Chapter 17
Loch
I slam the door closed and turn to face my dad. “I—”
“I take it that’s Tuesday?” He’s not really asking, considering there’s no confusion whatsoever on his face. There is, however, a very pointed glare aimed in my direction.
Looking down, I don’t know what to think. My thoughts race through a hundred different scenarios and how I’ll explain this away. I take a deep, exasperated breath, and then reply, “Yes.”
“You made her sound . . . different.” He’s still studying my face, so I’m careful not to crack under the scrutiny. “I was expecting someone a little older, more my age.”
“A little?”
“One day, you’ll be my age—”
“And it will be a fucking honor.”
He chuckles. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you do have, from what I could tell, a lovely young woman in there who is probably mortified that your dad just saw her in a Westcott Law T-shirt and what appeared to be nothing else. Go check on her, Loch.”
He’s right. I failed to mention how incredibly sexy and beautiful she is. The half-naked welcome home greeting didn’t help my case. So I shrug. “I never claimed to be noble.”
I knock and then open the door again, closing it behind me. “Tuesday?” I walk into the living room and then down to the bedroom. “I’m alone.” When I enter the bedroom, I notice the closet door open. Before I start for the bathroom, I check the closet. “Hey there.”
She’s draped over the long bench with her arm across her forehead, and says, “I didn’t know you’d have company.”
“Neither did I, if that matters.”
Lifting onto her elbows, she looks at me through a lens of distress that’s pinching the features of her pretty face. “What do you mean?”
“That’s my dad. He showed up at the office unannounced. He’s never done that before.”
“You couldn’t send a warning text?”
“I can’t text in meetings, and he was practically looking over my shoulder the rest of the time. I thought telling him the truth about you would settle it. Except . . .”
“Except you didn’t count on me greeting you like this.” Pointing at herself, she says, “Oh my God.” She drops her head into her hands as she sits up. “I will never be able to look at him without knowing that he knows what I was doing to his son.”
“What were you doing to his son?”
She shoots me a look that pins me to the spot. “You know what I was doing.” She sighs and leans her head back. “I’m never going to live this down.” I kneel in front of her, resting my hands on her thighs. “I’m so humiliated, Loch.”
Cupping her face, I lift enough to give her a quick kiss. “I want to tell you not to be because we’ve all done things that we find embarrassing after the fact, but I know you won’t listen to me. So tell me how I can make things better instead.”
“Well, for one, it’s not after the fact embarrassment. I was mortified in the moment as well, hence the surprise and scream. I’m going to die of humiliation.”
I stand, taking her by the hands and pulling her onto her feet. “Okay, that’s fair. What’s number two?”
“The thought of going out there and meeting your dad after that disaster.” She drops her forehead against my chest, toying with a button on my shirt.
“Listen, Tuesday,” I start, lifting her chin until our eyes meet again. “Does it help to know that his only concern was how you were doing?”
She nods gently, but her hands fist my shirt until it’s wrinkled. “Kind of.” I start to smile, and hers follows suit. “That’s very thoughtful, like his son.”
“So I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m going to ask anyway. Will you come out of the closet and meet my dad?”
Her laughter is sweet relief to my ears. “Should I get dressed first?”
“Probably best.” She turns, but I catch her arm and bring her back to me.
“Not so fast.” Tilting my head, I kiss her neck, then her cheek, and finally that soft spot behind her ear that covers her skin in goose bumps.
Her eyes dip closed, and I press my lips to the shell of her ear, and just barely whisper, “You look so fucking sexy in my shirt that I have one more request.”
“What’s that?”
“You wear it, exactly like that, again for me tonight.”
I feel her shiver under my hands. With her head tilted back, our eyes meet again. Wordlessly, she nods. I give her a kiss, then whisper once more, “Such a good girl. I’ll make sure to reward you later.”
It’s hard to walk away, but I do it, giving her time to change into something that makes her more comfortable—physically and emotionally. And because my dad is still standing in the hallway, I open the door.
He asks, “All clear?”
I check behind me again just in case. “Come on in.”
Taking each step with caution, he stops just inside the door. “How is she?”
“She’ll be fine.”
He sets his briefcase down and walks into the living room at the same time as Tuesday arrives dressed in black pants with the same shirt still on. “Well, this is embarrassing,” he says. He’s great about taking the spotlight off others when they don’t want it.
She smiles, reaching out her hand. “You’re telling me,” she replies with a laugh as they greet each other.
“The Westcott Law logo is a nice touch.” I grew up going to court and watching him interrogate the prosecutors’ witnesses and his opponents on the stand.
He reads people well. It’s a skill I inherited from him.
He knows how to read a room as well. Nothing he does goes without careful consideration, so seeing him being lighthearted and approachable with her reminds me again how lucky I am to have him as my dad.
It takes the edge off the previous introduction, which I know she’ll appreciate as much as I do.
“I can’t take credit for it,” she replies, “but thanks.” By her calm voice and her steady disposition, you’d never know she was in the closet about to “die of humiliation” minutes prior.
