Page 9

9

D ad is picking us up in Fort Myers, which I find very nice because he’s usually in bed by ten and gets up at four to go jogging. I’m actually not sure if I’m related to him because I would never voluntarily get up at four o’clock. Or go jogging. “Hey, honey. Happy birthday,” Dad greets me with a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Dad. This is Roan. Roan, this is my dad, William Scott.”

Dad eyes Roan, a little suspiciously maybe, because of the tattoos emblazoned on his forearms, but reaches out a hand to him anyway, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

My parents are so fundamentally different that it’s hard to imagine how they got together in the first place. Mom is more the hippie type, while Dad is all about rules. He is punctual, structured, tidy. A man you can always rely on because his word is his bond. If my father says he’ll do something, you can be sure that he will. He’s my rock, and I will always love him for that.

But he’s not the emotional type, unlike my mother, who wears her heart on the sleeve at all times.

You could say they are the perfect complement to each other. I call Mom when I need emotional support; I call Dad when I need practical help. Like when my car breaks down or when I don’t know how to explain to the landlord that it’s unacceptable to not have hot water for three weeks, or when I need to decide which insurance is better.

It’s absolutely perfect for me because one of the two can always help.

“Good evening, sir,” says Roan, looking more uncertain than I’ve ever seen him.

I grin at the formal address, but I know my dad has that effect. He’s not tall and broad; Roan could probably pick him up and throw him ten feet, but he has a natural authority that few men dare challenge. Especially not when it comes to his daughter.

“You can call me William.” A brief twitch of the corners of his mouth must suffice as a smile. Dad turns to me. “Give me your suitcase, and we’ll head home.”

“Are you going to get up at four tomorrow?” I ask.

He smiles. “Nope, but I might at seven.” He looks at Roan. “Are you going jogging with me in the morning?”

Roan gives me a panicked look before saying, “Uh, I’d love to, sir.”

Dad nods appreciatively. “Good.”

I try to keep a straight face. Its hilarious watching Roan—who’s built like a bull—be intimidated by my dad, who wouldn’t even hurt a Teddy bear.

When we get to my dad’s car, Roan opens the passenger door for me and then climbs into the backseat. The journey to my parent’s house takes more than three hours.

Plenty of time for my dad to catch up on my life.

“So, honey, why don’t you tell me how you’ve been over the last few weeks?” he asks, pulling out of the airport and onto the highway.

“Oh, everything is okay,” I say. “Work is the same as usual. Nina is fine. She’d love to see you again, but she’s officially getting ready to pop, so she can’t fly. But I’m supposed to tell you that if you ever have the burning desire to come to San Francisco, you’d make her a very happy pregnant lady.”

“Is she still with that Jared guy?” Dad asks with a squint. Just like no man has ever been good enough for me in his eyes, he’s equally protective over my best friend.

I grin. “Yes, because he’s also the child’s father.”

He grunts, but a smile tugs at his mouth. “I guess he’s okay. For a math nerd.”

He looks into the rearview mirror, where Roan is watching as the darkened outline of the Gulf of Mexico comes into view.

“What about you? What do you do?”

Roan becomes very still in the back seat as if he wants to hide.

“Roan fights in a cage,” I blurt out.

“Excuse me?” Dad asks.

I hear Roan stifle a groan, and I want to smack myself in the forehead. Why did I say it like that?

“I mean, he’s a mixed martial arts fighter, Dad,” I say, desperately trying to backpedal. “It’s a real sport. He just had a fight last week, and he’s fighting again next weekend.”

To my surprise, Dad nods approvingly. “I know what MMA is. It can be brutal. But I can respect it.”

My eyebrows go up. “Really?”

He nods again. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing that my daughter is dating a man who can defend her if needed.”

I roll my eyes. “We aren’t dating, Dad.”

But Roan nods solemnly as if taking a vow. “Sir, I give you my word that I will always take care of your daughter.”

