Rush (Gods #2)(16)

"You mean, you didn't cheat on me and watch it already?" His laughter  has stopped, and the tone in his voice is so serious, it makes me stop  and look at him.

There's something in the way he's looking at me that makes me feel like it was some kind of test.

A test he expected me to fail.

But I didn't.

"Of course not." I give him a faux-annoyed look. "When I say I'll do something, I do it."

Something akin to relief flickers in his eyes, and it leaves a warm feeling swirling inside me.

I walk over and turn NSYNC off, and then I pick up the TV remote and  toss it to him. "You set up the next episode of Dexter while I order the  pizza. Anything you don't like?" I ask him.

"Anchovies. They're the devil. I'm good with everything else."

"See, I knew there was a reason I liked you, quarterback." I smirk, using his earlier words back on him.

He gifts me with a wide smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes.

I feel that smile all the way down to my toes, like a rush of adrenaline.

And I know I'm in trouble.





I've been summoned to my dad's office. I don't know what he wants me  for. I don't usually get called to his office. If he wants something, he  just rings me. I've only been in his office once since I started  working here, and that was on the day I started, so I can't say I have a  good feeling about this.

As I walk up the stairs to the second floor, where my dad's office is, I  look at the photos hanging on the wall; they're of players in action  from over the years. There's one of Ares hanging up there, and it makes  me smile.

I'm going to the cinema with Ares tonight. After saying that he wanted  to watch The Big Lebowski after my, "Does the Pope shit in the woods?"  quip, he told me a few days later that he saw that it'd be showing at a  cinema in Greenwich Village that did late-night screenings of old movies  and asked if I wanted to go.

My answer was … "Does the Pope shit in the woods?"

Clearly, I'm hilarious.

I never got to see The Big Lebowski when it was first released because I  was only three at the time, so it will be cool to see it on the big  screen. And, of course, I'll be with Ares, which will make it even  better.

We've been getting on brilliantly after our disagreement. He practically  spent the whole weekend over at my place, watching Dexter. We got  through a serious amount of food and episodes. We're on season three  already.

Although I did have to kick him out on Sunday, as I had arranged to go shopping with Missy.

Well, it was more like window-shopping for me, as I'm trying to save  money to pay my dad back. It was fun. I hadn't had a girlie shopping day  in forever.

I'll be sad when Missy goes back to Dartmouth, but we've promised to  message all the time, and she even invited me to come visit. No frat  parties though.

But, when she goes back, I'll still have Ares here to hang out with.  Actually, I think I've spent more time with him these past few weeks  than I have Missy.

Although the more time I spend around him, the more my feelings for him  grow. I'm keeping them under wraps, but I need to get a handle on them  because unrequited feelings for someone who is turning out to be a good  friend is not a path I want to go down. I need to keep my head straight.

Because I'm allowing myself to mistake friendly things he does as  something more, which it isn't. Like, when he passes me something and  his fingers brush over mine, my wanting mind tells me that he did it on  purpose. Or, when I think I'm feeling him watching me, but when I look  at him, he's not.                       
       
           



       

My stupid heart is whispering foolishness to my brain, and I need to put a stop to it.

Ares sees me as a friend only. And that's enough.

It's more than enough.

It's way more than I ever thought I would have.

After the crash, I thought my life was over.

But look at me. I have a job. It might not be the one I want, and I still might not be painting, but it's a start.

I haven't had a drink in seven months.

I have two new, great friends in my life. I might have the hots for one  of them-Ares-but that's just a crush, and it will pass soon.

Life is good.

I'm still smiling when I reach my dad's office door. I knock once and then walk in.

He's on the phone when I enter, so I just go over and take the seat across from him, putting my bag on the floor by my feet.

He lifts a finger, telling me he'll be a minute, and I nod.

I take a moment to watch him while he's on the phone.

My dad is a handsome man.

He'll turn fifty next year, but he looks like he is in his early  forties. His hair is full and dark with only a hint of gray at the  sides. He's this tall, gigantic beast of a man. Still in great shape for  his age.

He still gets women checking him out. The hostess at the restaurant he  took me to the other night was openly flirting with him. Not that he  even noticed. I actually felt a little bad for her.

God, I remember the arguments it caused between him and my mom when she  was still alive. I always felt bad for him because it wasn't like he  ever did anything to incite those women looking at him and flirting with  him, and he never noticed back then either.

But then he never noticed my mom. Maybe that was the problem.

He's more interested in football. Always has been, and he always will be.

He played professional football before I was born, but a knee injury took him out early in his career.

When I was a little kid, he would pick me up with one hand and sit me up  on his shoulder, and I remember how safe I used to feel up there  because I knew he would never let me fall.

I thought nothing and no one could ever hurt me while I had a dad who was as big and strong as he was.

How wrong I was.

"Yep, sounds good, Bill," he says, finishing off his call. "Next week.  Yep … yep. See you then." He hangs up the phone and looks at me. "How are  you doing?"

"Good. You wanted me?"

"Yeah." He leans back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, and steeples  his fingers together. "Ares has been driving you to and from work."  It's not a question; he knows it's a fact. "Is there anything I need to  know?"

I frown. "Such as?"

"Are you dating him?"

"No."

"Sleeping with him?"

"Jesus Christ, Dad." I shake my head, annoyed. "Not that it's any of your business who I date or sleep with-"

"You're my daughter, so it is my business. And especially if it's one of my players that you're seeing."

Right. So, this is actually about his precious player, not his daughter.

Why am I not surprised?

"Well, you can rest easy, Dad. I'm not doing anything with Ares Kincaid,  except riding in his truck-and not riding in the biblical sense. He  knew I lived in the city and that I was taking the bus in, so he offered  to give me a lift."

"So, you're just friends?" He seems surprised that would even be an option.

Gee, thanks, Dad.

I don't want him knowing that Ares and I hang out. If he has a problem  with me riding in his truck, then he'll definitely have a problem if he  knows Ares spends time at my apartment.

"I wouldn't say friends … but I have hung out with his sister a few times." I say this to put his nose on a different scent.

"Missy. Yeah, I've met her." He nods. "She seems like a nice girl."

Unlike me.

"She is."

He pauses a moment, tapping his fingers together. I stare at him, waiting for him to say whatever he thinks he needs to.

"Look, Ari … I just don't think it's a good idea for you to be riding around in Ares's truck."

"I didn't know I needed your permission."

His lips tighten. That's his tell when he's frustrated. "He's my quarterback. You're my daughter. People talk."

"News flash: people always talk. It's the beauty of the gift of speech."

"Don't be smart, Ari. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're in  a vulnerable place right now, and you don't need people talking about  you."

"More than they already have, you mean? I'm pretty sure everyone in New  York knows the worst of what I've done. But that's not it, is it? No,  this is about Ares. You don't want people talking about him, especially  not in the same sentence as me, right? It's bad press if people think  the quarterback is lowering his standards to the coach's messed up  daughter. Well, don't worry, Dad; Ares is most definitely not doing  anything with me that will bring disrepute to his name." Tears are  stinging the backs of my eyes, so I stand. "And I'll go back to taking  the bus home from now on. Don't want to tarnish the shiny reputation of  your star player."                       
       
           



       

"That's not what I'm saying, and you know it."

"Bullshit. That's exactly what you're saying. Trust me, Dad; I know where your loyalty lies, and it sure as hell isn't with me."