“Loch’s mom designed it. She took graphic arts classes as part of her degree back in college and took on this project for the firm.”
Tuesday pulls the shirt away from her and looks down. I know what she’s thinking . . . classic. It’s a law firm, so it’s hard to go wild with a logo representing attorneys. “I like the details. What was her degree?”
“Art History. People have given her a hard time about it since we’re from a small town with no museums. She used to spend days in the city visiting museums to fill her cup, as she phrased it, but she really sees the beauty in everything, even in Beacon.
” With his hands in his pockets, he chuckles.
“She also had to do her best to balance against me. No one would ever call me creative.”
“I’m sure she’d say differently. I’m like her. I love going to museums.”
The words catch my attention. “You love museums?”
She nods, but then I see when it dawns in her eyes, and tears spring to her eyes. God, I hope they’re from joy. “I love museums?” Her giddiness erupts in the tiniest of squeals. “I love museums, Loch.”
“You love museums,” I say, sharing her excitement.
My dad says, “That’s really, um . . .” His lips tense under a furrowed brow.
I start to laugh, realizing we must sound outrageous. “She loves museums, Dad.” I give him a nudge, hoping he catches on. “That means she remembers she loves museums.”
It takes a second, but then he looks at her, and I can tell her joy is contagious when it reaches him. “You remember you love museums?”
“I do. Not sure which ones, but I know I loved going.”
Running the tips of my fingers along the inside of her wrist, I say, “I’m glad we’ve found another piece of the puzzle.”
She moves without thinking, her hand rubbing my back, but then stops shy of snuggling to my side. Taking a step back, I see that sweet pink creeping from under her collar.
I’m not sure if my dad notices or not, but he takes a few steps away and says, “I called Harbor while I was waiting in the corridor.” His attention shifts to Tuesday. “He invited me to stay with him and my daughter-in-law. I agreed it was probably best since Loch already has a guest.”
“We can make room, Dad.”
“No.” His hands go up. “I didn’t come into the city to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden.”
“You know what I mean. You two have a lot going on. I don’t want to disrupt your routine.”
Routine? Do Tuesday and I have a routine? It’s only been a few days and less that she’s been in my apartment. The assumption doesn’t bother me.
I have concerns that we’re moving too fast. We’ll need to talk about it when we’re alone again. “Dad, you can stay.”
“My mind is already made up. You kids have fun, and I’ll catch a cab.” He starts down the hall toward the door. “Anyway, they just made dinner and are saving a plate for me.” When he picks up his briefcase, he says, “How about we celebrate tomorrow night? The five of us?”
Honestly, he’s right. If he took over the guest bedroom, that would force Tuesday to sleep in my room whether she liked it or not. I’d rather her always have a choice and choose to be with me than out of obligation.
I walk him to the door, and mouth, “Thanks.”
His subtle thumbs-up makes me laugh. Being the worst actor ever, with a raised voice, he says, “You two have a good night. Nice meeting you, Tuesday.”
“Bye, Mr. Westcott. Nice meeting you, too.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, Tuesday asks, “What do you want to do?”
I move into her space, taking hold of her hips and wiggling them. “Pick up where we left off this morning?”
“Race you to the bedroom.”
“You better be naked under there.”
“What are you going to do if I’m not?” She tightens her grip on the covers, holding them under her chin.
I take a long deep breath keeping it locked inside my chest until I figure out what I want to do with my bad girl.
A good start is tossing my jacket to a chair by the window and rolling up my shirtsleeves, my eyes never leaving hers.
I maneuver to the end of the bed and dip my hands under the covers.
Finding her ankles, I yank her down. Her hands fly above her head and a squeak are the last signs of her before she’s buried under the blanket.
Flipping the covers off, I stand before her and take her in.
I sigh. “Very disappointing.” The match is lit in her eyes, the fire already burning. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“Which is?”
“In your bed, you can wear whatever you like. Here, in my bed, you’ve broken policy.”
“I forgot the rules,” she says, playing along like the good girl she is.
A restrained smile is too much to control so she bites her lip in a feeble attempt.
Fully dressed, she gets to her knees and starts toying with the buttons of my shirt.
They slowly loosen as she peers up at me. “Are you going to punish me?”
“Sex isn’t a punishment. It’s a reward.”
“Damn,” she gasps, worry streaking through her expression. “How can I make this right?”
I smirk, stroking her hair and then caressing her face. “How do you feel about tacos?”
She smacks me on the hip. “You tease.”
Laughing, I catch her flailing hands. “What? I’m not really into the whole roleplay thing.”
“Well, you could have fooled me.”
Helping her to her feet, I bring her in for a kiss and cup her face. “How about this? I take care of you, and then we eat dinner because there’s no way I can go all night if I don’t get some sustenance in me.”
“Go on, I’m listening.” Her smirk is adorable despite how sexy it is when she’s rubbing against me. I don’t even know if she’s aware she’s doing it, but I am.
Fully. Aware.
I can’t resist her any longer. “Ah, fuck it.”