“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” I sound much more cheerful than I feel.
“Lucy, it’s good to hear your voice. We haven’t talked much lately, and I apologize for that.”
“Dad, you’re on your honeymoon. I don’t think ‘talking to your adult daughter’ should be at the top of your To-Do list.”
He chuckles, as expected. “You may have a point, honey. Kristy says hi, by the way. I’m on my way to see her now. I was able to get an hour in at the hotel gym, and now I’m meeting her for a couples’ massage—her idea, not mine. Though it should be fun.”
“Dad, it’ll be great. And she’s obviously excited about it, so you should be, too.”
“Ok, ok, I’ll enjoy being pampered. Twist my arm.”
“That’s the spirit,” I tell him.
“Now, while I have a few minutes, how’s the internship? How was the meet and greet?”
“They actually had to reschedule it for tomorrow night on account of a nasty storm that hit the area and stranded a lot of people. But it gave me the chance to prep some more, so I’m not complaining.” Again, no lies were told. But the truth isn’t all there, either.
“I saw that storm on the news. Your flight didn’t get delayed, did it?”
“No, I was lucky.” It’s true. My flight wasn’t delayed. I wasn’t on it, but it wasn’t delayed. And I was damn lucky Whit rode to my rescue, literally. But those are not details I’m going to share with my dad. I do need to get off the phone, though, before I mess up or worse, spill all my secrets in a surge of guilt.
“I’m actually in the middle of studying, Dad, and I need to get back to it, so I’m ready for tomorrow night, ok?”
“Of course, honey. And listen, in case I haven’t said it enough, I’m proud of you. You set that goal a few years ago, and you reached it. Just keep doing what you’re doing, Lucy. Keep your eye on the prize—no distractions—and you’ll earn all you’ve worked for.”
“Yep, that’s the plan,” I say as brightly as I can manage. “Tell Kristy hi from me, ok?”
“Will do. Call me in a couple days and let me know how things are going.”
“Got it. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, Lucy.”
I hang up and stand up, leaving sentimentality and emotion down on the floor where I was sitting. I know I’m doing the right thing, but why does it feel so wrong?
Chapter 17
Whit
I’m halfwayinto a bottle of tequila, and though that’s usually my liquid of choice when I want to forget, it’s not working tonight.
Nothing is.
It’s been 29 hours and 17 minutes since I left Lucy’s dorm. And I can still smell the soft scent of her shampoo.
How fucked up is that? With as much tequila as I’ve had, I should not be able to count that easily or recall details like her shampoo, or the way her eyelashes flutter just before she comes.
Goddammit. This is harder than I thought it would be, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy. And I’m so hung up on her, I can't even jack off to porn. That’s fucking unfair. But every time I close my eyes and reach for my dick, visions of Lucy fill my mind. I’m afraid that’s going to be a permanent condition.
I scroll through the channels on the hotel TV, hoping my options are better than they were fifteen minutes ago. They’re not. Reaching for my phone, I pull up the group chat and stare at the last text Booker sent.
Booker:Where the hell are you? And when are you coming home?
I haven’t wanted to answer, not only because I’m not sober enough to get behind the wheel, but also because I have no plans to dry up any time soon. Going home feels like moving on, and I’m not ready to do that.
But I’m not sure I want to stay here, either. Here being Cleveland. I stopped here on a whim. My brain was shredded after I left Lucy’s yesterday, so it seemed like a good idea to do something I’d always wanted to do. So here I sit in a posh hotel not two miles from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a place my dad loved. I guess my subconscious thought this would be a good way to salvage the trip.
Turns out my subconscious doesn’t know shit.
