“Oh my God.” I threw my head back and whined to the wispy clouds. “You’re insane.”
But contrary to my theatrics, I reset my head and agreed to the plan. We walked together up the steps to Bay Hall, and as we reached the top, a thought I’d had more than once came back to me.
“This place isn’t wheelchair accessible.”
Dad glanced over his shoulder and down the steep brick steps. “Not even the back entrance?”
That stairwell flashed in my mind, conjuring the memory of Liem straddling my lap there. “Nope.” I breezed past him and shuffled around a group of laborers as they exited the building, coffees in hand.
No, those brick stairs were good for a select few things, but wheelchair access wasn’t one of them.
Dad caught up to me in line then, muttering to himself about the macros and health benefits of the items they had on display.
It seemed his conclusion for most of them was “minimal” and “dismal.”
I took a quick survey of my nerves but was pleased to find that my mind was clear and grounded in the present, evidenced by the easy glare I produced when a gaggle of men in suits tried to crowd too close to my back to read the menu. Once they backed up, I returned my attention to Dad.
“You should open a gym.” It wasn’t the first time I’d thrown the idea out there since we’d been plotting our futures together. “With a snack stand of food that is”—I waved a hand at the pastries behind the glass case—“dismal in different ways.”
He snorted. “And should that be my business slogan?”
I nodded, then smiled at him so he could be certain I was teasing. “Honesty is the best policy.”
We ordered our drinks then, and to Dad’s delight, I let him choose my snack. I could almost hear Liem’s voice like the little angel on my shoulder as I choked down the bran muffin a few minutes later.
“That’s kind of you, Dezi.”
And then I indulged the devil in me, remembering Liem’s face in the throes of pleasure, his lean torso contracting, and the muscles around his narrow shoulders flexing.
The mischief in his eyes every time he stopped stripping off articles of clothes, waiting for me to catch on to the game.
Little Beast.
MyTi Bet.
“What’s that look for?” Dad asked, cutting through the lusty fog I’d started to get lost in.
I shifted on the lumpy couch we’d commandeered and contorted my expression, as if that could confuse whatever my dad thought he’d seen. Even though we’d lived in the same house at the height of my puberty and he’d survived my angsty, horny rages, it didn’t mean I wanted to scar him now that I was an adult.
I mentally patted the angel on my shoulder and took advantage of another opportunity for kindness. “Just thinking about our upcoming workout.”
“Hmm,” he said, wiping his hands on some napkins from the coffee table in front of us. “Whatever you say, son. Wanna go see that bulletin board I told you about?”
“Sure.” I rose gingerly from the couch, my thigh and calf muscles tight as I followed Dad down the hallway of Bay Hall, our drinks in hand. We stopped between a set of elevators, where a bunch of papers were haphazardly tacked onto a board in a glass case. I glanced over the expired information about the Mardi Gras night parade—the BTB committee and their activities and meetings took up the most space on the board—and eventually found the listing for which suites were occupied and which were for lease.
Below that was a glossy piece of paper with a grainy photo of an open room with exposed brick and wooden beams with text above it that read:
LOFT FOR LEASE
I pressed my hand on the glass like a kid walking by a toy store at Christmas and leaned forward, squinting to read the tiny text below the listing.
Dad nudged my shoulder. “You looking for a place?”
I glanced at him and then returned my gaze to the photo, not even sure what I was doing. “The boat is fine.”
“Really?” Dad prodded, moving closer as he leaned in to see the listing. “You know, you kind of have the same expression now that you had on the couch a minute ago. Like you, umm, want to, umm… marry whatever you’re thinking about.”
I let my head fall beside my hand and onto the hard glass with a thud. “Stop looking at my face.”
