Latte Trouble - By Cleo Coyle Page 0,45
“Matt…I…”
The phone startled us both as it rang at my bedside. I reached for it. Matt was faster.
“Hello.”
“Daddy?”
I leaned a little closer to hear Joy’s end of the conversation. Matt didn’t appear to mind. In fact, he angled his own body, making the proximity even more intimate.
“Joy, where the hell are you?” he asked, taking the words right out of my mouth. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m home. You and Mom should get a life. I’m over eighteen and I was out with friends, that’s all. Relax, okay?”
Matt sighed. “Muffin, we’re just worried. Your mother told me a drunk boy answered your cell phone and—”
Joy began to laugh. “That was Tommy. He’s so crazy. He also should have told me you called. I didn’t get Mom’s message till I got home.”
“Ask her about the restroom!” I hissed.
“Is that Mom?” snapped Joy. “Is she listening in?”
“Your mother is understandably worried, Joy. That boy gave her a heart attack. She thinks you’re doing drugs.”
“I’m not.”
“And why should I believe you?” Matt demanded.
“Because I’m your daughter and I totally don’t lie.” She sighed. “Look, I have a few friends who like to do it for fun in clubs sometimes. I hang with them, but I never do the drugs, okay? So, listen, it’s late and I’m really, really tired. I’m going to bed. Okay?”
“We’ll talk about this again,” Matt promised her.
“Fine, but not at one in the A.M. Please, Daddy? Good night.”
“Good night, muffin.”
Matt hung up. Then he and I stared at each other in silence for at least thirty seconds. This whole over-eighteen thing was definitely uncharted waters.
“What do you think?” he finally asked. His expression, usually confident and cocky, was so lost and helpless that I nearly burst out laughing.
“I think I’m relieved Joy called us back tonight,” I told him. “And because she called, I do believe she’s telling us the truth.”
“But she’s hanging with friends who do drugs,” Matt pointed out, “which is why I’m going to have a long, straight talk with her.”
“That’s a very good idea. She’ll listen to you.”
Matt grunted and rubbed his eyes as if he were trying to ward off a monumental headache.
“She worships you, Matt, you know that, don’t you?”
Matt stopped rubbing his eyes and looked up. “I’ve never heard you say that before.”
“Sure you have.”
“No, Clare. What I usually hear is how I wasn’t around enough for her, which was completely true. And I honestly can’t see why Joy would want to listen to her old man when he’s just an ex-drug addict…a fuck-up.”
“Matt, stop. Of course she worships you. You’re her father—her exciting, larger-than-life, super-cool, globetrotting, no-fear father. I reached out and underlined those very words on his shirt. He caught my hand.
“Matt…”
“Are you just saying that because I’m so pathetic?” He brought my hand to his cheek, kissed my palm. “I mean, did you hear me on the phone?” He lowered his voice to a ridiculous octave. “‘Your mother is understandably upset.’”
I smiled. “That’s the thing about parenthood. No matter how cool you think you are, you are doomed to one day channel Ward Cleaver.”
As I spoke, his lips moved, touching the inside of my wrist and elbow. Then he shifted closer on the bed, pulling my arm around his waist, he angled in to nibble my throat, my ear, my jawline…
I sighed. It felt good. Too good. “Matt,” I said softly. “I don’t think—”
“Clare, sweetheart,” he whispered into my ear, “please…don’t think.”
Then his lips were on mine, warm and gentle, like an espresso, relaxing and rousing at the same time. The weight of his body pressed me farther into the sea of pillows. I closed my eyes, and I was floating once more. It felt like a dream, but not a bad one…and I let it carry me away.
SEVENTEEN
THE dawning sun streamed in with a blinding vengeance. I yawned and arched my back, wondering why I hadn’t drawn the drapes. Beside me Java trotted across the clean, white sheets and arched her back, too, then she butted her coffee-bean colored head against my arm in her usual demand for attention. As I petted the silky length of her, a Technicolor scene from Gone with the Wind flashed through my sleep-addled brain. I saw Scarlett awakening and stretching like a cream-fed feline the morning after Rhett carried her off to bed.
Now what brought that to mind? I innocently pondered. Then my hand stilled on Java’s fur.
Oh, god.
I sat up, the sheet fell down. I was naked.
“Good