My Dad's Bossy Friend

She groans, flattening her back so she's laying all her weight on me. “I need to get going,” she says as she tilts her head to look up at me. “I have to check the pool and run a few errands. I heard there's a storm coming in a day or two, so I don't want to get stuck with an empty pantry.”

“How about this. . .” Pausing, I adjust myself so I can look her in the eyes better. “Let's go together. I can help you with whatever you need.”

She purses her lips and lifts her head to rest it on her hands. “What is this exactly?” she asks, waving a hand between our bodies.

“What do you mean?”

“This,” she says, now pointing a finger between us. “You and me. What are we doing?”

“Why don't you tell me? What do you want it to be?”

“I don't know,” she shrugs a shoulder and looks down at her hands. “I just don't want to get hurt. The last thing I want is for either of us to have the wrong idea and end up heart broken.”

“I agree.” Glancing up at the ceiling, I let my eyes fall back to hers. “So, how about for now, we not give it a label, and we just see where it goes. How does that sound?”

“What about my father?”

“What about him?”

“What if he finds out, or catches us, or someone else sees us and tells him.”

“Perri, you can't live in fear of him. Do what you want to do, that's the only way you'll ever be happy. So, if he finds out, he finds out. We're both adults.”

“That's easy for you to say.”

She looks off and I can tell she's thinking, trying to rationalize it in her head. But I know what she's feeling. The worry of judgment from someone in power, the fear of being called out or pushed away because you don't fit in the box they want to put you in.

I've been there. We all have. But the one thing I've learned is that you have to be yourself. Period.

You can't be someone else just to please people. And you never should even have to try.

“Come on, let's go grab a coffee and get these errands done.”

We get dressed and make a quick stop at her apartment for some clean clothes. Perri changes and freshens up a little and then we head to the store. She has a small list that she pulls from her pocket as we walk through the double doors.

“All right, so we should grab some food. What do you need?”

Shrugging a shoulder, I smirk. “Nothing really, I just wanted to spend the day with you.”

“Seriously?” she asks with a bright smile.

“Of course I'm serious. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.” Grabbing a cart, I wheel it next to her. “So, let’s shop.”

I follow her through the store as she puts things in the cart. She's talking about her childhood, and as she adds food to the cart, she’s telling me stories. She tells me about a time when she blew up a hot dog in the microwave.

She's giggling hysterically, and I laugh with her. Not just because her story is comical, but because she comes alive as she's talking. Her hands are going all over the place, her facial expressions are hard and soft, and charismatic.

I love listening to her talk.

She's telling me these small stories, they hold no real value to what she's capable of, or who she might be in the future, but it's the excitement of her sharing them that draws me in.

Perri makes me feel different than other women have before. I feel like life is more than just making money and having a big rolodex of customers. Life is about all this little stuff.

No amount of money will ever give me this. No amount of power or wealth will ever give me this level of happiness.

And as I watch her as she tips her head back and laughs, her eyes twinkling with this youthful glow, I'm slowly starting to realize that I'm falling for this girl.

And I'm falling hard.

My phone rings, so I pull it from my pocket, and check the screen.

Shit, it's Bryce.

“I'm sorry, I need to take this,” I say, cutting her off as I press the button and quickly walk away.

I know she's watching me, studying me, but I'm not going to ruin this moment. I won't let her father take this happiness from me.

Glancing back over my shoulder, her eyes are hard, lids thinned, lips stiff. I try to act casual while I speak quietly into the phone, but I don’t think I’m pulling it off. Hanging up the phone, I head back to her.

“Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?” she asks, her tone trying and failing not to sound accusatory.

“No one, just one of the workers down at the convention center. He just had a question about the job, that's all.”

“Hm,” she grunts. “Well, I'm all done.” She turns her cart toward the front of the store and starts walking to the checkout. I can feel her questions, her uncertainty, the doubt in her tone.

And I hate that she's right.

I just lied to her. I lied and I hate that I'm lying to her. But I do it to protect her.

Because she deserves to be put on a pedestal and treated like a queen.

7

Perri

Who was that?

I'm watching him out of the corner of my eye as he puts the bags in the trunk of his car. He's shifting his eyes all over the place, but he's not looking at me. Kent is talking, he's asking me about dinner, and what my favorite food is. But he never makes eye contact.

I mindlessly answer him, still focusing on that phone call. I don't like how he acted when he stepped off to answer the call, and I don't like how's been since he stepped back into our little bubble. Something came over his face when he looked at the screen, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s lying to me.

You're overreacting, Perri. It's probably nothing. I'm trying to convince myself that I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I should be. But it's hard when my gut is telling me something different.

“I'm going to make you the best meal ever tonight. You just wait and see. You'll never want to go out to eat again.”

“Mm,” I sort of respond to him, not really int

erested in anything that has to with the future, I'm fixated now on that phone call.

Sneaky phone calls are not a girl's best friend. My mind is running wild with all kinds of ideas about who it could have been, and why he was so cagey about it.

He spoke to the mystery caller with his back turned, his voice low, and his eyes shifting every few seconds to look back at me as if to see if I were listening.

It lasted less than a minute, but still, that just screams suspicious, and I can't see it as anything other than that.

He flicks his head up and glances at me, his lips part like he's about to say something, only he doesn't, he sucks in a big breath of air instead, and goes back to arranging the groceries in the trunk.

My phone rings, so I pull it from my back pocket, and see a number I don't recognize. “Hello?” I ask as I look up at Kent, making sure he notices that I didn't walk away, I'm still right here.

Because this is how you answer a phone when you have nothing to hide.

“Hi, I'm looking for Perri Dean,” a woman says.

“This is her.”

It's the veterinary clinic where I dropped the cat off a couple weeks ago. The vet tech explains the cat is doing well, that he had come in a little dehydrated, under nourished, and his back legs are paralyzed. They think he most likely fell from a tree, and now has permanent nerve damage.

“Oh no,” I say, and it catches Kent's attention. He quirks a brow, wondering what's going on. Waving a hand, I keep my attention on my conversation. “Okay, all right, I'll have to think about it.” Hanging up the phone, I tuck it back in my pocket.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, closing the trunk and walking to my side. He reaches out a hand and touches me quickly, but swiftly pulls away.

I make note of the distance. His touch isn't sensual, or tender, it's more friendly than lover.

“Yeah, everything's fine. I found this cat the first day I was supposed to meet you at the house, and I brought it to the vet, which is why I was late.” Scratching my fingers through my hair, I fiddle with my bottom lip. “That was the vet’s office. They wanted me to know he’s good, and that if I want him, he's mine to pick up. Otherwise they're going to send him to an animal rescue so he can be adopted.