Sometimes I wonder if she’s with us just out of curiosity, and then I remind myself that thinking that is fucking shitty, and that she really cares about Scott.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
The bathroom door is closed, and I eye it briefly. The bed is still unmade, and I wonder if we’ll get back to where we were last night.
We will. This is a hiccup, but we’ve had those before. We’ll be fine, because we have to be fine.
The shower turns off, and I hear music blaring for a moment before she cuts it off and emerges, wrapped in a towel and steam and water droplets still clinging to her shoulders.
She eyes me briefly, and ruffles her wet hair. “You need to change.”
“Why?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
“Because we’re meeting my parents,” she says. “Dinner at Ruth’s Chris.”
I cross my arms, and study her coldly. “Is there a dress code for this shit?”
“Something you didn’t just pull a shift in,” she says, still buried in her closet, and I huff. It finally sinks in that I’m pissed, because she emerges from her closet and frowns at me. “What the hell is wrong now?”
“You suddenly want me to meet your parents.”
“I never didn’t want you to meet them, asshole. I didn’t want you to have to deal with their shit. But it’s a big deal to you, and I get it. So we’ll go.”
She tosses a dress on the bed and glares at me. “I wasn’t going to go. I didn’t keep it from you because I was planning to see them without you. I kept it from you because it doesn’t matter. Like not telling you I put gas in the truck and bought a candy bar on the way home. So fucking irrelevant.”
I stare at her and it’s hard as fuck to swallow my irritation and all the protests. I shake my head and strip out of the grungy shirt I’m wearing, stalking into the bathroom and turning on the shower.
We don’t fight. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling with this so hard. Scott and Lindsay fight constantly—it’s their form of foreplay. But we don’t. We never have. Being with Peyton is easy. Even when one of us is being a moody artist, it’s easy.
When I step out of the shower, she’s in the bathroom, leaning into the mirror as she does her makeup. She’s barely dressed, only a strapless white bra with black lace details and a matching thong. Her gaze meets mine in the mirror, and I see apology flickering there before she refocuses.
We’re going to do it that way then.
I slip past her silently and we’re both quiet as we dress.
***
We take the truck, and Peyton sits on her side of the cab in tense silence. She looks fucking amazing, in a tiny dark red shirt with a skull on it and a tight little leather skirt. The neckline wraps around her neck, leaving her shoulders bare, and the skirt ends mid-thigh, exposing a mouthwatering length of leg. I’m itching to run my hand up the smooth skin, under that flirty skirt to the tiny panties I know she’s wearing.
We didn’t fool around when getting ready. We barely spoke.
“I didn’t have a family, Peyton,” I say abruptly. “I didn’t do family shit, and I don’t have family for you to meet. The only family I have is Scott, and I’ve never tried to keep him from you.”
“Because Scott is someone you want to have in your life. Because Scott isn’t an asshat.” I arch an eyebrow and she snorts. “Ok, but he’s your asshat.”
“And these are yours,” I say softly.
She shakes her head. “You and Scott and Linds are my family. Not them. But. You’ll see.”
I reach for her hand and squeeze it gently in my own. “I just want to know where you come from, Fish.”
She make a choked little noise that worries me, but we’re pulling up to the steakhouse. She takes a deep breath as the valet approaches, and I glance at her.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s get it over with.”
She shoves the door open and slides down without waiting for me, and I follow suit, taking the valet ticket and slipping it into my pocket while following her inside.
“Party for Senator Collins,” she says to the hostess. The girl nods, snapping to attention as she leads us deeper into the restaurant.
They’re sitting at a table in a back corner, surrounded by other empty tables. A man in a black suit eyes me as we approach, but doesn’t try to stop us.
Peyton’s shoulders are back, and her smile is stiff as she pauses, hands on the back of the chair. “Mom. Dad. Good to see you.”
The senator is a tall man with broad shoulders, sharp eyes, and Pey’s freckles. Her mother is softer, curvy with a wide-eyed innocent smile that screams fake, and a power suit that would make Hilary Clinton jealous. And they’re watching Peyton with something like disgust in their eyes. Shock. That’s what it is.
“Well. That is certainly a different look, sweetheart.”
Peyton touches her hair and gives a smile. “Like it, Ma?”
“Not particularly,” comes the stiff reply.
“Pity,” Peyton coos, sugar sweet and I swallow a laugh. She tucks her hand into my arm and tugs me forward a step or two. “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Rike Johnson.”
Their eyes swing to me, and the younger dude lets out a startled laugh. “Damn, Tay. Did you pick him to piss them off?”
“Fuck off, Brody,” she says lazily, and for the first time since we arrived, a real grin tugs at her lips as she flicks a glance at her brother. He laughs, a soft noise that reminds me of her, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders. She pulls a chair out and sits, and motions for me to do the same, putting me between her and her brother, away from her parents.
Who are still staring at me like I’m a devil bent on pillaging their daughter’s virtue.
“Nice to meet you,” I say with a small smile.
They stare, and the senator blinks once, then focuses on his daughter. “What the hell is this?”
“My boyfriend.”
“No.” He doesn’t even argue. Just a flat no, like she should care about what this prick has to say.
“Do you think we can order drinks before we start in on how Pey has fucked up her life?” she says, and my heart hurts. She doesn’t ever change her tone. It’s classic defensive Peyton.
A puzzle piece of the enigmatic girl slides into place. I glance at her, at the pleasant smile, and I get it, suddenly.
“What the hell are you trying to prove with this?” Collins hisses.
“I’m not trying to prove anything. It was never about that.” She turn to me. “What do you want to drink?”
A very petty part of me wants to ask for a beer just to fuck with her folks, but her big eyes are pleading and desperate, and I remember suddenly that she is only here because I threw a bitch fit this morning.
“The Talbot pinot noir,” I say, flashing a quick smile at the hovering waitress. She gets the rest of the orders, and scurries away.
The senator is looking at me instead of his daughter now, which has to be an improvement. I push up my sleeves and his eyes tighten at the sight of the colorful tattoos tracing up my left arm. I meet the hostile smile with my own. “Good to meet you, sir. Peyton has told me a lot about you.”
“Note that he didn’t say it was good shit, Dad,” Brody says.
“Well, I do try to avoid lying. My mama raised me well,” Peyton deadpans and Brody laughs, shaking his head.
“We didn’t realize you were dating, Peyton,” Mary Anne says.
She leans back, and I feel her hand on my back, a steady pressure. I don’t know if it’s for me or her, but it’s soothing. “We’ve been together for over six months. And before you ask—I’m not hiding shit. I’m living my life. You haven’t bothered to ask or visit, so excuse me if you aren’t up to date on who and what is important in my life.”
“You made it clear when you left for UT that you didn’t want us involved in your life,” Mary Anne says stiffly.
“And you’ve always been so fucking good at listening to what I want, right? That’s why Dad first ran for office. Because you totally listened when I said I didn’t want anything to do with his political circus.”