Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,86
It’ll be therapeutic after all those years he’s beaten you down.”
I feel restless as I stare at my dad’s name in my contact list.
“You’ll be okay,” she insists, kneeling on the bed in front of me. “Just call him up and tell him you have some of his files that you’d really like him to see. And do it in your best mobster voice.”
Nodding, I press my finger to his name then put the phone to my ear. He answers after two rings and immediately starts screaming that I’m supposed to be at the office. When he finally takes a breath, I tell him what I need to, and for the first time in my life, he listens.
In the middle of the conversation, Willow gets up off the bed and heads across my room toward the door. Worry builds in my chest that she’ll walk out and never come back or that she’ll come back with a list. And these last five years of getting us to this point will be destroyed. When she reaches the doorway, though, she turns around and smiles.
“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go make breakfast while you finish breaking up with your father.” She giggles, amused with herself.
The pressure in my chest cracks as I realize that she might be okay.
I might be okay.
We might be okay.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Willow
I’m so glad Beck decided to get out of working with his father. Sure, blackmailing him might not be the best way, but honestly, I think it’s the only way other than Beck selling his house.
As Beck talks to his dad on the phone and explains to him what he found, I wander out to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I feel so well-rested I don’t even know what to do with myself other than smile, smile, smile and do jazz hands apparently. Honestly, I kind of feel as happy as a cartoon character as I dance my way across the spacious kitchen.
But in the middle of my best robot move, I screech to a halt, my jaw smacking to my knees.
“What the heck is this?” I mutter, plucking up a piece of paper held to the fridge by a magnet.
Task #1: Get Willow out of that house.
Task #2: Prove to her that I’m not going to destroy her.
Task #3: Tell her I love her.
The letters are written in Beck’s handwriting below the list of rules I gave him; only, my list has been scribbled out.
Tell her I love her.
Tell her I love her?
“Beck loves me?” I whisper, nearly dropping the list.
My heart rate accelerates. My palms begin to dampen. My brain is wired, soaring a million miles a minute. I’d think I was having a panic attack, except for two things: One, those goddamn flutters go elatedly crazy. And two, I don’t want to run to the front door. I want to go back to the bedroom. So, that’s what I do with the list clutched in my hand.
Beck is off the phone when I walk in, looking both terrified and relieved.
“Well, the good news is that he’s going to sign my house over to me,” he says, tossing his phone onto the bed.
I step toward him. “And the bad news?”
He rests his elbows on his knees and massages his temples with his fingertips. “I’m probably not going to be allowed to family dinners anymore.”
“Aw, Beck, I’m so sorry.” Another step toward him and my fingers tighten around the list. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Family dinners suck, anyway.” He waves me off, but I can see a tiny bit of hurt in his eyes.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” I ask, stopping in front of him.
He leans back on his arms as he angles his head up. “Well, if you’re offering …” His lips curve into a naughty grin.
I tap my finger against my lips. “You want me to tickle your feet again?”
He gives me a tolerant look. “That’s not quite what I was thinking you could tickle. Maybe go up a little higher.”
“What? To your ankle?”
Shaking his head, he snags hold of my hips, lifts me up, and drops me down on the bed.
I let out a laugh as I bounce against the bed and then squeal as he rolls on top of me and tickles my side.
“Just for that, I’m going to make you pee your pants,” he teases, sketching his fingers up and down my sides.