Kissing My Dad's Friend

As I drift off into sleep, with Russ’s arm draped around my side, I feel more safe and secure than I can ever remember before. Somehow, despite the bomb I know awaits us tomorrow, I am content. More than that: I’m happy.

For once, my father can’t ruin my life anymore. Because I’ve finally taken control of it. And I have the best co-pilot I could ever have hoped for, beside me at the helm.

12

The next morning, I wake up blearily to Russ’s alarm clock blaring, hours and hours before my angry, exhausted body wishes it would have gone off. I struggle to shift off of Russ’s arm as he flails over toward the nightstand to shut it off. I groan, and then tug the covers up over my head at the assault of sunlight pouring through his large windows. I thought those windows were really cute the last time I stayed over, but today I wish they had blackout curtains or that he lived in an underground bunker instead.

Beside me, Russ chuckles softly. “I know. I’m feeling it too.” He leans down to kiss my shoulder. Then the nape of my neck. I let out another sigh, this one less irritated and more contented.

I could be convinced to tolerate this hour of the morning with the appropriate motivation. I roll over to face him just as he runs a hand through my hair, curling it between his fingers. I let him draw me close, kiss me softly, and then tuck my head under his chin, just holding me for a minute.

That single motion is enough to make me sigh and let go of all the tension that flooded me a minute ago when I woke up. When I remembered yesterday and everything that exploded in our faces. “I can’t believe I said all that to Dad’s face,” I mumble into Russ’s chest.

He laughs softly, a sound that vibrates through my cheekbone where it rests against his ribcage. “You can’t believe you said it? I can’t believe I finally told him what I should have half a lifetime ago…”

I heave a deep sigh, one that I can feel Russ echo a moment later. “So what do we do now?” I ask softly, trying to disguise the tight worry that knots in my throat. Dad won’t really fire his best friend, will he? I know he’ll probably sack me, but honestly, Russ is right. If I want to pursue my dreams, I need to do that, not just sit around in this job Dad forced me to take in the first place, feeling comfortable but not like I’m living up to my potential or doing what I was placed on this earth to do.

If I want to make a difference in the greater world, I have to start by changing my own life first.

“Well, we gave him time to cool off. And last I checked, I’m still on the schedule at the hospital today. How about you?”

Reluctantly, I peel myself out of his arms and reach over to grab my cell phone. I shut it off last night, not wanting to deal with the world. I turn it back on now, and tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I expect screaming, ranting, at least a million texts from Dad. Maybe even some from Mom.

But there’s nothing. No new messages. No missed calls either, though those probably wouldn’t show, if someone called while the phone was shut off. Still, they would have left a message, right? It surprises me that not even Mom called to check up on me or ask where I was spending the night. Maybe Dad filled her in on our fight. Maybe they both assume I just went to a friend’s house to cool off for a bit.

If only they knew…

But first things first: I can only handle one huge fight at a time. “No texts to inform me I’ve been fired,” I say, to which Russ smiles ruefully.

“Well, that’s step one I guess.”

“It does mean I still need to be at the hospital in less than two hours.” I collapse back against the pillows with a long sigh. “And I don’t have fresh scrubs to change into.”

Russ props himself up on one elbow, watching me. His gaze dips down over my body where the blankets have fallen away from my chest. I flush with pleasure, but I don’t cover myself. Normally I feel shy at being naked around guys, even the ones I’m hooking up with. But not Russ. The way he stares at me makes me feel like I’m the hottest woman on earth, every damn time.

He’s doing it again now.

“I can’t say I’m complaining about your lack of proper attire,” he murmurs, leaning in with a sly grin to kiss me again, slower this time.