“The Beach Boys?”
“A joke,” he says. “We had the same taste in gag gifts.”
“What happened?”
“I let her have it, of course,” he says with a wry smile. “I was a gentleman.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Fine, she was beautiful and I wanted her to like me.”
“But you were both dating other people.”
“Exactly,” he says. “So of course nothing happened. We parted ways until exactly one year later, when I saw her while looking for Christmas gifts again. This time, we were shopping for ourselves.”
“Two bad breakups?”
“Within days of each other,” he says. “I still didn’t know her name when I asked her out to dinner that very night. We were engaged six months later.”
My heart warms and aches all at once. My father might be many things—abrasive, stoic at times—but he always loved my mother more than anything. I saw it, my siblings saw it, and that’s why none of us has married yet. We haven’t found that sort of love.
“The reason I’m telling you this story again—yes, I know you were lying. I’ve told you this story many times before.”
I laugh. “I love hearing it.”
“I love to tell it,” he says. “It brings her alive again.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad.” I pull him in for a hug. “I don’t know what else to say.”
I hear him swallow over the lump in his throat, which surprises me. Of all nights to get emotional, I hadn’t expected my night with our star customer would be the inciting incident for our first real talk in a long while.
“You don’t have to say anything.” He pulls back, takes a drink of beer. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes, these chance opportunities come along, and you need to take them. Take your chance and run because you never know where the path may lead.”
I smile and sit with my dad until he finishes his drink. He stands first, depositing the bottle into the recycling bin. I stand too, pulling my polo tight around me.
“When’s the wedding?” he asks.
“The twentieth,” I say. “A few weeks away.”
“You have that week off work,” he says. “Angela will cover, and I’ll call your friend Lisa. She does a good job.”
“She does a horrible job.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a grin. “Goodnight Andi.”
“Night Dad.”
That night, I find myself too excited to sleep—excited about my night with Ryan, the upcoming trip, and maybe, just maybe, the possibility of something more.
CHAPTER 23
Andi
My lack of sleep shows the next morning. I wake up early, too excited to lay around in my bed, so I pass the time working on new material. It’s only seven in the morning, and I’ve already come up with a new bit to test during my show tonight.
As I brush on some foundation to cover the bags under my eyes, a pang of regret strikes when I remember that I’ll be missing the bachelor/bachelorette party tonight. I can’t be that disappointed, however. After all, I’ll be accompanying Ryan to the real wedding, which is much more exciting than a night out at the bar.
The more I think about it, the higher my hopes drift, and the higher my hopes drift, the easier it is to forget that this whole thing is a ruse. I’m to be Ryan’s fake girlfriend to save him from having to go with one of his mom’s picks. Even though he posed it like a date, he meant as friends; both of us were clear that there would be—could be—nothing more.
On the positive side of things, after last night, there is no doubt in my mind that he wants me just like I want him—physically, all of him, all the time.
Maybe we could do this thing in a way that meant we could have awesome sex and then call it quits after the wedding, no strings attached. People do that all the time, right? Not me, necessarily, but I bet Ryan has done it plenty of times before.
That’s what puck bunnies are for, if I’m not mistaken. I might not be very familiar with hockey, but I know the meaning of the term: girls hanging around the rinks, throwing themselves at the men for a chance at their beds. Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t want that, I realize as I swipe on some mascara. Maybe if I bring it up to him, he’ll be interested in rearranging our deal to include sex.
If he can use the stick in his pants like he uses his fingers, I’ll be in for a treat. Plus, it isn’t fair that he got me off and I have yet to return the favor. I pull out my phone, intending to call him and ask for an update to our agreement.
As soon as I hit the dial button, however, I cancel the call. No, I tell myself. That’s not a phone call to make at seven thirty on a Monday morning; it’s probably something we should discuss in person, anyway…or maybe we could just have sex first and talk about it later. I am all about ignoring problems until they can’t be ignored any longer.
If we both enjoyed the sex enough, why would we need to have a problem? Like my dad said, worst-case scenario is I come home from Minnesota and resume my daily life here in Los Angeles. No harm, no foul.
Whether or not Ryan actually gets traded doesn’t make a huge difference. The way I see it, if he does move out here, I’ll never see him…unless he keeps ordering pizzas from me; then I suppose we’d have to talk about things. Maybe. If he doesn’t move, well, we’ll be thousands of miles apart.
My phone rings, cutting off my wandering thoughts. I look down in horror to find Ryan’s name on the screen. Shit. He saw me dial him and hang up. I can probably blow it off as a butt dial on my way to class.
Speaking of class, I’m about to be late, and I can’t take another tardy in my econ class. I grab my backpack, shove my legs in some jeans, my feet in some booties, and my arms into a black t-shirt. It’s my go-to uniform—it takes me from school to work to the comedy clubs without having to change more than my shirt and the amount of mascara on my lashes.
I take the steps two at a time. “See you this afternoon, Dad!”
“Andi, there’s—” my dad yells back, but I’m already out the door.
I feel a little bad, but he can text me if it’s that serious. I am late, and I’m planning on walking the half mile to school since it takes longer to find parking on the stupid campus than to hoof it on foot.
My phone rings again when I’m halfway to the sidewalk—Ryan again. Shit. My finger hovers over the accept button. It wouldn’t take all that long to explain about the butt dial, but at the same time, I’m really late.
I press the ignore button.
Somehow, I still hear his voice.
“Blowing me off?” Ryan asks. “Nice to see you, too.”
My head jerks up and around after I first check my phone. The call isn’t connected, so I turn my attention to the sound of his voice, and that’s when I see him. There, in all its glory, is his gorgeous body perched against a car, his t-shirt form-fitted around sexy, strong arms. In his hands—those hands that made me feel amazing just last night—he holds two coffees.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask. Then I raise a hand to cover my mouth. “I’m sorry. I mean, what brings you around on this fine morning?”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“You couldn’t possibly have gotten here since I didn’t answer…” I trail off, realizing he’s joking. “Funny. I’m running really late to class. I promise I was going to text you as soon as I got there.”
“Get in.” He shifts, pointing to the car behind him. It’s a third car, neither the BMW nor the Ferrari. I’m not sure where he got this one, but it’s probably best if I stay away from moving vehicles with my track record.
“Oh, I was just going to walk. It’s not far.”
He grins a cheeky smile that compels me return it. “I brought you coffee.”
“What?! You drove across town, in morning rush hour, to give me a cup of coffee?”
“You’ve delivered plenty of things to me, and I figured it was my turn.”
“But…” I trail off. “You’re nuts.”
“I wanted to see you,” he says. “You’re late to class. Get in the car and let me drop you at the doors. Parking sucks around there.”