Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,45
disappear. Hold her until she relaxed against me. Kiss the top of her head and whisper in her ear that I’d give her the wedding she wanted. I’d do anything to make her happy.
Clearing my throat, I glanced away, reeling from the thoughts that had just blown through my mind.
Give her the wedding she wanted?
Do anything to make her happy?
Who the fuck was I?
I was about to say, it’s a good thing our Vegas wedding wasn’t real, then. But I stopped. Couldn’t quite say it, although I wasn’t sure why.
“Anyway, I guess it isn’t that big of a deal,” she said.
I reached out and wrapped one of her curls around my finger. It bounced when I let go. “Sugar, I’m sure that when you do have your special day, everyone you love will be there to celebrate with you.”
She smiled. A big, bright, genuine smile that warmed the cold places in my soul.
Good job, Cox. That was the right thing to say.
I got out and opened her door for her, then walked her to the front door of her building.
She paused, pressing her lips together, and I wondered if I had another shot at a goodnight kiss.
“Cox, I need to ask you something.”
Yes, I’ll come upstairs and fuck you senseless. “Shoot.”
“Will you come meet my dad?”
Meet her father? Well, holy shit.
Before I could get caught up in adding that to the list of things that were throwing me for a loop lately, I answered, “I’d be honored.”
She nodded, a decisive up and down dip of her chin. “Good. How’s tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow works for me. Should I pick you up?”
“Yeah, that would be nice. Around noon?”
“I can do that.”
“Okay.” She smiled again. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, sugar.”
She went inside and the door swung shut behind her, once again leaving me standing at her building door, wondering what the hell had just happened.
16
Cox
When I picked up Sophie at noon, she came out wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was up in a ponytail and I indulged in a brief fantasy of wrapping it around my hand and yanking on it—while I had her on her knees. Naked, of course.
“Hi,” she said, flashing me a cheerful smile. “Ready to meet my dad?”
I blinked away the vision. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
We got in my car and she gave me the address. Her dad lived on a quiet street with well-kept houses and neatly trimmed yards. I parked out front and went around to open the door for Sophie.
“Thank you,” she said as she got out. “We don’t have to pretend we’re really married, by the way. I’m going to tell him the whole story. Except the you’re buying him a house part. Don’t mention that yet. I need to work up to it.”
“Wait, he does know we got married, doesn’t he?”
Her eyes darted away. “No. I haven’t told him yet.”
“So I’m about to walk in there to meet your dad for the first time, and oh by the way, funny story, I accidentally married your daughter in Vegas. But don’t worry; we were shit-faced when it happened.”
“It’s not your fault. We were both there.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure your daddy will see it that way.”
“I’ll explain it to him. He’ll understand.”
My eyebrows lifted. “You think so? The man you described as having the personality of sandpaper is going to understand?”
“Dad’s been trying to get me married off for ages. I bet he’ll be excited.”
“Is your dad a gun owner, Sophie?”
She just laughed and walked up to the front door.
I jogged a few steps to catch up. “Sugar, you didn’t answer my question.”
“No,” she said over her shoulder, her hand already in the air to knock. “And don’t worry. He’s not very fast. You can easily outrun him.”
“You’re not makin’ me feel better.”
She knocked but didn’t wait for an answer. She unlocked the door, opened it, and stuck her head in. “Dad? It’s me. Are you decent?” She glanced at me again. “One time my friends and I came over and he was in nothing but boxers. So now I like to make sure.”
The voice that answered was deep and rough as gravel. “Yeah. Come on in.”
Sophie led the way, giving me an encouraging nod. With a resigned breath, I followed her inside.
Her father was seated in a worn recliner. He looked up from his newspaper, a set of reading glasses perched on his nose. His deeply lined face gave him a weathered appearance, like he’d spent most of his life working outside.