Page 7

Paige

“ C an we try one more by the window?” the photographer asks and I move toward the window. “Actually, stop. No, that won’t work. What about something a little edgy? In the bath?”

I laugh and follow her into the bathroom. I’m not sure how sitting in a bath is edgy but—

The photographer’s assistant turns on the tap, testing the temperature of the water as he fills the bath, cutting me off mid thought.

She wants me in the water. That makes a little more sense. Especially when I glance down at my white top and instantly regret my decision to go braless. Pick your own clothes, they said. Dammit . This is about to get interesting.

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure this top will be see-through when wet. How does that work for the magazine?” I ask, while also contemplating how that’s going to work for me .

“It’s fine with us. If it turns out to be your best shot, we’ll cover your tits with some text.”

Okie dokie . “Great.” I smile again. I’ve been photographed almost naked before, and suggestively naked, but I’ve never actually shown anything.

But since my motto has always been never say never , why not? They might end up being the photos I’m most proud of. You never know.

When the bath’s full and the water is confirmed to be at the perfect temperature—whatever that means, they’re not cooking a turkey—I slide in and make myself comfortable.

My already tight clothes cling to my body, and as expected, it takes barely a moment for my nipples to show through. I bite back a laugh, imagining the reception they would have received if the bath had been cold, and thank my lucky stars that it’s not.

The crew takes turns assessing the new visual in front of them—me—and while they update the lighting and decide on the best angles, I don’t feel self-conscious, like I thought I would. Instead, a sense of strength runs through me. And I own it.

“How do you want me?” I ask, waving my hands in the air, exuding the confidence I suddenly feel.

Then it begins.

We spend the next thirty minutes running through a series of poses—adding extra water when the bath turns cold—and when they’re almost done, the photographer asks if they can pour water on my head.

Since I’m all in now, I don’t have to consider it before I happily agree, knowing full well my mascara will run, assuming that’s the look they’re going for.

We continue on for another few minutes, and it’s the most fun I’ve had on a photo shoot. The photographers are easygoing and open to suggestions. The crew is great. The interview—which takes place with me wrapped in a plush dressing gown—flows like a conversation with a friend.

It doesn’t feel at all like work.

But I’m getting paid for it.

Yeah, I can fend for myself. Look at me. I’ll be paying my dad back in no time.

Call me “boss girl.”

My phone rings as the crew are packing up, and when I see that it’s Dad, I frown. We’re due to meet for dinner in an hour, so there’s a good chance this is an “I’m sorry, Kid. I got caught up at work” call.

You’d think I’d be used to them. Calls like that were a regular occurrence during my childhood. It was an “I’m sorry” call that ended my parents' marriage. The final straw.

Yet, here I am, my chest tight, my fight response activated. I refuse to let him get away with it now that I’m here. He wanted me to come. He better damn well act like it.

“Hi Dad,” I answer, ready to snap.

“Hi Kid, how was the photo shoot?” He seems cheery but he always was. He never saw it as an issue.

“It went well, thanks. Where are you?”

“I’m about ten minutes away. I know I’m early, but do you want me to pick you up on the way? So you don’t have to walk.”

What ? My heart races as everything I was expecting throws my mind into shambles.

“Ah. Yes. Yeah. Thank you. That would be great. But I need to fix my hair and makeup. I might be a bit longer.” I step back and bump into the couch, snapping me out of my fog for long enough to see my expression in the mirror.

“That—”

“Actually, I will be longer. Maybe thirty minutes.”

Dad chuckles at my interruption. “Works for me. It’ll give me time to get changed. It’s been a busy day. Maybe I’ll even shower for you.”

A smile pulls at my lips while my mind whirs. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Everything okay?” His voice softens, his tone reflecting his concern. But he doesn’t need to worry, because he’s already eased my mind.

“It’s perfect. I’ll see you soon.”

Talk about an overreaction. I’ve been here for a month and Dad hasn’t let me down.

But the team has been in the early stages of preseason. Things are ramping up now and—

I clearly have daddy issues. Maybe I need to work on that.

Thirty minutes later, I look somewhat presentable just in time for Dad to knock on the door. When I let him in, he fakes a gasp at the mess we made today.

“I could have sworn I asked the builders to make you a walk-in closet,” he jokes, waving his hands at the clothes piled up on every spare surface of furniture. “I’ll have them fired at once. Who do they think they are leaving my darling daughter without a space to hang her designer clothes?”

“Wow.” I smile as I shake my head. “You really went all in on that joke.”

“What can I say? The D’Angelos never do anything by halves.”

“Oh, I know. I’m a D’Angelo and I find it quite unfortunate to have that ingrained into me. I’d love to slack off every now and then.”

“You did. In high school.”

I burst out laughing because he’s not wrong. I spent most of my high school years rebelling against expectations. In my own way. It was my rite of passage. But at the end of the day, I was a good, easy kid and he knows it.

