Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Beside me, Margot braces herself, slamming most of her wine in a single gulp.
“So.” Wyatt pauses on that single word, glancing around the table. “Mom was here with us. Remember when we were here having that fancy dinner, Grandpa?” Grandpa tilts his head. “And Dex was here too. Except he was here on a really bad date. I mean, this lady was so horrible, right, Dex?” I nod sagely, waiting for what comes next in our story. “Anyway, Dex paid me a hundred and forty bucks to ruin his date.”
Wyatt punctuates the sentence by sipping from her kiddie mocktail, then setting it back on the table with a thud.
Lydia’s eyes are wide as saucers, but she looks more amused than appalled? Thank fucking God.
Robert’s expression, on the other hand . . . not so much.
Thus far he is not impressed with my antics. Nor my charm. And no mention of football.
“You paid a child over a hundred dollars?” Robert repeats, his tone questioning, eyes bugging out. He turns his attention to his daughter. “And you were okay with this?”
“It was for LEGOs, Grandpa!” Wyatt interrupts again. “I told the lady I was his daughter and he had ten other kids.” She giggles. “It was so funny. This was after he tried to escape through the bathroom window.”
It’s safe to say we’re all horrified.
Margot’s face is now a mix of embarrassment and laughter, while I try to gauge Robert’s reaction.
Yup. Still pissed.
And by pissed I mean a vein is bulging in his goddamn forehead.
“Is that true?” Robert asks, turning his narrowed gaze on me.
The vein in his head threatens to burst.
I clear my throat. “Yes, sir. Er. Uh. It was one of those situations that wasn’t going to solve itself. It was a first date, and the woman was making plans for our wedding and our children.” I exaggerate for the sake of saving my ass. “I was desperate.”
“Does that sort of thing happen to you often?” Robert is tapping the table with his index finger.
“No. That was a first.”
“And then,” Wyatt continues, not wanting to be ignored. “As soon as I told her he had so many kids, she bolted. Worked like a charm!” She puts her hand up so I can high-five her, and I don’t want to leave her hanging, so I give her palm a halfhearted, light tap.
God, I hate myself right now.
Hearing this told from a child’s perspective makes it sound so . . . not great. It makes me sound like a colossal dipshit, bonehead, asshole, thoughtless prick. Take your pick; any of the adjectives work.
“It’s not every day you hear about someone paying a kid to sabotage a date. So much action.” Lydia tries to ease the tension between her husband and me, winking at her granddaughter conspiratorially.
“I know, Grandma. It was really fun, and I got that LEGO kit I wanted.” She takes a chug from her mocktail. “Ahhh.” Wipes her mouth.
“Goodness, then what happened.”
“Then Mom came around the corner and busted us.”
Busted us.
“Well.” My girlfriend finds her voice. “I was looking for you, young lady. You were gone a long time.”
Her mother is studying me, but judging from her amused expression, she’s less offended by my actions than her husband is. I wonder if I’ll be able to win him over—or if I’m doomed for life.
I clear my throat. “Long story short, here we are, having dinner with you.”
“Quite honestly, after seeing the news stories, I texted Margot about meeting you. Every time one of my friends called to ask about it, I had no details.” Now Lydia sounds slightly put out.
The server comes and saves us all from more awkward conversation, and we order appetizers but not our entrées. I readjust myself in the chair—it has armrests and feels too small for my giant frame, the tops of my knees knocking the table with each movement.
Silverware clanks.
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?” Robert is staring at me from above his menu, doing his best to play the role of the intimidating father who only wants what’s best for his daughter.
“Dad!” Margot groans, rolling her eyes. “His intentions? What about my intentions, huh? Maybe I’m the one he has to watch out for, gold diggers and all that.”
That is a very good point!
“Well, someone has to ask the tough questions,” Robert replies, not breaking eye contact with me. “It’s a fair question.”
I clear my throat, trying to suppress a grin.
I’m onto him now—his bark is worse than his bite, and I don’t blame him for being a hard-ass. I mean, come on, look at me. I don’t come off as the boy next door. I’m well aware of the fact that:
I have a reputation in the media that’s probably well deserved.
I look like an asshole. It’s the haircut and the five-o’clock shadow, and the fact that I was born looking cocky certainly doesn’t help. It’s this million-dollar face—there is no helping it.