Page 96 of Personal Foul
Dylan glances at me, and I shrug.
He shrugs too. “I don’t know yet. Probably pretty soon after we get up. I guess it all depends on how late we stay out on Saturday night for your party. If it’s lit, we might be up till two in the morning. In which case we’re going to sleep in and leave after brunch. But if it sucks, and we go to bed early, we might just get up and get breakfast on the road.”
Victoria pokes out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. Then she sips her wine, letting out a sigh after she swallows. “All right, I guess that makes sense. If you decide to leave early and get breakfast on your way out of town, would you at least be open to texting me where you’re getting breakfast so Cameron and I can meet you there?”
After another glance at me, Dylan says, “Sure. I think that could work. Do we want to plan on that anyway? Whatever time we get up, we can get our things together and head out, and you and Cameron can meet us for breakfast.”
Victoria nods. “Yeah, I think that sounds good. Are you okay with that, Charity?”
“Of course. That sounds great. I’m looking forward to meeting Cameron tomorrow.”
With the same mischievous grin on her face as her brother likes to use on me, Victoria says, “You and Cameron can compare notes on your first meet-the-parents experience. He’ll be jealous that you got off so easy.”
“It’s sexism pure and simple,” Dylan says as he stands. “We all know it’s the truth. Cameron had it rougher because he’s a guy, and we all knew you were getting really serious about him by the time you brought him for dinner.”
Victoria’s eyes cut to me, intrigued.
Dylan chuckles. “Don’t worry, Tori. We’re fine. Charity knows that I’m not about to propose marriage or anything. But when you brought Cameron to dinner, if I’m not mistaken, you guys were already talking like that. Right?”
Tilting her head from side to side, Victoria eventually nods. “I mean, we were talking about it as a future possibility. I was still in undergrad. And so was he. Neither of us wanted to get married until after we were done with school and a little more established.”
“True. But you guys moved in together not too long after that.”
I have to stifle a laugh, because Dylan basically invited me to move in with him last week.
Victoria catches my snort of aborted laughter. She leans closer to me, avidly interested now. “What?” She demands. She circles her finger in my direction. “What was all that about? Are you guys moving in together soon?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She narrows her eyes at me, suspicion written all over her face. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Welp, that’s too bad,” Dylan says. “You can believe whatever you like, Tori. But right now, Charity and I are headed to bed.”
“Just so you know, Charity, our parents’ bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from Dylan’s room.”
My brows wrinkle together in confusion. “Uh, okay, good to know, I guess?”
Dylan snorts. “She’s letting you know that you don’t have to be quiet if we have sex.” To his sister he says, “Don’t embarrass my girlfriend.”
She holds up her hands. “I’m not trying to embarrass anyone. I’m just saying.”
Holding out a hand to me, Dylan flashes me a grin. “Are you ready for bed?” he asks.
Placing my hand in his, I let him pull me to my feet, and we head to his bedroom.
CHAPTER FORTY
Dylan
Breakfast is almost as awkward as last night. Charity apparently didn’t realize that we have a personal chef. And so she’s startled to come down and find a stranger in our kitchen cooking breakfast to order for everyone.
Which is my fault. I should’ve warned her. Usually Mom and Dad give her the weekends off, so I had no reason to suspect that she would be here today. But I guess since it’s a special occasion, Mom decided that meant the chef needed to work overtime today. Or at least part of the day. At least she always pays the woman double her normal rate when she makes her work extra.
“Hey, Marisol. Good to see you again. I didn’t realize I’d be seeing you this weekend,” I say to the chef from behind Charity. To Charity I say, “Marisol has been working for our family since I was ten. She makes the best French toast you’ll ever have.” I know Charity is a sucker for French toast.
“Oh, really?” Charity asks, her eyes still wide with surprise.
I nod. To Marisol I say, “Four slices of French toast for Charity and me, please.”
