Page 4 of Don't Say You're Sorry

“Why not?”

“Family events make me itchy. I don’t like your brothers or their stuck-up kids.”

“Your uncles and your cousins,” he corrects.

I take another sip. “Anything else, or are we done for another two months?”

He ignores that. “Veronica won’t say it, but I can tell she’s upset. She wants you to be there.”

“Probably because she can’t stand to be around your brothers and their stuck-up kids either,” I grumble. “She needs an ally who won’t turn their nose up at her.”

“They don’t turn their noses up at her.”

“Not when you’re looking.”

I swear I can hear the tic in his jaw. “She doesn’tneedyou there. My wife can hold her own. Shewantsyou there,” he reiterates. “You know how much she loves you.”

“And I love her.”

“So be there,” he says. “Please.”

I roll my eyes. It’s not every day you get apleaseout of my dad. He must be desperate. “Fine.”

“Thank you. And, Easton,” he says before I hang up. “Bring a date. It’ll make your stepmother happy to see you happy.”

“I am happy.”

He pauses. “Just humor me, all right?”

“Ugh.” Shaking my head, I hang up and toss my phone on the kitchen island. “Hey, Frankie?” I call, heading out of the kitchen and toward the den on the other side of the huge, six-bedroom house we live in off campus.

“Yeah?” She looks at me from her spot on the couch beside Carter, our friend, housemate, and my teammate.

“You wanna be my date to my parents’ ten-year anniversary party this Saturday?”

She purses her lips. “Is it a fancy party?”

“Mhm.” I lean against the doorframe with my hands behind my back.

“I’ll have to dress up nice and look pretty?”

“You always look pretty. And you can wear that, for all I care.” I tip my chin at the oversized sweats and hoodie she’s wearing. I’m pretty sure they’re mine. “If anyone says anything about the way you look, we’ll accidentally spill champagne on them.”

She nods her approval. “Open bar?”

“Yep.”

“What will the food be like?”

“My stepmother knows her caterers. Trust me.”

Still pretending to think about it, she asks, “What do I get out of it?”

“Besides a good time with me?” I grin, holding up the bag of Chinese food I’ve been hiding behind my back.

She grins, ditching the movie she was watching with Carter and following me back to the kitchen. “Of course I’ll be your date, sweetie,” she says, smacking a loud kiss on my cheek before she snatches the food and jogs ahead of me, pieces of her long, ash blonde hair falling out of the messy bun.

“Why didn’t you choose me to be your date?” Carter asks as he follows. “Is it because I have a dick?”