Chapter 17 Bryson #2
“No, see . . . Jaden is Amelia’s employee. She’s, like, what . . . a model? Or more of a spokesperson, really. Because, you know.” My dad’s eyes squint as he holds his wineglass precariously in one hand and uses it to gesture in Jaden’s and my direction.
Jaden’s head tilts as she gives my father a sideways look.
“What do I know?” she asks, her eyes squinting in a way that mirrors his. I brace myself for the incoming insult and move my hand to cover Jaden’s on my thigh.
“You two aren’t exactly on the same level, is all. So you’re more like coworkers.” My father chuckles, and his minions follow suit, though there’s a nervous tinge in their expressions, as if they’re not sure they’re supposed to be laughing this time.
Here’s a hint, assholes—you’re not.
“Because football is more important than tennis?” Jaden’s head tilts an extra tick, and her fingers dig into my leg.
My father sets his glass down and squares himself with the table, rubbing his palms together with his elbows propped on the table.
It’s a posture I’m familiar with, as well as the pretentious smirk playing at his lips.
He’s about to say hurtful words that I simply don’t want Jaden to hear.
He’s not talking about tennis versus football.
He’s talking about our worth—economically.
It’s always been assumed that Amelia and I would date within a certain tax bracket.
Of course, he’s the only one who assumes such things.
“Don’t worry. I don’t play for Tech, so my football status doesn’t really count. Isn’t that right, Dad?” My diversion seems to work, as my father’s stern gaze zips to me.
“Well now that’s another thing entirely. You passed on Tech to spite me.” He looks to his colleagues at his right. “He could have started there. He would have been a Tech legacy. But he had some whimsical fantasy about being on the West Coast, I guess.”
My father chuckles as he leans back and glances around the table, looking for support. One of our guests pushes back from the table to excuse himself, pulling a phone out of his lapel pocket. I suspect he’s faking a call to get out of here. I wish that move would work for me.
“Cordon had a great season last year. I think they’ll win the conference this year too.” Jaden is trying to defend me, and it’s sweet. It won’t deter my father, but her effort makes me squeeze her hand in appreciation.
“Well, isn’t that cute?” my father responds, rolling his eyes. Thankfully, our server steps in to review the menu and begin taking orders.
“Oh, that is annoying. Is that what I look like when I roll my eyes?” Jaden says in a hushed tone as she leans into my side.
I shake my head with a tight smile.
“Your eye roll isn’t annoying.” It’s cute. I keep that part to myself.
My phone buzzes against my thigh, so I slide it out of my pocket to read the text from my sister.
Amelia: Thank you.
I glance up at her across the table and nod silently.
She moves her hands into the front of her hoodie, probably tucking her phone back out of sight, and I slide mine back into my pocket.
Jaden lets go of my other hand when the server gestures to her.
She drags her finger down the menu and stops on the lobster dinner, tapping it twice before popping her gaze up with a smug grin.
“I’ll have the lobster,” she says. My father snorts, and I’m sure it’s his way of calling her a gold digger.
“Make it two,” I say, meeting my father’s gaze in challenge. His eyes haze, but he lets my small act of rebellion go for now. I hate lobster, and he knows it.
The man who stepped away makes it back to the table in time to order, and the discussion shifts to oil technology.
I think the spotlight might finally be off my sister and me, so I let my shoulders relax after a few minutes and reach for the wine to top off my glass, eager to finally take in a full breath.
“You know, there’s always the transfer portal,” my father says, dumping the heat right back in my lap. “You still have a year of eligibility since you didn’t play your full freshman year.”
I should have known things weren’t done. My father has been pushing the transfer idea since the day I committed to Cordon. He still wants me in Oklahoma or Texas, pursuing oil. Following in his footsteps. Cementing his legacy.
“Do you get a kickback for me attending Tech or something? I swear you’re like a guard dog about it, teeth all sunk in and never letting go.
” I huff out my frustration as I mime sharp teeth with clawed fingers.
I scoot my wineglass toward the center of the table after that. No buzz is big enough for my mood now.
My father’s stare lingers on me for a quiet second or two that feels like minutes on my end. I don’t look away despite how badly I want to. I’ve learned a few techniques from the man over the years. Backing down from a staring contest never shuts him up, but sometimes winning them does.
