My cropped black stretch pants were damp with my sweat, and the fabric itched my thighs.
They were pissing me off.
My ponytail dragging across my back was pissing me off. My aching feet, and the fact that I hadn’t managed to run my unwanted energy out of my body, both pissed me off.
I hadn’t been this pissed off in a long time.
I’d woken to the sound of Jared’s motorcycle piercing through my sleep like a flood of hot water over my skin, and I lay in bed, flattened to the mattress, suddenly desperate for one of his morning visits. I’d always been in the mood more in the mornings, and having his naked body nestled between my legs, begging for entry, used to be a damn nice way to wake up.
But he’d sped off, and I certainly didn’t want what my body might have craved.
I walked into my house, set my keys, along with my iPod and earbuds, on the entryway table, and walked into the kitchen, Madman trailing behind me. Firing up my laptop on the table, I proceeded with making an omelet while I downed two bottles of water and chopped some fruit.
It had been hard to try to eat healthy with the schedule I kept. The hospital always had boxes of Krispy Kremes, cookies, and other treats floating around, and since I was either reading at the library, reading at home, or working on my car when I wasn’t working or at school, I had a hard time not grabbing what was convenient in a rush. Thankfully, my weekends were free, so I food prepped by premaking salads and healthy snacks.
Although I did still snatch up a chocolate-glazed doughnut any chance I got.
Sitting down at the table, I dialed my father for our once-a-week video chat.
“Hey, Dad,” I greeted him, cutting into a piece of my omelet with spinach, mushrooms, and cheese. “How’s beautiful Italy? Staying away from all of the wine, right?” I teased, stuffing the loaded fork into my mouth.
“Actually, wine is good for the heart,” he pointed out with laughter in his blue eyes. My eyes.
“Yeah, one glass,” I clarified. “Not five, okay?”
He nodded. “Touché.”
My dad wasn’t big on alcohol, but I knew he’d taken a particular liking to the food in certain countries where he’d been assigned over the years. Italy being one of them.
But a few years ago his lifestyle finally took a toll on his body. He had a hectic schedule, little consistency in his routine, poor eating habits because he was always on the go, and little to no exercise due to the travel. He had two heart attacks while abroad and didn’t even tell me. I had been livid when I found out.
Now I stayed in better contact to nag him more. I’d dipped into my savings and sent him a treadmill for Christmas one year, and I even scoped out the grocery stores in whatever area he lived in, so I could push him to their salad bars and organic selections.
Thankfully, he put up with it. He’d been my only parent for about twelve years now, and he finally got a clue and realized I needed him around for a long time to come.
“Are you at the house?” he asked, looking around me. “I thought you were staying with Madoc and Fallon.”
I shrugged, concentrating on my food. “It’s the weekend. The workers aren’t here, and I wanted to get some yard work in. Making it presentable, you know?”
The yards were actually in great shape. Jax had been taking care of everything while my father was away and I was at school. I’d really just wanted to be home, and I knew, no matter how I tried to hide it, my father could read me well.
“Tate, I know this is hard,” he said softly. “Selling the house, I mean. I know you’re going to miss it there.”
I swallowed the lump of food in my throat, making sure I looked indifferent. “It’ll be a hard good-bye, but nothing can stay the same forever, right?” I was trying to stay positive. There was nothing that could be done, and I couldn’t expect my father to keep paying expenses on a large house we no longer needed.
“Honey, look at me, please.”
I stopped cutting food with my fork and looked up.
He stared at me for a moment, but then frowned and looked away. Brushing his nose with his hand, he let out a sigh.
My heart sank, and I wondered what the hell he was trying to say.
“Is everything okay?” I shot out. “Your heart—?”
“I’m fine.” He nodded quickly. “I just . . .”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is it the house? Has it been sold?”
His gaze locked on mine, and he hesitated before replying. “No.” He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong necessarily.”
“Dad, just spit it out.”
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled a hard breath. “Well, I’m seeing someone, actually,” he said. “Someone I’ve grown very close to.”
I set my fork down, my back straightening. Seeing someone? I remembered him talking about going on a date here and there a while after my mom died, but he never introduced me to anyone. Was it serious?
My dad watched me, waiting for me to say something, probably.
I finally blinked, clearing my throat. “Dad, that’s great,” I told him with an honest smile. “I’m happy for you. Is she Italian?”
“No.” He fidgeted, looking very uncomfortable. “No, she lives back home, actually.”
“Here?”
His cheeks puffed out as he ran his hand though his hair once more. “This is very awkward.” He laughed nervously. “Honey, about a year ago, I started seeing one of . . .” He trailed off, looking like he desperately needed different words to tell me what he needed to tell me. “I started seeing one of your old teachers. Elizabeth Penley,” he rushed out.
