Chapter 17 Bryson
Bryson
I’m torn. I kind of wish Jaden had left with Taryn after my game instead of accepting my father’s offer to join my dysfunctional family for dinner.
Of course, it’s never just the four of us.
Jacob Moss always turns meals like these into business meetings.
Not only is Jaden about to be exposed to the often toxic dynamics of a Moss family meal, where my sister and I pretend to like our stepmom, Savannah, who is only six years older than Amelia, but she’ll also get to see me fake a smile in front of complete strangers who are only here for my dad’s free booze and hot takes on the oil industry.
My presence is purely garnish, the shiny bauble there to impress.
There’s a quieter part of me, however, that’s relieved to have someone besides Amelia to talk to.
It’s usually just the two of us versus, well, everyone else.
But with Jaden here, I feel oddly like I can breathe.
Not that I’m using her as a shield, but I can’t lie—seeing Jaden stand tall in my father’s face when I know he was trying to cow her into submission was kind of inspiring.
Most of us piled into my father’s rental to get to the restaurant, and rather than force my dad’s guests or my sister to climb into the far back seats, I volunteered Jaden and myself to crawl into the third row.
It’s a snug fit, and if my father so much as brakes hard, I’ll likely break my leg since my knee is pressed against the seat in front of me.
But it’s also quieter back here. Two men dressed in sport coats and jeans, look-alikes of my father, dominate the conversation with tales of their recent trip to the Middle East.
“I wish I had time to change,” Jaden whispers as she presses her arm into mine.
I smirk at her, and she jabs my rib with her elbow.
“Oww,” I laugh softly, rubbing the spot. “It’s just funny to see you dressed as my number one fan. You know . . . on account of your level ten hate for me.”
“I do not hate you,” she gripes back.
I hold up my palms and twist my lips, acting surprised.
“Much,” she adds, and I breathe out a laugh before patting her knee.
“That’s more like it,” I say. I leave my hand on her leg for a second, but curl my fingers against her leggings and pull my hand away the moment the creep factor sets in.
“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat.
Jaden doesn’t respond, and I spend the next block of travel feeling like a complete asshole until I feel her fingertips tickle along the back of my hand, coaxing my fingers to flex and make room for hers.
I smile at her faintly when her hand squeezes mine, then spend the next few miles staring at the way our skin looks woven side by side, until my dad pulls into the restaurant’s valet and she lets go.
I’m thankful that Amelia is wearing a Cordon sweatshirt and jeans so that Jaden doesn’t feel too underdressed.
As it is, my postgame button-down and khakis make me feel more like an intern than a grown-ass man in this place.
The entryway is made of water and glass, showers raining over jagged edges stained a dozen shades of blue to make it look like an ocean.
The fishy scent isn’t my favorite, but Amelia loves seafood, so at least my sister will get a nice dinner out of what promises to be a shit show.
There’s no way both of us are getting out of here unscathed.
“Is this one of those places where they don’t put the prices on the menu?” Jaden whispers at my side. I nod and breathe out a silent laugh. I wish her hand would find its way back to mine, but I’ll take the warmth of her arm brushing against me.
“Do you like lobster?” I quirk a brow.
Her head bobs side to side as she shrugs.
“Well, if you can stomach it, order that. It’s the most expensive. I might order two.”
She laughs out loud, quickly covering her mouth with her palm, but when our eyes meet, she drops her hand and blinks her eyes wide.
“You’re not kidding?”
I shake my head. I’m going to push for expensive wine too. And an appetizer or three. Whatever I can get out of this torture. The man can afford it.
“I think my wife is already here with some of our guests. Ah, yes, there she is.” My dad ushers us into the restaurant, bypassing the poor twentysomething working the host stand.
We weave through the dozens of tables toward the large one near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the hillside and city lights.
“There are my babies!” Savannah squeals, stretching her arms wide and flaring the sleeves of her bright-yellow blouse.
She looks like a moth. I endure her hug and kiss, which I am certain leaves a smudge of bright-red lipstick on my jawline.
My sister takes a strategic route around the other side of the table to get out of having to embrace our stepmom for now.
Savannah is forever trying to force Amelia into becoming her bestie.
Unfortunately, I failed to protect Jaden from Savannah’s clingy hands.
She swoops in to hug Jaden while I’m distracted by sliding one of the heavy chairs out, and by the time I turn to offer it to Jaden, I’m met with her pleading expression as her chin gets lost amid the ruffles that line the shoulder of my stepmom’s sleeve.
