that provided a beautiful view of the city below. It would have been a stunning environment to dine in had it not been tainted by the man already at the table.
Aaron Brooks looked like he always did for one of our reunion dinners—cream suit, black hair slicked back, green eyes surrounded by minimal fine lines, and an expression described as the opposite of welcoming.
He stood up to greet us as we approached the table. I received an awkward side hug, and when I pulled away to sit down, Deacon placed his hand on my shoulder .
“Mr. Brooks.” Deacon extended his free hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Deacon Scott. I’m Lyla’s boyfriend.”
Dad looked him up and down, but he wasn’t suspicious. He was too speechless to believe a guy was standing in front of him.
“Deacon Scott,” Dad repeated. My god—was that a grin ? “It’s a pleasure.”
They shook hands, and Deacon pulled out my chair for me to sit. He placed my bag on the table beside him and rested his arm behind me. It was the most natural setting for Deacon. He had played the boyfriend role for three years with Cassie, and I had no reason to doubt him.
“I ordered some wine,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair. He looked relaxed, comfortable even. It was strange, and my look of concern must’ve shown. “Lyla, I haven't seen your transcript for the semester yet. Any reason you haven’t sent it?”
“I—”
Deacon placed his hand on my thigh. “The semester doesn’t officially end until December,” he interrupted gently. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Lyla is brilliant.”
I smiled shyly, ignoring the delighted tingles that ran up my thigh and into my groin. Deacon’s hand was warm through the thin fabric of my dress, and like a pure gentleman, he didn’t move it. It was innocent enough to be supportive but tempting enough for me to want him to inch it further toward my pulsing—
“Brilliant, huh?” Dad shook his head condescendingly and chuckled into his wine glass. “Lyla has always had her studies on the back burner. It’s a shame, too. I would expect some difficulty with a more challenging program choice, but English?”
“It’s just a minor, Dad.” I reached for my wine, surprised I waited this long to take a sip.
“Yeah, well, you had to choose something, and we both know you could never thrive in math or science—”
“What did you go to college for, sir?” Deacon prompted.
Deacon knew my dad didn’t attend college, so I wasn’t sure why he asked. It didn’t matter. The only thing I could focus on was Deacon’s hand. Nothing was worse than craving skin-to-skin contact but settling for the appropriate option.
Dad studied us for a moment across the table. Then, a sly smile slowly spread across his face, making me take another sip of my red. “Fortunately, my career didn’t require a college degree.”
Deacon grinned. “So, no late-night papers or anything for you, huh?” He was trying to make a point and did a great job burying his sarcasm.
Dad transitioned the topic of conversation to A. Brooks Financial Firm and highlighted his credentials. If there was one thing that could derail Dad's stream of insults, it was an opportunity to talk about himself and everything he had created.
The waitress came to the table, and I prayed to the goddess of wine that she brought another bottle with her. She took our orders and presented a tray of appetizers to start us off. I picked at the bread basket and rolled my eyes at the plate of oysters on ice in the middle of the table. Dad was guilty of ordering a shit ton of food with no intention of eating it. I didn’t even like oysters.
For the next twenty minutes, I heard about the steady rise of Dad’s success. Deacon asked engaging questions that required well-thought-out answers and explanations. Dad provided them, and I almost fell out of my chair when he asked Deacon about his choice of major.
“The goal is pediatric surgery. I’d like to start working next fall and begin medical school the following year.”
Dad nodded approvingly. “You took your MCAT, I presume?”
I glanced over at Deacon and placed my hand over his. “Deacon took the MCAT his sophomore year. He did great.”
“I did have to take it one more time,” Deacon admitted, chuckling. “And I’m glad I did. I spent most of sophomore year studying for that damn thing.”
“And where will you go to school?” Dad prompted. He cut into his steak, and my stomach twisted as the red juice flooded his plate. I glanced out the window and sipped my wine.
“Not sure yet. Depends on Lyla, too.”
I almost choked on my drink. I smiled sweetly at the table and put my glass down to prevent any further damage. I couldn’t make eye contact with him, but I knew Dad was staring. I felt the anxiety building in my chest. The belt began to tighten, and I braced for whatever comment was coming next.
“I wouldn’t focus too much on that factor,” Aaron said. “Lyla doesn’t follow through with anything, and once she fails, she’ll give up whatever business she plans on starting. You don’t want to set aside your potential for a flaky pipe dream.”
I wasn’t sure what was more upsetting—the fact that I had a father who said shit like that out loud or the way his words felt like daggers every fucking time. I should be used to this, and in a few months, I’d never have to sit through one of these dinners again .