“Are you ready to go? Or do you need to clean up the mess first?” Dad asks, his gaze once again scanning my apartment.

“I’m good. It will still be there in the morning.”

Dad scoffs out a laugh. “You are so much like me, it’s scary. Your mom would never have left the house like this.”

“Yes, but it’s not like she would have cleaned it herself. Her house wouldn’t look like this to begin with. She has fairies that ensure that doesn’t happen.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget about her cleaning fairies?”

Since it’s a pleasant night, we ditch the car, choosing to walk the few blocks to the restaurant, and I have to admit, it’s nice. Yes, we lived together until yesterday, but we fell into a pattern of merely existing. Now, we’re really talking.

“How are things with the team?” I ask as the traffic whizzes past. “Do you think they have what it takes to win again?”

“They certainly think they do.” Dad smiles. “But they’ve lost a few key players this year with Mathers retiring and Jenson out with an injury. It will be hard to fill those spots. You know how it is.”

“Nope, I do not know. I don’t follow football, remember? The last time I saw a game was when you took me to see the Giants when I was around ten.”

Dad’s jaw drops. “I thought you dated that college football player when you were nineteen.”

“I did. But we didn’t talk about football. We didn’t talk much at all, really.” I bounce my eyebrows and laugh when Dad’s face pales.

“Paige Lucia D’Angelo, you’re talking to your father here.”

“What? We went to the movies. Or out dancing. What did you think I meant?”

I meant exactly what I was alluding to but I’m not going to tell Dad that. Though I do love messing with him since he wasn’t around for all those years. And I’m clearly still fucked-up over it. “The point is…I don’t know anything about football. You can say any name you want and I’d believe they played on your team.”

“We need to change that. As soon as possible. But for now, all you need to know is that our star wide receiver, Ryan Gosling, is killing it this year and our quarterback, Clint Eastwood, is still a powerhouse despite his age.”

He winks and I bite back a laugh. “You’re really cashing in on dad jokes these days.”

“Get used to it, Kid. I’m making up for lost time.”

A sadness settles inside me, but this time, I’m not upset because of my own issues; I’m hurt for my dad. Yes, he made his own choices when I was younger, but he’s trying now, and God knows, my mom wasn’t the easiest to live with.

“I think we both have some lost time to make up for,” I say, moving the conversation into dangerous “feelings” territory. “I held on to a lot of anger when you left, and I even questioned if you were calling to cancel tonight.”

“God, I’m—”

“Wait. I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel guilty. I said I forgave you when I moved here, and I meant it. But I’m still getting used to having you around. It’ll take time.”

“I know. But I promise you, you’re my number one priority. I’m not going to pretend I won't be busy, because I know I will be. But if you call, I’ll be there. You just have to ask.”

Dad pulls me into a side hug, and while it’s awkward and unfamiliar for the two of us, it’s still kind of nice. And a little part of me thaws because of it.

When I first moved here, I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision, but today, after the shoot and my talk with Dad, I’m confident in my choice. I think it will be good for me.

Welcome to my new life. I’m a California girl. It’s time to embrace it.

After dinner, Dad calls us a car and we go in search of ice cream—the cute little parlor by our building closes early midweek so we need another option. When our driver stops to drop us off after we finish our dessert, my gaze locks on a familiar figure, and I smile as window-seat guy slows from a run.

Dad chats with his driver while I lose all train of thought, watching as window-seat guy lifts his tee to wipe sweat from his face, giving me a clear view of his sculpted abs.

Abs I have imagined many times before while never truly picturing the perfect specimen he is.

As I ogle him from the comfort of my hiding place, he locks his palms behind his head and his biceps bulge, leading me to imagine his arms braced on a bed as he hovers above me, my legs wrapped around his back, our bod—

“Are you ready?”

“What?” I choke on thin air, my face paling as my dad’s question snaps me out of my fantasy. My gaze whips around to check if he noticed what…or who I was staring at. But his warm smile suggests that he didn’t.

“I can’t get out until you do.” He chuckles, gesturing to the door.

“Sorry, yes. I was in my own world.”

“I could tell. You were staring into space.”

Space ? That will do. I’d rather he assume that I was lost in my head than discover I was perving on some guy in our building.

I take my time, slowly grabbing my bag before opening my door, and by the time I get out of the car, window-seat guy’s gone and I’m both relieved and disappointed.

There’s no reason to hide him away from my dad, but at the same time I wouldn’t know how to introduce him.

Saying “Dad, this is a random guy I met on a plane. He’s a little grumpy but intrigues me enough that I think we could be friends” doesn’t quite feel right.

We’re not friends, acquaintances, or even actually neighbors. But there’s something there, hovering between us, because every time I see him my smile widens involuntarily and an excitement takes over me. I can’t explain it, but I’m determined to find out what it means. Whether he likes it or not.

One can never have too many friends, and God knows, I could use a friend around here.