Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

I laugh. “Only when he’s not sleeping.”

Thomas Westbrooke quizzically surveys the door where Buzz departed, puzzled. “I wouldn’t have expected this from him.”

No, he wouldn’t have. Neither would anyone else, if I had to guess. People have been stereotyping him his entire life, the same as they’ve been stereotyping me, and I’m tickled I finally gave him a chance.

And now my father is seeing his true colors too. Trace Wallace is a man of integrity—he is not just a pretty face. Not just an incredible athlete. Not just a savvy business mind.

He is the whole package and will make one heck of a romantic partner.

For me.

“So you really like this man.”

“We haven’t known each other long, but yes, I like him a lot. He’s been good for me and his family is incredible.”

Dad nods. “His brother is Tripp Wallace—plays for the Sparks. And his sister is an agent.”

“She is?” I didn’t know that.

“True Wallace, sports agent at MSA.”

My brow furrows. “What did you do, run background checks on everyone?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“I want to know the man who’s dating my daughter.”

“But…didn’t you know all this before, when you recruited him?”

“This is different. This is personal.”

Well.

Well, well, well. I lean back in my chair and study my father anew. Is he turning over a new leaf? Is he morphing into an actual living breathing DAD?

Like one who waits up at night for his daughter to come home to make sure she’s safe? One who has her call when she makes it home after a long date?

Slow your roll, Hollis—baby steps. All he’s doing is background checks on Buzz’s entire family, no big deal.

But it is a big deal, because he’s never done that before. And he’s showing up at Buzz’s house rather than calling—another step in the right direction. Plus, he apologized.

Apologized!

I’ve never in my life heard my father say I’m sorry to anyone, let alone one of his children. Thomas Westbrooke can do no wrong, therefore never has anything to apologize for.

“I appreciate you coming by.” I’m not sure what else to say; showing emotion with my parents feels strange. With others, I’m huggy, affectionate and expressive. With my mother and father? Not so much.

“Coming by—sounds like you’re living here.”

“Ha ha, no. Like I said, we haven’t known each other long, but being here is really nice.” Like home, actually, but perhaps that’s the company I’m keeping.

I feel whole.

Since my father is already standing, he shuffles his feet uneasily, making eyes toward the exit; I stand and put my arms around him for an embrace.

We’re like two strangers forced to touch. So awkward.

Fortunately, it’s over in a flash. “Tell Fi and Luc I say hi and I love them.”

I do—I love my brother and sister, as misguided as they are, ruled by the almighty dollar and our dad. Corporate greed. Fear.

Telling them I love them is easier than saying it to my father in this moment and I know he’s struggling to say it too. It just isn’t natural.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything else you need. I’m going to…” He swallows, searching for his next word. “Try.”

That’s a start. A huge one.

“I know.”

When Buzz meets us back in the foyer, he’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a cutoff bro tank, his toned arms ripped. The whole outfit is an intentional flex on my father and I’m not mad about it.

He’s protective and I’ve not had that before.

God it’s hot.

Such a damn turn on.

We walk Dad to the door.

“Maybe call next time Westbrooke. I’d hate to get caught with my pants around my ankles.”

Why does he say shit like that? I smack him in the stomach.

But.

My father nods his acquiescence. “Will do.”

“Look forward to seeing you at the office.” Buzz har-hars with a chuckle, amused with himself.

It’s all I can do not to bust out laughing; he can be such a showboater when he wants to.

“I’ll have my people come see you about a raise,” Buzz calls out to him when Dad hits the sidewalk, striding toward his luxury sedan. He looks down at me. “I have people, you know.”

“No you will not come see about a raise,” Dad calls over his shoulder, the beep-beep of his unlocking car ringing in the night.

“We should do lunch—on you,” Buzz shouts.

“I’m busy that day,” Dad shouts in reply, clearly enjoying the back and forth.

“We picked names for the Christmas gift exchange last week and I chose you. Send me your list,” Buzz jokes.

“Unsubscribe,” is the last thing my father says before sliding in and shutting the door to his car, roaring the expensive engine to life.

I’m laughing beside Buzz on the porch, waving to my departing parental unit. “Was he smiling? I think he was smiling.”

“Oh, he was definitely smiling. It was a cross between constipated and a grin.”

“He’s definitely a bit rusty in the pleasure department.”