“You know, I just remembered . . .” Jaden pushes back from the table and blinks her eyes rapidly as she presses her palms to her cheeks before she looks down at me. “I have a huge project due at midnight. I’m so sorry, but I really need to go. Bryson, would you mind getting me home?”
It’s a terrible acting performance, and I don’t think a single person at this table is buying it. But playing along is better than keeping up this standoff with my father. And at least he’s disappointed in me instead of Amelia right now.
“I sure can.” I toss my napkin onto my empty chair as soon as I stand, then turn my attention to our dinner guests. “It was nice meeting y’all. Amelia, call me later.”
“Bryson, don’t be a jackass. Your dinner hasn’t even arrived yet,” my father says as my gaze passes over his.
I chuckle, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I don’t even fucking like lobster, Dad. You eat it.” I swing an arm around Jaden’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
We march through the busy dining room, zipping past the ma?tre d’ and the valet stand.
We’re not exactly in the city, so catching a cab isn’t an option.
Somehow, though, without me saying a word, Jaden seems to understand my need to just keep walking.
Her hand in mine, she practically allows me to drag her through this unfamiliar posh neighborhood.
I need to get out of my dad’s damn bubble, and the farther we walk, the more I can breathe.
I finally stop when we reach a wooden bench just outside an ice cream shop on the corner of a strip mall.
I plop down and exhale as I rub my temples and rewind the last few minutes with my father.
My hands drop when my eyes meet Jaden’s, though, and the shame begins to enter my head.
My head falls to the side as my eyes grow tired, but I don’t dare look away from her.
It’s different eye contact from the stubborn standoff with my dad.
Looking at her, seeing her see me, feels healing in a way. Even if it also hurts.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head and takes slow steps toward me, holding out her hands. I thread our fingers together until she moves into the space between my legs. Her hands leave mine, moving to my jawline, and she coaxes my chin up until I’m looking her in the eyes.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her voice is soft, and it feels safe to close my eyes for a moment as she cradles my face.
“He’s exhausting. I love him, but sometimes . . . I hate him.” I peel my eyes open slowly and find her nodding, a faint smile touching her lips. “I’m sure that sounds crazy.”
She shakes her head again.
“It doesn’t.”
I place a hand over hers, trapping her palm to my face. Her skin is warm, and there’s something about the way she’s looking at me that feels nice.
“I get it now,” she finally says.
My brow pinches a tad.
“The pressure you feel from your dad. I get it.” She shrugs but doesn’t pull her hands away, and I’m so, so glad.
“You should know, my dad had a problem with pills a few years ago. He was taking them for an injury, but he started to sort of need them. It was a tough time for my family. And I . . . I think I took that out on you.”
She sucks in her bottom lip, a guilty expression tightening her mouth.
“Hey,” I hum, moving my hand to her wrist and squeezing. “I get it now too. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I ever went that route. Sorry it reminded you of your dad. Just . . . sorry.”
She shakes her head softly.
“Sorry I misjudged you.”
Her thumbs scratch along my unshaven cheeks as my eyes hold on to hers. I’m not sure I could look away from her now if my life depended on it. It’s the opposite, in fact. I think my life depends on this moment right here. This look. This connection.
This girl.
My hands move to her legs, sliding along her hips but stopping before I cross the invisible line where I cease being a gentleman.
It’s not that I don’t want to. The urge to let my palms glide against her skin is intense.
But my desire to do everything right by Jaden Johnson is stronger. I owe her that.
Her gaze remains locked on mine until the moment she leans down and dusts my lips with hers in the sweetest kiss of my entire life.
Nothing about this touch is hurried, and I fight against my instincts to pull her into me harder, to take over and consume her mouth with mine.
Instead, I revel in the sweetness. I hold her bottom lip hostage between mine, daring to taste it with my tongue just once before she pulls away.
She doesn’t step back from me, and she doesn’t seem to mind my palms on her hips, or the brush of my legs against hers.
I’m not apt to change a single thing about right now.
At least, not until her lashes kiss her cheeks a few times, and she finally says, “Take me home, Bryson.”