Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(13)
The bathroom window provides more than enough light as I push open the damaged door, cringing when the top hinge threatens to drop the damn thing. I manage to close it without hurting myself and pull open one of the drawers, digging for my toothbrush. When my gaze flickers to my reflection in the mirror, I spot a quick flash of red clinging to my back.
"Holy hell," I mutter, turning in the mirror. I squint and peek at the five long scratches racking down the entirety of my upper back, three of them deep enough to leave scabs on my shoulder blades. Kitties got claws, that's for sure.
With a shake of my head, I look away and turn on the shower, more than ready to cleanse myself of last night's sins.
With a clear head, I step out of the shower and wrap a fluffy white towel around my waist before leaving the steam-filled bathroom.
"Bad time, Son?"
My head snaps to my dad, his light features beaming under the cheap fluorescent lights hung above the kitchen table. He sits with perfect posture, shoulders held high and chin pointed to the sky. With shoulder length brown hair tied back in a loose bun and a clean shaven face, he looks way younger than forty-eight. I think it’s gone to his head. He’s far too confident for his own good. Even more so than me.
"I didn't know you were coming," I reply, too busy moving inside my room and ripping through one of my dresser drawers to look at the annoyed scowl I know he must be wearing.
"I tried calling a few times, but clearly,” he clears his throat, “you were busy. I was in the area anyway. Figured I'd just stop by to invite you to dinner in person."
"So you figured it would be easier to invite me to dinner with your child bride in person then?" I straighten my spine, standing stiff, shoulders straight and lifted like I’m preparing myself for a hit from behind. “So I couldn’t say no without feeling guilty?”
"I told you not to call her that. She’s not a fucking child.” He lets out a long sigh, one that lets me know just how pissed off I’ve made him and how hard he’s trying to reign in his anger. "I've let you avoid her long enough.”
"Give me a break, Dad," I scoff, pulling on a pair of pants. He waits until I join him in the kitchen before replying.
"We're getting married. You can't stop that just because you don't like her."
I rip open the fridge and pull out a bottle of water with a dark laugh. "You're right. I don't like her. And I think you're making a mistake."
His huff is music to my ears. I drink the entire bottle and toss it into the trash.
"She's too young for you. I probably could have fucked her a time or two.” I face him and shrug. The blonde swimwear model that can now label herself as his fiancé, is my age. What twenty-six-year-old woman wants to marry an old divorced guy with two kids the same age as her unless she has some hidden agenda? Some secret that she doesn’t plan on spilling until she has whatever she wants? Gets whatever she wants.
See, my mother's new husband is exactly how I pictured—a wrinkly old investment banker who tries embarrassingly hard to have a substantial part in my life, knowing that we will never be close, but still cares enough to try. That marriage is normal. This one, on the other hand, is so not.
How does he expect me to respect this woman? She has no more life experience than I do. Does she even want a family? What is her own family like? Do they support this marriage?
"Braden," he scolds before his jaw clamps shut, back teeth grinding.
I throw my hands up in surrender, leaning back against the counter. "I'll come to dinner, but I make no promises that I’ll be able to behave myself."
"Thank you.” He nods once, but his eyes remain narrowed and dark, moving around the room so he can avoid looking at me. I know he didn’t get the answer he wanted, but he’s smart enough to take what he can get right now. I won’t budge on my feelings so easily.
"It will be my absolute pleasure, Pops." I force a smile and push myself away from the counter. After he sucks in a long breath, he stands up and starts walking to the front door.
He only makes it a few feet away before he stops and turns to face me, looking me in the eyes this time. "Don't forget that I can still kick your ass if you fuck this up for me. You don’t understand and you don’t have to. I’m a grown man. But I would appreciate your support. Whatever you think you can give me, I’ll take it.”
I feel immediately guilty at his confession. I’m a stubborn asshole, but I’m not a complete sack of shit. My relationship with my father is something that I appreciate more than anything. I would never forgive myself if I was the reason why we lost that bond. So I stomach my feelings and give him an inch, knowing Brooks Lowry isn’t the guy to take a mile. "I’ll try. But that’s all I’ll promise.”
His eyes lighten the slightest bit, no longer as dark and gloomy. His lips tip when I plaster a grin on my face. Things have been tense between us recently, but I’ll gladly be the one to clear the fog and let the sunshine back through.
"My house tomorrow night at six. Don't be late."
"Yes, sir." I salute him with two fingers, making him laugh as he leaves. It’s a loud laugh from deep in his belly. The kind that sounds like pure happiness. A laugh that I’m going to lock away and keep for later, knowing damn well I’m going to need to remember the sound of it tomorrow.