In His Kiss - Ava Alise Page 0,3

eyes widen and I stare at Jordan as panic floods my chest.

“Come on, Zee.” He leans forward, placing a hand on both of my shoulders. “Your parents are the happiest couple I’ve ever seen, maybe even happier than my parents were before my mother died. My pops credits your dad for being the reason he didn’t fuck things up with my mom early on. He said watching your dad show him what having a good thing really looked like was key, he’s the most standup guy I know. There must be an explanation for this.”

My eyes scroll Jordan’s face. I know he’s hoping this isn’t real just as much as I am. Jordan and my dad are hella close. Our fathers have been best friends since college, which is the reason Jordan and I were pretty much raised together. My father suddenly turning into a lying asshole would put a strain on our little family, and with us all just getting over the shock of his mother, Lisa, passing away last year, it’s just… too much.

It takes everything I have not to look back at my father’s table. I want to know if they are sitting closer, if he’s touching her, if she’s staring into his eyes or if they seem more casual. To make all this worse, the girl looks young enough to be a college student. Maybe a senior. Why would he cheat on my mother with a student? He’s had a long career in education, and besides our family his career is his only other passion. It doesn’t make sense that he would jeopardize that.

Jordan is still touching me, though he’s adjusted a bit. He’s no longer gripping my shoulders. One of his hands has fallen to his lap and the other one is placed gently on my arm.

“You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. This is my father. I know him, we know him. My parents are still in love. I came home to do laundry just the other day and walked in on them making out on the couch like teenagers. It was gross, of course, but still… they are in love. He wouldn’t do this to my mother.

“This can’t be what it seems.” I nod resolutely and Jordan mirrors my motion, but I can still see a small line of worry in the crease of his eyes.

“Exactly. Why don’t you just text him and see what he says?”

“I’ll do one better, I’ll call him.” With shaking hands, I grip my phone and press my pointer on the fingerprint scanner to unlock it. Dad always answers my calls, always, even if it’s just to tell me he has to call me back. No matter how often I tell him to just ignore the call and text me instead, he picks up, arguing that texts are too impersonal and “we kids” will wake up one day and forget how to hold a proper conversation.

Jordan leans back, folding his arms across his chest as he watches me. I clear my throat and scroll through my contacts until I see my dad, then I look back over to his table. Dad smiles at the woman adoringly, then reaches over and places his hand in hers. My eyes find Jordan’s again and I hit send. It rings once. Then twice. Then a third time. My heart begins to pound. Jordan breaks our stare and looks over to my father and I do the same. Dad's looking down at the table but I can’t tell if he’s looking at his phone or not. By the time the fifth ring happens and his voicemail picks up, my eyes are welling with tears.

I pull the phone from my ear and look at Jordan. There’s a change in his eyes and I can't tell if it's anger or hurt. He looks back over to my father but I keep looking at him. His eyes narrow, his jaw ticks. I can now see the anger and disbelief growing in his face just as it’s growing in my chest. I feel like I’m choking.

“Let’s go before I do something stupid,” he says.

I feel like I’m on autopilot as we walk out of the café and to his car. The entire time I stared in my father’s direction, hoping he’d look up, that the confrontation would happen naturally, that he’d be forced to give us an explanation. But he never looked up. I slide into Jordan’s car and let the tears roll down my cheeks.

Jordan