I think Greyston is about to tell me what was said between him and my dad but is interrupted by my parents standing up, and my mom announcing that dinner is ready.
Mom and Dad lead the way to the dining room where the table is set for four: two places on one side for Mom and Dad, and two on the other for Greyston and me. Dad, Greyston, and I find our seats while Mom heads back to the kitchen to retrieve dinner.
“This smells absolutely amazing, Mrs. Foster,” Greyston proclaims, pulling my chair out for me.
My parents’ expressions aren’t missed as I accept Greyston’s chivalrous act. Their eyebrows shoot straight up, widening their eyes, and their mouths are gaping slightly. While I’m sure Greyston has already caught the looks they are giving us, I clear my throat to make them stop.
Mom’s the first to speak, setting the casserole down in the middle of the table. “Thank you, Greyston. It’s one of Juliette’s favorites. And, please, call me Anne.”
We all take a minute to dish up before Mom gets the conversation flowing. “So, Greyston, what is it that you do for a living?”
I find myself sitting up a little straighter and looking at my father while awaiting Greyston’s answer. I anticipate a huge reaction because Dad’s generally pretty animated when it comes to anything sports-related.
“Actually, I’m a sports agent,” Greyston announces.
My dad is looking at Greyston, but there’s no excitement. I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed.
“I think it’s kind of cool,” I say, gaining a strange look from my mom. I can understand her reaction—I’m not a sports kind of person—but I’m trying to get my dad excited about this.
Greyston shoots me that crooked smile that makes me all tingly. “Thanks. I was actually just telling your dad that it was my agency that helped sign the Cardinals’ new quarterback.”
Well, that would explain my dad’s lack of response; he already knew. Damn, I was hoping to have been around for that.
“In fact, Cam…” I’m stunned by Greyston’s use of Dad’s first name, but neither one of them seems fazed. “The team’s manager gave me a few extra tickets to their next game. I don’t suppose you and your family would like to join me?”
Dad’s eyes practically bug out of his head, and the food he’s just scooped onto his fork falls back to his plate with a quiet splat. His astonished reaction makes me feel a little better about not having been around when Greyston told him about the sports agent thing.
“You mean the game next weekend? Against the Eagles?” Dad looks like he’s about to pass out; I’m starting to get concerned.
Mom interjects, setting her fork down and placing a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Cam grew up in Philly, Greyston. The Eagles are his favorite team.”
Smirking, Greyston swallows the bite he’d just taken, grabs his napkin from his lap, and wipes his mouth. “Well, that’s too bad.” Dad seems confused. “It’s going to be hard to watch them lose, then.”
Mom and Dad are staring incredulously at Greyston, and I’m not even sure how to react. Surely my dad is going to blow a gasket and throw Greyston’s cocky ass out of the house. It looks like I probably won’t be moving into my new place.
Goodbye, new life. I’m sure you would have been great…
“Well, that seems awfully confident,” Dad retorts, shocking me completely.
Greyston shrugs, the look in his eyes goading my father on further. “What can I say? I have faith in my hometown team.”
“Greyston,” I whisper, gripping my fork so tightly that my knuckles turn white. There’s another part of me that’s fighting from poking him in the leg with it just to shut him the hell up before he ruins everything. “I don’t think that this—”
Dad snorts, and it sounds as though he’s amused by what Greyston has said. “And the fact that the Cardinals haven’t won the last five games hasn’t shaken that faith, son?”
I choke—but not on food or drink because I’ve been far too stunned by Greyston’s comment to eat. Of course, my shock over that is nothing compared to hearing my father call Greyston “son.”
Did I step through some magical portal into a world where everything is ass-backward? In what universe is my dad this chummy with any guy I’ve brought home?
“Sorry,” I apologize after catching my breath. “I inhaled and swallowed at the same time.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I’m mortified. There’s no way that all three of them don’t see my face turn a shade of red that rivals the cherry-red pillared candles in the middle of the table.