They were pissing me off.
My ponytail dragging across my back was pissing me off. My aching feet, and the fact that I hadn’t managed to run my unwanted energy out of my body, both pissed me off.
I hadn’t been this pissed off in a long time.
I’d woken to the sound of Jared’s motorcycle piercing through my sleep like a flood of hot water over my skin, and I lay in bed, flattened to the mattress, suddenly desperate for one of his morning visits. I’d always been in the mood more in the mornings, and having his naked body nestled between my legs, begging for entry, used to be a damn nice way to wake up.
But he’d sped off, and I certainly didn’t want what my body might have craved.
I walked into my house, set my keys, along with my iPod and earbuds, on the entryway table, and walked into the kitchen, Madman trailing behind me. Firing up my laptop on the table, I proceeded with making an omelet while I downed two bottles of water and chopped some fruit.
It had been hard to try to eat healthy with the schedule I kept. The hospital always had boxes of Krispy Kremes, cookies, and other treats floating around, and since I was either reading at the library, reading at home, or working on my car when I wasn’t working or at school, I had a hard time not grabbing what was convenient in a rush. Thankfully, my weekends were free, so I food prepped by premaking salads and healthy snacks.
Although I did still snatch up a chocolate-glazed doughnut any chance I got.
Sitting down at the table, I dialed my father for our once-a-week video chat.
“Hey, Dad,” I greeted him, cutting into a piece of my omelet with spinach, mushrooms, and cheese. “How’s beautiful Italy? Staying away from all of the wine, right?” I teased, stuffing the loaded fork into my mouth.
“Actually, wine is good for the heart,” he pointed out with laughter in his blue eyes. My eyes.
“Yeah, one glass,” I clarified. “Not five, okay?”
He nodded. “Touché.”
My dad wasn’t big on alcohol, but I knew he’d taken a particular liking to the food in certain countries where he’d been assigned over the years. Italy being one of them.
But a few years ago his lifestyle finally took a toll on his body. He had a hectic schedule, little consistency in his routine, poor eating habits because he was always on the go, and little to no exercise due to the travel. He had two heart attacks while abroad and didn’t even tell me. I had been livid when I found out.
Now I stayed in better contact to nag him more. I’d dipped into my savings and sent him a treadmill for Christmas one year, and I even scoped out the grocery stores in whatever area he lived in, so I could push him to their salad bars and organic selections.
Thankfully, he put up with it. He’d been my only parent for about twelve years now, and he finally got a clue and realized I needed him around for a long time to come.
“Are you at the house?” he asked, looking around me. “I thought you were staying with Madoc and Fallon.”
I shrugged, concentrating on my food. “It’s the weekend. The workers aren’t here, and I wanted to get some yard work in. Making it presentable, you know?”
The yards were actually in great shape. Jax had been taking care of everything while my father was away and I was at school. I’d really just wanted to be home, and I knew, no matter how I tried to hide it, my father could read me well.
“Tate, I know this is hard,” he said softly. “Selling the house, I mean. I know you’re going to miss it there.”
I swallowed the lump of food in my throat, making sure I looked indifferent. “It’ll be a hard good-bye, but nothing can stay the same forever, right?” I was trying to stay positive. There was nothing that could be done, and I couldn’t expect my father to keep paying expenses on a large house we no longer needed.
“Honey, look at me, please.”
I stopped cutting food with my fork and looked up.
He stared at me for a moment, but then frowned and looked away. Brushing his nose with his hand, he let out a sigh.
My heart sank, and I wondered what the hell he was trying to say.
“Is everything okay?” I shot out. “Your heart—?”
“I’m fine.” He nodded quickly. “I just . . .”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is it the house? Has it been sold?”
His gaze locked on mine, and he hesitated before replying. “No.” He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong necessarily.”
“Dad, just spit it out.”
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled a hard breath. “Well, I’m seeing someone, actually,” he said. “Someone I’ve grown very close to.”
I set my fork down, my back straightening. Seeing someone? I remembered him talking about going on a date here and there a while after my mom died, but he never introduced me to anyone. Was it serious?
My dad watched me, waiting for me to say something, probably.
I finally blinked, clearing my throat. “Dad, that’s great,” I told him with an honest smile. “I’m happy for you. Is she Italian?”
“No.” He fidgeted, looking very uncomfortable. “No, she lives back home, actually.”
“Here?”
His cheeks puffed out as he ran his hand though his hair once more. “This is very awkward.” He laughed nervously. “Honey, about a year ago, I started seeing one of . . .” He trailed off, looking like he desperately needed different words to tell me what he needed to tell me. “I started seeing one of your old teachers. Elizabeth Penley,” he rushed out.
