Desperately Seeking Epic(33)

“They’re ready for you to help clean up in there, Mills,” I snap, causing him to jerk up, the earbuds falling out of both of their ears.

“Oh, ah, yeah, cool. Good seeing you, Neena,” he mumbles as he gives a little wave and clumsily rushes down the hall. Neena lets out a long sigh as she watches him exit. Looking at her better, I notice something different. Her lips are pink and glossy.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

She immediately crosses her arms and scowls a little. “Yeah. So?”

I scratch my head. “Just curious . . . You ready to go, kid?”

“I’m not a little kid, Dad,” she retorts.

I lift my brows in shock. I’ve called her a kid quite a few times and she’s never complained. I want to point that out to her, but Ashley, Zane, and Mills enter the room, carrying their bags with them.

“Later, guys,” Zane calls.

Mills is the last one to leave and he gives Neena an awkward little nod as he pushes through the doors to the parking lot. Neena waves, her pale cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink as she smiles at him.

Why do I feel so . . . angry right now? Not really angry, just . . . protective. She just waved at him. And he didn’t do anything. There’s absolutely nothing to get upset about.

“Now are you ready to go, princess?” I had to add the last part just to mess with her.

“Daddddd,” she groans as she drops her face in her hands.

“What?” I mock confusion. “You are my little princess.”

“And I thought Mom was the embarrassing one,” she murmurs as she stands, her eyes glued to the parking lot as Ashley, Zane, and Mills load up the van.

“No, she’s just the mean one.” When Neena looks up at me and sees my grin, she giggles because she knows I’m joking.

“I’m telling her you said that,” she threatens.

“No!” I gasp, clutching my chest. “Please. Anything but that.”

“I’m sorry, but you did this to yourself, old man.” She smirks.

I pull out all the dramatics. “Your mother will end me. I’ll never see the light of day again!”

“I’ll keep this between us on one condition,” she offers.

“I’ll do anything. Whatever you want,” I say, animatedly. “I’ll run outside naked and dance on their van if that’s what it takes!” And I point out the window.

“Oh my God, please don’t do that.”

“Then tell me, Neena!” I drop to my knees and crawl toward her, my hands clasped together as if in prayer.

She laughs hysterically when I grab her and hug her tightly, while continuing to plead. “Okay, okay!” She gasps for breath after laughing so hard. “You can call me kid, kiddo, or princess, whatever you want, just not in front of other people, okay?”

“Can I call you princess-kid?”

“You’re so weird, Dad,” she snickers as I squeeze her harder. “Princess-kid . . . just not in front of anyone, okay?” she reiterates.

I sit back on my heels and chuckle, my chest tightening at the sight of her. I’ve been around the world and seen some of the most beautiful places, but nothing compares to seeing her laugh. “Okay, kid. It’s a deal.”





“I’m going to go take a shower before dinner, Mom!” Neena yells to me from the front door as she and Paul enter.

“Hello to you, too!” I yell back.

“Hi, Mom, love you,” she responds before I hear her footsteps as she charges up the stairs.

When Paul enters, he stands in the doorway of the kitchen, frozen. His hair is a bit of a mess and his face has that day-old scruff, the trace of gray lightly lacing through the dark, coarse hair. I hate that he looks sexy even when he looks like shit. It takes me a few seconds to stop staring at him. I guess I’m getting my fill since I fled from him earlier. “You’re cooking?”

“Ha-ha,” I mock dryly. “I can cook.”

He stares at me blankly.

“It’s macaroni casserole,” I grumble. “Any idiot can make it.” Why do I feel the need to explain myself? I can cook, a little. His face lights up with his signature grin, showing all of his stupidly white teeth, and I can’t help smiling a little. He’s laughing at me. “I hate you.”

His laugh fills the room and I feel a rush go through me. The man’s smile is lethal; pair it with his laugh—and it’s game over. Here I am, back in the suck. Falling into the Paul James trap . . . again. “I got an already made rotisserie chicken from the store. Made a salad, too.”

“You’re a regular Betty Crocker,” he quips as he plucks a cucumber off the salad and pops it in his mouth.

“How did it go?”

Paul reaches in the fridge for a beer and sighs. “I didn’t realize how . . . hard it would be to talk about the past like that. Especially to a teenager.”

“Tell me about it,” I chuckle.

“You know, Clara . . .” The way he says my name causes me to look at him. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you first got here.”

I’m stunned. I wouldn’t have expected him to say that in a million years.

“I was an *.” That either.