Scoring the Billionaire(32)

"Dad, this is-" I started to introduce then. Winnie's eyes flared noticeably on the word "Dad."

"Dr. Winslow," she interrupted. "Winnie to you," she added with a wink.

I smiled at the melodic confidence in her voice. "She's-"

"The team physician," she broke in again. "New to the team, but I really love it."

"I like her," my dad remarked with a batty old smile-the only part of  him that hinted at his age. "Knows enough not to wait around for you.  Gets right to the point herself."

I wasn't thinking that myself, though.

It felt to me like she was beating me to the punch to prove a point-to  draw a line between us. A line that defined personal and business and  meant a very specific thing about a meeting with my father. A goddamn  line I didn't want drawn because it was ugly and dark and reeked of  permanent marker, the words "fuck buddy" illustrated perfectly in shaded  bubble letters.

It conceded the point, finally, that we were friends, but it didn't budge an inch on the possibility we might be more.

I wasn't yet sure exactly what I wanted, but I didn't want that.

"Actually, Dad, Winnie and I are dating."

Winnie sputtered and choked on nothing more than her tied tongue and a  mouthful of saliva. I pulled her tight body close and peered down into  the distressed and murky pools of her too-pretty eyes.         

     



 

"Okay, Fred?"

The use of her ridiculous nickname only agitated her more. The seas of  her blue eyes raged, and her plump lips thinned into a tight line. In  some twisted way, it felt fucking satisfying to make her feel the same  way I'd felt only moments before by stating one simple fact.

"Uh-huh," my dad hummed knowingly. "The sex between the two of you must be dynamite."

Jesus. I jerked my head. My dad never said shit like that. Acted it out,  implied it, sure. But said it outright? No. That was really more Dr.  Cummings's-Georgia's mother-style. She was a sex therapist, and her  knack for getting straight to the weird and dirty was quite impressive.

"What?" Winnie asked through a startled laugh, sure she'd heard him  wrong, but I could guarantee she hadn't. Each horrifying word was burned  in my brain forever, a souvenir to take forward into each and every one  of my nightmares.

I probably owe Georgia an apology because this is embarrassing as fuck.

My dad didn't seem even a little ashamed, though-even when I dragged a  very threatening finger across the line of my throat. In fact, if I  wasn't mistaken, I saw a goddamn twinkle of enjoyment in his eye.

"All that passion." He smirked and looked directly at Winnie. "You went  willingly into his arms, doll. That means the heart knows. All that fire  in your eyes means your brain is the only part strong enough to fight."

"Dad-"

"That's how it was for Wes's mother and me."

My throat clogged at the unexpected mention of my mother. He spoke of  her fondly always, but he never spoke about them as a couple. I always  got the feeling that it hurt too much-that years and years did nothing  to make it easier to talk about. Everything I knew about them together  up until this point had been pure assumption.

But he looked at ease now.

I felt Winnie's entire body shift with the force of her swallow.

"The fight is fun," he told Winnie on a whisper, and then shook his head. "But not even half as much as giving in."

Her body relaxed into mine minutely, as if commanded by his words, and I  took the opportunity to plaster her side to mine even tighter.

Unfortunately, her phone rang almost instantaneously, shocking her out  of the trance and robbing me of my enjoyment. Part of me felt like it  was an emergency call that she'd planned in advance to bail her out of  this completely unpredictable situation-the timing was just that  perfect.

She put the phone to her ear and listened for three or four beats in  time, and I knew what the words out of her mouth would be even before  she spoke them. "On my way."

Still, it was game day, and I did have a vested interest in any of the  potential things that could have been happening on the other end of that  phone call. When I raised my brows, she put my mind at ease. "Nothing  big. No worries."

Turning to my father, she took his hand in hers. "It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Lancaster."

"Kyle, doll, and the pleasure is all mine."

She smiled genuinely, the beam most women gave to flirtatious old men  with something extra, and took off down the hall at a speed-walk.

