Sex, Not Love(41)

“Fine,” she snipped.

Hunter and I glanced at each other. His carefree face from a moment ago was gone, replaced by lethal anger.

“Izzy,” I said. “You need to give me more than that. Did someone bother you on the way home?”

For the first time, she noticed Hunter was in our apartment. She also caught the look on his face and seemed to realize the man was ready to kill someone if she didn’t put his mind at ease.

“Oh. No. Nothing like that.”

I blew out a heavy breath. “Then what happened? You’re late, and you’ve clearly been crying.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure?”

Izzy slumped into the couch without removing her backpack. “One of the girls on the basketball team was talking about Dad.”

I sat down next to her. “Like what?”

“Apparently her dad was an investor of Dad’s, and when they sent home the player roster for the team, they listed both you and Dad as my emergency contacts. Her father saw the name, saw me at the game, and since I look just like Dad, he knew. Now everyone knows my father is a criminal.” Tears filled her big brown eyes. “And that’s not all.”

Oh God. More? I wasn’t sure my heart could take seeing tears spill over. Izzy was a tough girl. She hadn’t cried since her father’s sentencing hearing, and even then, she hid them from everyone.

“What else happened, sweetie?”

“Yakshit is going to the dance with Brittany.”

“What dance?”

“The Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“Isn’t that a dance where the girls invite the boys?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t even know you asked Yakshit to go with you.”

The tears spilled over. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, honey.” I pulled Izzy into a hug.

She tried her best to hide the sobs. There was no sound, yet her shoulders started to shake. We stayed that way for a solid ten minutes—her sobbing and letting me hold her. I hated the cause and her pain, but I was happy I could give her whatever comfort she would allow.

When she sniffled the end of her tears, I pushed the damp hair from her face. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“I just want to eat and go to bed.”

Hunter had retreated to the kitchen. I assumed to give us some privacy. I looked over at him with an apologetic face just as he looked up from his phone.

“Hi, Hunter.” Izzy forced a smile. “I wore my J strap today at practice. Thanks for sending it.”

He nodded. “No problem. Hope it helps.”

Izzy noticed what I was wearing. “Are you guys going on a date?”

I answered no at the exact same moment Hunter answered yes. That made her smile.

She got up from the couch, finally removing her backpack before heading to the refrigerator. “What’s to eat?”

Hunter answered. “You like Italian food?”

Her spirit chirped up. “Nat made sauce?”

I walked to the kitchen. “No, sorry. I made you a turkey and avocado wrap.”

She tried to mask her disappointment. “That’s okay.”

“Come on. Leave that wrap for lunch tomorrow,” Hunter said. “Let’s go get some lasagna and meatballs.”

“Really?” Izzy’s eyes sparked a glimmer of happiness.

He looked at me while answering. “I don’t fool around about food.”

“Do I need to change?”

“Nope. You’ll be the prettiest girl in the room, even after basketball practice.”

Lord, I swooned. The only thing sweeter than his compliments to me was him giving one to my Izzy.

***

“These are as good as Nanna Rossi’s.” Izzy shoveled another meatball into her mouth and spoke with it full. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I won’t. As long as your room is cleaned every Sunday before we go for dinner.” Nothing like a little bribery.

“I’ll just deny I said it.”

I pointed my fork across the table at Hunter. “I have a witness.”

Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you say something, kid?”

Izzy showed off her dimples while shaking her head. “Nope. Didn’t say a word.”

The two of them had been teaming up against me since we left the apartment. I didn’t mind, especially since it seemed to take Izzy’s mind off her terrible day.

“Are you Italian, too, Hunter?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Did your mom do a big Sunday night dinner like Nanna Rossi?”

“No, she didn’t. My mom was sick a lot when I was growing up.”

“Oh. Mine was, too. She had cancer.” Izzy had surprised me a lot today with all of her openness. “Did your mom die?”

“Izzy,” I tried to gently remind her of her manners. “That’s not really dinner conversation.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Hunter said, turning his attention back to Izzy. “She died when I was seventeen.”

“Was she sick for a long time? My mom was only sick for, like, a year. She had small cell bronchial carcinoma—they call it oat cell cancer. Barely anyone gets it unless they smoked. My mom never smoked.”