Dad flashed a grin to the left and raised his glass. A woman with a camera snapped a shot and wandered back toward the hostess stand. He usually arranged for a cute father-daughter photo at the beginning of the meal instead of after he insulted me—anything to document him looking like the father of the year.
I waited for the shock to hit Deacon’s system, but his face remained relaxed and unbothered. Even when the man was rendered speechless, he was gorgeous. There was another squeeze on my thigh, and I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I squeezed his hand back.
“With all due respect, sir, my potential doesn’t mean anything if Lyla can’t have her dream, too. What she does after college is important to me, and I want to help her achieve it. If anyone can see something through, it’s her.”
I silently reprimanded the tears forming in the corner of my right eye.
To avoid any awkwardness, Dad continued the conversation as if Deacon had said nothing at all. “Will you be spending any time at home for the holidays, Deacon? Where is home, by the way?”
I released Deacon’s hand to start on my grilled chicken salad. I usually wasn’t a salad type of girl, but it was the only thing on the menu that didn’t make me want to vomit at the thought of being stuck at this table.
“Detroit. I’m heading up there tomorrow, and I’ll go back for Christmas,” Deacon answered, taking a bite of his chicken.
“Will you be going too, Lyla? Have you met Deacon’s family yet?”
I took a sip of water to clear my throat. “ I haven’t—”
“Yeah, actually.” Deacon looked at me and smiled. His playful gaze was contagious, and he rested his hand on my forearm. I was running out of body parts for him to catch on fire. “I invited Lyla for Christmas, but she has to clear it with Jane first.”
My eyes narrowed, and I forced myself to stay silent. A calm realization came over me that I might have to meet Deacon’s parents for the holiday. The thought of meeting the people who raised a man like Deacon didn’t startle me in the slightest.
Dad interrupted our intense and somehow flirty staredown. “Jane?”
“Deacon talks to Mom all the time,” I explained, finally breaking eye contact with Deacon to emphasize my next statement. “She really likes him.”
In classic Aaron Brooks fashion, he didn’t push further into a conversation that didn’t include talking about himself or insulting me. “Anyone want their food boxed up?”
After Dad paid for the meal, we took an awkward elevator ride down to the parking lot. Deacon held my hand, and when it was time to part ways, he extended his other toward my dad. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Brooks.”
“Please, call me Aaron.”
I smiled weakly and leaned into his pitiful side hug. “Bye, Dad.”
The walk to the car was devastatingly cold. The wind picked up as we rounded the corner of the building, and as soon as we were close enough for Deacon to unlock the doors with his fob, he burst into laughter. It was the kind of laughter you were forced to hold in for an hour and a half, and by the time I slid into my seat, I was clutching my stomach .
I wiped the tears from my eyes and let out a final chuckle as Deacon turned on the heat.
He rested his hand on my thigh and gave it a tap. Those damn hands needed to keep to themselves for the rest of the night, or else I was going to implode.
“I’m sorry that dinner sucked,” I offered apologetically. “But thank you for sitting through it.”
Deacon looked behind us to see if he was clear to reverse. “It wasn’t that bad.”
What was it about men with their hands on the back of the headrest?
I appreciated the effort to make my toxic father-daughter relationship seem normal. Deacon was the first person other than my mom to meet Aaron Brooks. I felt terrible for introducing him to such a scene that would linger in his mind as an awkward memory.
Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” came through the speakers as heat flooded the car.
“Believe it or not, it was better having you there,” I admitted. “I actually smiled during this one because of you.”
My eyes lingered on his exposed forearm near the hem of my dress. If this image were Deacon’s profile picture on a dating website, I’d swipe right so fucking fast. Those hands could do some things, and it was driving me insane that I couldn’t direct their attention to the ache between my thighs. I had to cross my legs just to get my nerve endings to calm down.
“Oh, well, I do that on purpose,” Deacon said, leaning closer. His calming scent of cedarwood and lavender mixed with something stronger. It was a cologne I didn’t recognize, and I made a mental note to sneak a peek at the bottle on his dresser when we returned from break .
“What do you mean?” I asked softly.
You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now while you’re stopped at this red light.
“Your smile is everything,” Deacon said. “That’s why I’m always trying to make you laugh.”
I needed a week away from Deacon. I needed space from the man who made me want to climb over the gearshift and settle onto his lap. I would have that dress shirt unbuttoned and his chest exposed in seconds. I’d finally get to feel his warm skin against mine and run my fingers over the parts of him I wanted to explore. I wanted to feel his hand at the nape of my neck again and the swell of my lips after he nipped them with his teeth.
I wanted to feel everything .
When we woke up the next morning, I offered Deacon the friendliest hug I could muster, and we parted ways. It was an exchange between coworkers, an agreement between two parties, because that’s what this relationship was. Deacon would get the girl, and I’d start the next chapter of my life.