She didn't look back-and I hated it.

"I should have talked more about your mother," my father whispered as  soon as Winnie was out of earshot. I closed my eyes tight and shook my  head.

I was too mentally wrecked to have the big talk now. I just couldn't do it.

So, without acknowledging his admission, I started to usher my dad in  the opposite direction. "Better get you to your seat, Pop."

He pulled me to a stop and barked a harsh, "Bullshit."

"Dad," I warned and started to walk again.

"I'm not going to say much of anything," he protested, pulling me to a  stop a second time like an anchor would a boat. I could float all I  wanted until the slack ran out, but until I let him say what he had to  say, he'd just keep yanking me right back. "Just one, tiny little nugget  from one man to another."

I took a deep breath and nodded.

"She's right to be wary of you."

I tried not to let his words hurt because I knew they were true. Still, I  expected a tiny bit more coddling from my father. Unbidden and  unwelcome, an ache took shape under the left side of my rib cage.         

     



 

"Thanks," I said bitingly, reaching up to rub the tension in my forehead.

"Son," he called, and I lifted my head to look him in the eyes-eyes that looked just like mine.

"You're right to fight to prove her wrong."





"Are we really doing this?" I asked Wes as I cut a fresh loaf of bread into slices.

He dropped the pasta into boiling water and hitched his hip against the counter. "Doing what?"

"The whole meet-the-parents thing?"

Wes had decided that he would like to join my family and me for our  weekly Thursday dinners, and he then hadn't given me a chance to say no.  But he hadn't given me a chance to say yes either, and I honestly  wasn't sure which answer I would have given.

Time with him, in general, felt like home. When we weren't having  ah-may-zing sex, we were flirting and teasing and being playful, and he  genuinely made me happy.

But there was so much I didn't know, couldn't predict, about our future,  and the more I inserted him into my life, Lex's life-my family's  life-the more it would hurt if and when he decided not to be in them  anymore.

"And meet the three remaining brothers, too," he added with a smirk.

I laughed. "Yeah. That."

He came up behind me as I stirred the pasta sauce and patted my ass.  "You've got nothing to fear, Fred. I've got this," he whispered into my  ear and then placed a soft kiss to my neck. If I hadn't been feeling  anxiety about Wes spending an entire meal with my mother and four older  brothers, my mind probably would've taken a detour from Serious Business  Avenue straight to Pervy Road.

"I don't think you know my brothers."

"I know one of your brothers. And he's really warming up to me."

I turned in his arms, rife with skepticism.

"Remy's warming up to you? How do you figure that?"

"Just a few weeks ago, he was telling me to go fuck myself every time he  saw me. Now, he just glares. That seems like progress to me."

I shook my head.

"A Christmas miracle, perhaps."

"It's not Christmas," I said, and he pushed his lips to mine and spoke there.

"Almost."

He was being lighthearted, my very favorite version of him, and my entire body started to throb as my heart rate sped up.

God. I'm falling for him.

"What are we?" I blurted out, sliding my hands from his shoulders to his forearms and pushing him away slightly.

His eyebrows pulled together at both the question and the distance. "What do you mean?"

Uncomfortable with my own goddamn question, I turned back to the stove and started stirring the pasta vigorously.

He grabbed my chin in one hand and froze my frantic wrist with the  other, pulling my gaze back toward him. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"  he whispered seriously, everything about him soft and open.

"Are we … " I started and then paused to lick my lips. His pupils dilated as he watched. "Are we together?"

He tilted his head to the side in serious contemplation, and my lunch started to crawl up my throat with unease.

"Do you want to be together?" he asked. His gaze held mine and pled. I just couldn't tell for what.

"Do you want to be together?" I tried.

He smirked. "I asked you first."

We stood there for what seemed like forever, lost in each other as I tried to find the courage to tell him how I felt.

Why is it so fucking hard?