Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(37)
Vince chuckles. “Did she pay up?”
“Not yet.” I pretend to ponder. “Do you think that’s why I’m letting her hang around?”
“You tell me, Price,” Vince says, lobbing my last name back at me. “Is she clingy?”
Not clingy enough. I had to practically beg to stay at her house the other night.
“Not clingy,” I answer.
A lengthy silence stretches between us. Simps and Char laugh and the sound carries through the glass door at the back of the house. Since they’re well out of earshot, I give my best friend another factoid I’m sure he’ll be interested in.
“I told Grace about Hanna. The wedding. All of it.”
I expect Vince to point out what that obviously means. Or mention how in denial I am. Or illustrate how different Grace is and tell me he understands exactly why I told her the one part of my past I’d never voluntarily tell anyone.
Instead he nods solemnly and sips his beer. What he’s not saying is saying more than words could. Are my reclaimed bachelor days numbered?
“Davis,” Vince starts, interrupting my thoughts.
I give him my attention, ready to hear whatever conclusion he’s come up with. Ready to face the mirror he’s about to hold up.
Instead of dispensing deep thoughts, he points at the annihilated food table. “Do you have any more of that cheese dip, or what?”
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him.
He laughs.
I love this guy.
Grace
Candace, another part-time bartender, Lars, and I are behind the bar at McGreevy’s, which makes for some cramped quarters. Candace and Lars are also working the floor thanks to a new-hire waitress who called in sick. We’re not only shorthanded, we’re slammed.
In restaurant terms that’s a nice way of saying we’re fucked.
After we get the dining room caught up and the patrons at the bar served, Lars tips his chin at me. “Cut?”
He wants to know if he can go home, and realistically, Candace and I should have no problem handling things from here. If Candace needs me to stick around a few hours because of another rush, I’ll do it.
“Stock the beer fridge and clear out these bus tubs.” I point at the dirty dishes that have collected throughout the evening. “And you’re free to go.”
Lars—big nose, wide jaw, and short stature—smiles and it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. “Thanks. Have a date.”
“Congratulations.”
“Everyone has a date but me,” Candace grumbles as she splits us like bowling pins and marches into the dining room. Lars and I exchange surprised glances. I’m guessing he, like me, had no idea Candace was looking for a date. That’s ageist of us, isn’t it?
Lars piddles around for twenty minutes before he takes his tips and leaves. The dining room is starting to thin out. I’m relieved. I have one waitress, Tabby, working the floor, so Candace will be okay if I bail.
I’ve been here since noon so I’m past ready to go. And I’m hungry.
I’m pouring myself a cola from the soda gun at the bar and trying to decide what book I’ll read in the bathtub tonight when a deep, oddly familiar voice cuts into my rambling thoughts.
“Did you get the tea?”
I lift my chin and come face to face with hazel eyes. The man in front of me has a gray goatee matching his hair—shoulder-length hair sitting on the wide shoulders of a black leather biker jacket.
“Dad?” I freeze in place, overflowing the glass I was filling with cola. “Shit.”
I wipe the spill with a damp cloth, my motions jerky. What the hell is he doing here? The random gifts at my doorstep, yeah, okay. But showing up at my place of work? How did he know where to find me?
Mom. She’s the only way.
When my mom divorced him, Raphael Buchanan did a complete one-eighty. Gone were the suits and the Volvo. He bought a Harley. A few years later, he grew out his hair and beard—not quite as long as they are right now, but I remember not recognizing him at first back then.
“You okay, sweets?” Candace asks as she returns behind the bar with an armload of dishes. I give her a nod as she rests the dishes into an empty bus tub. Her eyes cut from me to my father, then she grins to beat all.
“Raf,” she says. “You’re a sight.”
“Hey, Candy,” he tells her. “You look like you belong here ’bout as much as I do.”
I’m not sure what’s happening. Candace knows my dad?
“Grace. Ain’t you gonna say nothin’?” he asks.
Ain’t. Nothin’. This man sounds nothing like the father I grew up with. The sharp-tongued lawyer who believed winning an argument was better than avoiding one.
“I haven’t seen you in eight years. What the hell do you expect me to say?” I bark.
“Is this…?” Candace takes a step closer to me. “Raf, is this your daughter?”
I cut a look to Candace, blinking in surprise.
“Your dad and I worked together,” she explains. “I didn’t know you were his.”
“I’m not his,” I snap, and Candace’s smile droops. He ceased being a part of my life when he vanished, only showing up to leave random gifts on my doorstep.