“Tell me all about it. How did you two meet?” Savannah lets go of Jaden and immediately clasps her hands in front of her as her gaze sways from me back to Jaden again.
“We’re both—”
“We’re both athletes at Cordon. I’ve known Bryson since freshman year,” Jaden cuts in.
My mouth pulls into a lopsided smirk as my gaze shifts to her. Somehow, without me having to warn her, I think Jaden knows it’s best to avoid the topic of Amelia’s app.
“How nice. So you’re a cheerleader, then?” Savannah claps her hands in emphasis, and I turn to my side to stifle my chuckle.
“Uh, no. I play tennis.”
I’m becoming familiar with that edge in Jaden’s tone. It’s somewhere between indignant and snarky, and when it’s not directed at me, I must admit I like it.
“Oh . . . cute. We play tennis sometimes, don’t we, Jacob?” Savannah scrunches her fingers in my father’s direction, her fake nails clicking together.
“What’s that?” my father says, feigning interest.
“Tennis. Bryson’s new girlfriend plays tennis, and I was just telling her that you and I play sometimes.
At the club.” Savannah makes as if she’s swinging a tennis racket while my father nods and smiles at her.
He’s placating her, but she doesn’t seem to care.
Her overdone grin remains as she shifts her gaze back to Jaden.
“We have a great club,” Savannah adds, wrapping her spindly, long fingers around Jaden’s wrist. “It’s right by the PGA golf course. You’d love it.”
“Uh . . . oh. That’s great. I bet it’s nice.
” Jaden’s attention bounces from the diamond-adorned hand grasping her to my stepmom’s smiling red lips.
She’s trying her best to engage with Savannah, but she needs rescuing.
I gesture toward the chair I pulled out for her so she can get some space from my stepmom’s insipid conversation.
“How often do you do this?” Jaden mutters, leaning my direction as I take the seat next to her.
“Too often,” I answer, plastering on the forced smile I’m going to have to keep up for at least an hour. My jaw typically hurts by the end of evenings like this.
My father must be schmoozing his guests, because he orders three different rare wines for the table before our server even has a chance to greet us and explain the specials. I’ve never really seen Jaden drink, but she’s not shy about clutching her glass the moment the pouring stops.
“I’m gonna need this,” she says through a breathy laugh before taking a sip.
I gently clink my glass into hers before tipping it back and drinking nearly half all at once. I don’t much care for wine, but I’ll chase whatever buzz I can get right now.
“So, Amelia . . . your father tells me you’re in the tech industry?” one of my father’s guests segues. My gaze darts to my sister in time to catch the panic hit her eyes.
“Uh, sort of. I recently launched an app. I have a partner who helps with the coding, but I designed the user interface, and I handle the business end, along with the marketing.” Amelia shifts in her seat, sitting taller, and I meet her gaze and smile to help encourage this proud posture she’s deploying.
Our father’s loud chuckle from the opposite end of the table, however, erases all the confidence I know was hard for Amelia to showcase.
“Good for you! I have an app division at Metro. Is it something I’d be interested in? We’re always trying to build our fuel pricing portfolio,” the man says.
“This isn’t your kind of app, Rob,” my father says with a chuckle, quickly dismissing his colleague’s interest. I swear I can feel my sister’s pulse rattling the table through her palms.
Rob nods but keeps his interested gaze on my sister. He’s being polite, which is one of those foreign niceties Jacob Moss isn’t acquainted with.
“Amelia,” my father begins, drawing out my sister’s name as he leans back in his chair as if he’s bracing himself to make a major announcement, “has built a dating app. Ta-da! That’s it. Because that’s what this world needs to save it . . . one more dating app!”
Amelia shrinks down in her seat.
Jaden surprises me when she interjects. “Maybe not the world, but people like me? And Bryson? We don’t really have time to date like typical college students, so having a social media–type space where you can find other busy athletes and connect is unique, I think.
At least, I like it.” Jaden’s hand moves to my leg under the table, and she squeezes my thigh as she scans the table, waiting for someone, anyone, to respond.
Not even as much as a nod, however. Weaklings.
“But didn’t you two meet freshman year? On your own?” My stepmom is right on cue. I squint one eye and breathe out an awkward laugh as I glance to Jaden, who makes a similar expression back at me.