Their eyes meet in the rearview. “That’s reassuring to hear. I get worried about her, alone in the big city.”

“I can understand that very well. You have my word.”

The two of them seem to be sharing some silent male bond that I can’t join in on. Shrugging, I look out the window.

At least they seem to be getting along. I honestly expected more suspicion from Dad when I’d called to say I was bringing a male friend along.

Is this why he was suddenly okay with the idea? Because he thinks I need some guy to protect me?

I frown. I’m not some poor damsel who needs to be rescued. Although the mental image of Roan, dressed in armor, riding to my rescue on a white horse, is enough to wipe away my frown for the rest of the car ride.

Mom is standing in the front doorway as we drive up. A colorful garland is strung over the door, spelling out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in huge, glittery letters.

I groan with embarrassment. I hope that’s the only thing she has planned.

“Sweetie!” she exclaims, already hurrying to the car.

Almost before I can get out, she wraps her arms around me, nearly squeezing the breath out of me.

“Hey, Mom,” I manage to say.

She plants a kiss on both my cheeks, then holds my face with both hands and looks me in the eye. “You’re as beautiful as ever. I hope you have such an amazing year, Jenna.”

Then her eyes fall on Roan, who waits patiently, smiling shyly until our greeting is over and I can introduce him.

“Oh, and here’s the young man you brought with you.” Her eyes light up in the glow of the outdoor lighting.

“This is Roan. Roan, this is my mom, Meryl.”

Roan offers her his hand. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “call me Meryl. Or better yet, Mom.” Before he can protest, she pulls his enormous frame into her arms, even though her arms only reach halfway around his broad back.

“Leave the boy alone, Meryl. He’s alright, this one,” Dad declares.

My eyes go wide. That’s high praise from my dad. Roan must have some kind of magical Irish charisma.

Mom looks equally shocked. “Is he now?” she echoes.

Dad gives a gruff shrug. “Hmph.”

I nudge Roan lightly in the side. “Well done. Dad never approves of anyone,” I whisper.

Mom rushes to Dad, her face wide with mock concern. She feels his forehead. “No fever.”

Everyone laughs, even my dad. I love that he can still laugh about his wife’s shenanigans. That feels like hashtag Goals .

“Come in, come in,” my mom says, beckoning with one hand as she begins bombarding us with questions. “Did they feed you on the plane? Are you still hungry? I’m sure you’re thirsty, what do you like to drink? I wish you would’ve told me earlier that you were bringing someone with you, Jenna. I assume you and Roan will be sharing a room?”

Roan and I both stop and share a significant glance, but Dad interrupts before we can answer.

“Two rooms.”

Mom puts her hands on her hips. “Now, Bill, she’s thirty years old?—”

“Don’t worry, guys,” I say, “Roan and I are just friends.”

Mom gives me a very doubtful look, and my dad gives Roan a very knowing one. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

We follow my parents through the house and into the kitchen. Dad offers Roan a beer, which he gratefully accepts, while Mom quickly gets the second guest room ready. I help myself to a light beer from the fridge, crack it open, and lean against the counter.

A few moments later, Mom comes out. “Everything should be ready. We’re going to bed soon, sweetie. It’s late. But you know where everything is. Can you show Roan around?”

“Of course. Good night.”

“Night, sweetie. Love you.” She kisses me on the cheek.

“Love you too.”

Dad kisses my forehead, nods to Roan, then follows Mom to their bedroom.

“It’s late, but do you still want to go down to the beach?” I ask Roan.

“Sure.” He nods with a smile.

I go to the back door and open it onto the veranda. The sound of the ocean is close, which brings a smile to my face. I live near the ocean, too, but in northern California it’s different somehow. It’s a cold ocean there while here it’s warm. It gives you a completely different feeling.

I take my shoes off at the edge of the veranda, and Roan follows suit. We walk across the small backyard, then open the gate to the beach and stand in the sand.

