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My phone starts ringing, and I scramble to get it, heart pinging in my chest. I hope it’s Zaiah checking in about how I’m dealing with the Clark situation. He knew how nervous I was.
“What are you working on now?” Clark asks.
Ugh, can’t he see that my phone is ringing?
I stare down at the screen, and my stomach free falls. It’s not Zaiah. It’s Dad. I point at my phone. “I have to get this.”
Quick footsteps take me to the side of the room. “Hello?”
“Hey, Pumpkin.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Clark eyes me warily before turning and heading back to his office. I sigh. “That’s because the last time we talked, we got into a fight.”
“Fight?” he complains. “What fight? It was nothing but a disagreement. I just want to know how my daughter is doing.”
“Doing good, Dad.” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry because I have never been this interesting in my entire life. Went on a date with one guy and ended up on top of another by the end of the night. Since I doubt my dad wants to hear updates about my love life, I go with a safe topic. “My new article went to print the other day.”
“Well, send it my way. I’d like to read it.”
“It probably wouldn’t interest you.”
“Lenore, everything you do interests me. It doesn’t have to be about sports.”
That sounds like a gigantic lie, but if I call him out on it, we’ll end up arguing again. God, isn’t it ironic that my next article will be about sports? I have to make it different from an individual game, though. Or the sport. I have to make it somethingmore. “I can send it to you.”
“Perfect. I’ll read it between meetings. Listen, Pumpkin, we’re playing the Ice Eagles this weekend, and since it’s so close to you, I’d like you to come. I miss you.”
My absentminded finger-drumming against my side stops. Dad isn’t often vulnerable. He doesn’t say things like that. Not really. “You’d be interested to know I went to a game myself. Here. The Warner college team.”
“You did? Is the team any good?”
“Actually, they’re having a great year. One of the best in history.” My mind wanders. I could write about that… I dismiss the idea. I’ll mention it, but I’m not going to make my whole article about winning. This is for Zaiah, so it has to be bigger than that.
“I bet the coach is pleased.”
I snicker. I bet the coach is terrible at marketing. And the school. And the players. “Yeah, they’re thrilled, I guess.”
“Well? The Ice Eagles game?”
“I don’t know, Dad. It depends on how much work I have to do.”
His pause has my stomach squeezing. I can almost hear him contemplating on the other end of the line. “Well, just in case, I’ll grab two seats for you and your roommate. Let me know if you need more.”
“My roommate?” Fear punches into me.He knows about Zaiah?
“Yeah, the girl. What’s her name?”
I breathe out a sigh of relief, but part of me is annoyed. I shouldn’t be surprised he still thinks Trish is my roommate, but it’s aggravating. “We don’t live together anymore, Dad.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Guilt rears up. I don’t want to take back what happened between Zaiah and me, but was it wrong? Trish was my best friend. She’d be so pissed if she knew what happened. Friends don’t get involved with each other’s boyfriends. Or even ex-boyfriends. Right?