Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,69
push back.
Why?
Why won’t I let him in?
Because you were afraid he was going to be like your dad since he works for your dad. Not to mention, he’s the best-looking guy you’ve ever laid eyes on.
His face and body and voice could melt my butter with or without the sun.
Me: We’re taking it slow, but I’m glad to have someone in my life who makes me a priority.
Dad: I don’t appreciate him walking out on his contract.
Me: Is that how you see it?
Dad: You’re missing the point here, Hollis.
Me: Um, respectfully disagree, Dad. This isn’t about money to me like it is for you—and for once I think I might have met someone who prioritizes people over money, too.
Dad: That sounds ridiculous.
Me: Only because you can’t relate.
Dad: If the kid doesn’t prioritize his INCOME then he should re-evaluate what he does for a living.
Me: He loves baseball Dad.
Dad: I know he does. That’s why I need him to stay focused.
Me: Did he have a shitty game today?
Dad: No. He’s played the best I’ve ever seen him play.
Me: Well…then maybe…I’m the best thing for him. And maybe he’s the best thing for me.
There is a long, long pause, the three dots appearing and disappearing more times than I can count and I hold my breath when they appear again.
Dad: Maybe he is.
I stare at those three words, stunned.
Me: Wait. Are you…AGREEING with me???
Dad: Don’t get lippy.
Me: Okay, but it sounds like you are. It sounds like you…dare I say…APPROVE????
Dad: That will be determined once you start bringing the boy around.
Kid. Boy.
Oh brother. Those are words Dad uses when he’s trying to put someone in their place. He does the same thing to my brother and it sounds like he’s going to do it to Trace, to knock him down a peg.
What an asshole.
Still. It’s progress. My father is actually admitting he might like having Trace around as part of the family. Potentially. Or at least admitting he doesn’t hate the idea.
Me: We’ll see what happens I guess. Today was a good start. A horrible, horrible day, but also not the worst, all things considered. Some good came out of it.
Dad: You always have been too romantic for your own good.
Me: Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.
20
Trace
This is the first time Hollis is seeing my place, and I haven’t stopped fussing. I’ve fluffed the stupid throw pillows on my couch more times than I can count—an embarrassing number of times considering they’re fucking throw pillows. What self-respecting dude has this many?
I remove two and toss them behind the sofa.
Now it looks bare.
Climb onto the couch and retrieve them, karate-chopping them in the center like I’ve seen my cleaning lady do. Fluff and chop, fluff and chop.
I had a long-ass day and walked in the door an hour ago, but Hollis had a shitty day, so I invited her over, thinking she might want to be fed and pampered a little.
I had to google “romantic things to do for a woman,” and some of the ideas were super lame, but a few of them I can manage on my own.
Draw her a bath. Check.
Light candles. Check.
Order flowers. Check.
Order take-out. Check.
Massage—that I can pull off with just my bear paws, one hundred percent into it. We all know where massages lead.
I chuckle to myself and stand back, eyeing the pillows I just rearranged for the tenth time, deciding I need to leave them the fuck alone and move on with my pathetic life.
Dinner arrives via delivery and I tip the dude a fifty because he recognizes me. If I don’t, he’s going to go online and tell everyone Buzz Wallace is a cheap bastard who only gave him five bucks while living in a giant house.
It’s not a mansion, or anything close to as fancy as what Noah Harding and Miranda are living in, but it’s a gorgeous place I renovated and remodeled with my bare hands. It’s not a gated community, so every now and again I get the odd passerby who drives slow past the house. Or a brave teenager who knocks on the door to meet me. Or a bored, brazen housewife who wants to try her luck at fucking me.
I won’t lie—there was a time I was down for that. I was bored and lonely, but now…
I’m not.
I have Hollis.
I have her, I know it—and I plan to keep her, and not in an ‘I’m going to make a lamp out of your skin’ kind of way.