“Ooooh. I always forget how wonderful it feels to put my feet in the sand,” I sigh.

“Absolutely,” Roan agrees.

The moon and the light from the surrounding houses illuminate the beach and the sea. It’s dreamlike. I can understand why my parents moved here. It’s simply paradise.

I walk slowly to the water, enjoying every single step, feeling the transition from dry to wet sand, rejoicing as the waves lick my toes for the first time. I let my head fall back, staring up at the limitless starry sky, letting the moonlight caress my face.

“You look beautiful,” says Roan, his dark eyes fixed on my profile.

I smile, glad it’s too dark for him to see that I’m blushing. “Thank you.”

I watch as he rolls up his jeans and goes into the water up to his calves. “It was a very good idea to come here,” he says, smiling contentedly.

“I know,” I say.

Then I feel a mischievous demon tugging on my shoulder. Grinning, I creep up on Roan, who has his back turned to me. Ducking down, I quickly rise back up, sending water splashing all over him.

“You didn’t just do that!” Roan grumbles, dripping water.

“So, what if I did?” I challenge.

Roan grins, then, without warning, he runs straight at me. Before I can dodge his attack, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, running into deeper water before tossing me in so that I’m completely submerged.

It’s not cold, but it’s so surprising that I emerge with a splash and shriek.

“You ass!” I launch myself at him. It’s like hitting a rock in the surf; he doesn’t budge an inch until he wants to, then he bends his knees, and we both go toppling backward into the salty water.

We surface laughing, wiping the water from our eyes. We are standing close to each other. Way too close. I look up and see his eyes resting on me. Hunger and passion and lust mix into an irresistible mixture. The same feeling rises up in me.

But no. We are friends. Just friends.

I start running away, the waves splashing around me, desperately needing to get away from the intense look in his dark eyes.

Roan runs after me, laughing and whooping. He easily catches up with me, puts his hands around my waist, and spins me around before throwing me back into the water.

I really can’t imagine anything better.

When I sleepily walk into the kitchen the next morning, Roan is sitting at the kitchen island with a coffee, watching Mom chop vegetables.

“Hey,” I mumble, stealing the cup from Roan’s hand and drinking the black gold greedily.

“Good morning, sweetie!” says Mom happily. She is one of those people who is always in a good mood first thing in the morning, which I find to be evidence that she’s actually an alien.

“Morning,” I grunt again, still clinging to the coffee mug for dear life.

She once again starts shooting off rapid-fire questions, barely waiting for a response. “Did you sleep well? Can I get you your own coffee? Do you want some breakfast? We thought we’d have a barbecue for lunch. Do you want to wait until then to eat?”

I just blink groggily, remembering again why I never moved back home after college. The woman has way too much energy before nine a.m.

Roan pulls a stool over for me so I can sit down. Then he gets up, grabs a cup out of the cupboard, and pours us both a cup.

It’s such an intimate gesture. As if he were already at home here.

I stare at my coffee, wondering what it means. If it means anything at all.

To distract myself from my thoughts, I drink my coffee so quickly that I burn my tongue.

Mom is already chopping vegetables for dinner. “Why don’t you let Roan do that, Mom?” I offer. “After all, he’s the professional chef.”

She points her paring knife at Roan threateningly; he had already risen to his feet. “Absolutely not. He’s our guest. He won’t lift a finger.”

Roan sheepishly sits back down, then looks over at me with a happy grin. I can’t help but notice how his hair is already perfectly styled.

“Why do you look so good in the morning?” I grumble.

He grins. “I always look good, a thaisce. ”

True.

“He went jogging with your dad this morning,” comments Mom.

“Oh wow. Way to be a suck up,” I tease.

He shrugs, laughing. “Any guy who doesn’t suck up to his friend’s dad is an idiot.”

“As you can guess, we love him,” says Mom. “You should have brought him earlier.”

“I didn’t know him earlier. I’m not sure I want to know him now,” I say, still feeling grouchy.

