Taking Turns (Turning #1)(80)

“If you have a party tonight, then why aren’t you there with her?”

“I’m meeting her there. She got off work early and I…” I don’t f*cking work, but that’s not something you tell your girlfriend’s father. “And I told her to just go ahead because the party is close to work.”

Shit. I’m five minutes from her work right now. I’m totally f*cking this up.

“Why don’t I call her?” I ask, walking over to the messy dining room table to try to find my phone. “Yeah,” I say to myself. “I’m gonna get her on the phone… figure this out…” I find the phone under a pile of paperwork and press her contact. I smile at him as it rings, and rings, and rings… “She’ll pick up, don’t worry,’” I say, hoping.

He glares at me.

The call goes to voicemail so I spin around and say, “Sweetheart,” as I cup my hand over the phone. “Your father is here. At home. Call me back.” I end the call and turn around to face him again. “I’m sure the music is just loud and she’ll see the message in a minute.”

I put my hands in my pockets, realize when they drop below my waist that I’m still unbuttoned—and I have no shirt on. I clear my throat. “So how long are you in town for?”

Senator Walcott just purses his lips at me, checks his watch, and then pulls out his own phone. “I’ll call her.”

But just as he says that, my phone buzzes. “Hello?” I say, smiling at him again.

“What the hell?” Chella asks.

“Your dad is here, Chella. At home. I’m here with him. At our house. He’s… a… You should talk to him.” I hand him the phone and he walks off, speaking as he goes.

What the f*ck? Why didn’t she tell me he was coming to town? I would’ve crashed at the Club for a few nights.

I button my pants, grab the dirty t-shirt from the couch and pull it over my head.

Senator Walcott comes back just as I’m doing that. “We’re meeting her at the restaurant.”

“We are?” I ask. “For…”

“Dinner?” her dad snaps.

Jesus Christ. He’s kind of a dick. I almost laugh at my blasphemy, since he is pretty religious. I don’t know him, but I know of him. “Oh, OK. I’m cool with dinner. Where we going?”

“Get dressed, Baldwin. We’re already late. And turn that music off.”

Right. I hit the off switch for the music as I hop up the stairs, hoping he won’t follow me. Because I don’t know how to explain the fact that I’m sleeping in a guest room and not the master.

But I don’t have to worry about it. When I get back downstairs, put together and my normally settled self, back in full swing, he’s standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of my nine-hundred-dollar-a-bottle Scotch as he talks business on his cell phone.

I wait patiently as he finishes his call. When he hangs up he looks me up and down like I’m cattle.

I’m a damn good catch, I think in my head. He can look all he wants. I’m not a chump.

Except I don’t think he agrees with my self-assessment.

Why do I care? I’m really not the kind of guy you bring home to your parents and all that good shit. But I’m not a chump.

He waves his hand at me, signaling we’re leaving now, and then heads towards the front door. “You’re riding with me, Baldwin. Chella says she has her car and I should bring you.”

“Did she now?” I mutter under my breath as I grab my coat off a bar stool. I bet she’s thoroughly enjoying the fact that I’m stuck with her father right now.

I wonder what Bric thinks about all this? I lock up the house and follow him out in to the snow. He gets in the back-passenger side, so I have to walk around and get in the driver’s side. We close our doors at the same time, and then Walcott says, “The Palm, Clarence,” talking to the driver. “I don’t get home to Colorado much anymore,” he says, looking out the window.

“Right. Chella mentioned that. We weren’t expecting you for Christmas.”

“I’m only here for one night, Baldwin. So don’t bother marking your territory.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t interfere with your plans.”

“Well.” I clear my throat, trying to process this man. “That’s not what I was insinuating. I’m sure Chella is thrilled you’re here.”

“I’m sure she is. But as I said, I won’t be staying.”

“Got it,” I growl.

Thankfully, the Palm is right downtown, so I endure a seven-minute silence as we fight our way through snow and holiday traffic. We’re dropped off just outside the restaurant and Walcott doesn’t even wait for me to walk around the car, just enters the building, me trailing behind him.

I’m kinda pissed off by this point, and wondering if she’s still with Bric, since it is his night. But then I see Chella, alone, dressed up in a black dress I’m sure she’s wishing she didn’t wear tonight, because her tits look f*cking fantastic in it.

I smile, forgetting all about her dick of a dad as I walk up to her, slide my arm around her waist, and pull her close as I whisper, “I love this dress,” and then kiss her.

It’s not a sloppy I’m-gonna-f*ck-you-later kiss, even though I really want to piss her dad off with one of those. Just a nice one. Which makes her smile.