Next Man Up (Making the Score #2) - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,38

it my best shot.”

“That’s . . . that’s really cool, Dad. And Mom is going to love it. It’s a great idea.” I leaned over to pick up a piece of the wood and stroked it. “She’ll probably cry.”

“I’m counting on it.” He chuckled. “I’m always looking for ways to score points with your mom, you know. My number one goal in life is making her happy, if I can do it.”

I watched him pick up sandpaper and squint at the edge of the curved piece of wood. “You and Mom have been together . . . what, twenty years?”

Dad raised one eyebrow at me. “Married twenty-two years. Together twenty-five. Why do you ask? Trying to come up with an anniversary gift for us?”

My mouth dropped open, and I did some rapid back-peddling. “Ah, um, yeah, I guess—”

“I’m just teasing you, son.” My father shook his head. “Our anniversary was two months ago.”

“I’m sorry.” I heaved a long breath. “I’m a terrible son. I’m selfish and thoughtless.”

“Nah, you’re not,” he said easily. “You’re a twenty-year old guy, in college, busy with his own life. Don’t sweat it. If it wasn’t for your mother, I’d never remember my parents’ anniversary. Believe me.” He waggled his brows. “One of the many benefits of finding a good woman and settling down.”

“Maybe.” My finger caught on a small rough patch on the wood I was holding. “Hey, pass me some sand paper. I found a spot you missed.”

“Thanks.” Dad tore a larger sheet in half and handed it to me. “It’s always good to have another set of eyes or hands.”

“Yeah.” I focused on the sanding. “Did you date a lot of girls before you met Mom?”

My father began to laugh. “Uh, no. Not at all. As a matter of fact . . .” He coughed a little. “Your mother was my first girlfriend.”

I grinned. “So you were a player, Dad? Way to go.”

Now he threw back his head and nearly roared. “Eli, son, I was not a player. I was the furthest thing from a player. Not only did I never have a date before your mom—I never, ah . . . did anything with any other girl, either.”

“You were a virgin when you met Mom.” I wondered why I’d never had this conversation before now. “Jesus, Dad.”

“Eli, don’t act like it was such a tragedy. I promise you, I’ve never regretted not having a flock of lovers before I met your mother. I’ve never felt like I was missing out on anything.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I blew the sawdust from the wood. “Nothing against Mom—she’s great and all—but why didn’t you date before you met her?”

“Hmph.” Dad set down the rocker and picked up what looked like an arm rest. “Where to start? First of all, I was scared shitless of all variety of females. Second, I was skinny, I didn’t know how to dress, and I had braces for six years. I also wore glasses—and not cool, hipster frames. No, your dad rocked out the thick lenses and black frames. And finally, I was obsessed with things like comic books and movies with space men.”

“You were a nerd?”

“Totally,” he agreed cheerfully. “Girls didn’t go for dudes like me. That was how I held onto my virginity for so long.”

“How did you end with Mom?” I knew that being her son, I was a little biased, but even now, two decades later, my mother was a total babe.

My father set down the curved piece. “I was a friend. A good friend.” Leaning back, his eyes grew distant as a reminiscent smile spread over his face. “We met when we were working together on a project for school. We found out we had some things in common, despite the fact that she was gorgeous and popular. She was the head cheerleader, had a perfect GPA and everyone loved her. She’d always dated boys like her. Football players.” He smirked my way.

“Hey, don’t hate the football team,” I admonished mildly. “Just because we got the girls doesn’t make us bad guys.” I passed Dad the rocker I’d sanded. “Were you crushing on her the whole time? Just waiting for your chance?”

“Hardly,” he responded dryly. “I never even thought of her that way, until one day, in the middle of us studying for a biology exam, she asked me if I’d ever thought about kissing her. I blushed and stammered and said of course not. She asked why not—was there something wrong with her?