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Go ahead and lie to yourself.”

Mom sighs, but I won’t ask why under any circumstances. It’ll just upset me. I know that already. “So, breakfast or straight to barbecue?”

“How much longer will it take?”

“An hour?”

“Are there donuts or something?”

She grins. “Of course. I hid them from your dad because he’s still on this impossible health kick." She looks at Roan. “Would you like something sweet too?” She says that way too suggestively for a married woman.

Roan grins. “I never say no to that.” She pats his cheek before going to her hiding place.

“If you’re the reason my parents get divorced, I’ll never forgive you,” I warn him with a grin.

He shrugs. “What can I say? Your mom is a hot woman.”

Like her daughter . He doesn’t say it, but I still hear that’s what he means.

“I didn’t know you were looking for a sugar mama.”

Grinning, he runs his finger along the rim of his cup. “You don’t know everything about me yet.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you want to?”

“Know everything about you?” He nods. “I don’t know if that’s even possible, but yes, I do.”

“I’m glad,” he says quietly and with such a mysterious smile that it confuses me.

“Here, kids, your donuts,” Mom says, reentering the kitchen with a white rectangular box in her hands.

I reach for the one with the dark chocolate glaze, then pause and look at Roan. “Sorry, can I choose first?”

“I prefer powdered sugar anyway,” he says impassively.

“You guys are so cute together,” Mom comments.

“Friends,” I say with my mouth full. “We’re just friends.”

The door opens, and Dad comes in, loaded down with groceries. Roan, the brown noser, immediately jumps up to help him.

“That’s all right,” Dad says, putting the bags on the counter. “Thank you. But there’s more in the car.”

Roan goes outside while Dad puts the groceries away.

“I could have come with you to the store,” I say as I help to put the things away.

“Nobody wanted to be the one to wake up Sleeping Beauty and incur your eternal wrath,” he jokes.

“True, that might have been a bit risky,” I admit with a chuckle.

Roan brings in the rest of the groceries, including a case of bottled water, which he carries in one hand like it weighs nothing at all.

“Thanks, son,” Dad says, his eyes on the bags of dried noodles he’s putting into the cupboard.

“Son?” I exclaim, startled.

Dad looks equally surprised. “It just slipped out.”

I look at him doubtfully. My dad never just blurts things out. Never. He’s a very level-headed man. When he says something, he means exactly that.

“This is a bit weird . Even for you guys.”

“What have I done now?” Mom asks indignantly.

“Didn’t you tell him yesterday to call you Mom?” I remind her.

“That was just a joke. You always take everything so seriously.”

I raise my hands. “Okay, what happened here while I was sleeping? Why did I wake up in a parallel universe?”

“This isn’t a parallel universe,” Mom explains, while Roan stands by with a smirk, watching the chaos he’s responsible for. At least partially.

“It must be, because Dad has never liked any guy I’ve brought home.”

Dad adjusts his glasses. “That’s not true. What was that one guy’s name? He was quite good-looking. Was it Jeffrey? Jason?”

“I’ve never brought a Jason home.”

Mom looks at him. “I remember. His name was Jordan.”

“Jordan?” I ask, irritated. “I’ve never dated a Jordan.”

“Yes, exactly, his name was Jordan. And his last name was something with C,” Dad chimes in.

“Jordan Catalano? Dad, damn it, he was played by Jared Leto in My So-Called Life !”

“Really? Seemed so real to me.”

While Roan can barely contain himself, I glare at my parents. “You guys are impossible, really.”

Mom grins. “Hey, since when can’t you take a joke?”

“Since my parents started adopting random guys I bring home.”

“Random guys?” Roan asks. “Wow, I mean so much to you.” He sits down at his place, grinning.

I wave my hand through the air. “You know what I mean.”

“No, not at all. Enlighten me.”

“Well, guys like you.”

“Guys like me?”

“Hot guys.”