Rubbing some pomade between my palms, I run it through my hair, styling it away from my face in my trademark look, the one wayward lock that chooses violence every damn time falling forward over my forehead. The thing has a mind of its own, so I’ve stopped fighting it. Plus, the women seem to love it since it has its own dedicated fan page on Instagram.
I take a step back, assessing my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jeans, a white button down, freshly shaven face, hair on point—I look damn good if I say so myself.
“You look real handsome, Daddy,” Lucky says from where she’s been watching me this whole time, perched on the bathroom counter in herLilo and Stitchpajamas.
“Yeah?” I ask, turning to her.
She nods. “Like a prince.”
I narrow one eye. “Which prince?”
Her pink lips twist to the side as she looks up in serious contemplation. “Hmmm… Aladdin.”
“Aladdin, huh?” I muse glancing at the mirror once more, nodding. “I can accept Aladdin.”
Lucky meets my eyes in the reflection and grins that toothy grin that melts my heart.
“You be a good girl for Grandma while Daddy’s gone, yeah?” I ask, cupping her soft cheeks and leaning close to press my lips to her forehead.
“We’re gonna watchDemon Hunters,” she says with a mischievous grin.
“KPop Demon Huntersagain?” I snort.
Lucky nods excitedly, and I lift her off the counter and twirl her around a couple times, blowing a raspberry against her cheek, making her squeal with laughter.
“Where is my Lucky girl?”
I pull back enough to meet Lucky’s eyes, watching them light up at the sound of my mother’s lilt sing-songing through the house.
“Gramma!” Lucky gasps. And, climbing down from me, she’s gone, like a bat out of hell, the pitter-patter of her footsteps fading.
Allie had a late study group tonight, so Mom is looking after Lucky while I take a few hours off. No one knows where I’m going. Except Allie, of course, since this was all her idea. But I didn’t want to tell Lucky at the thought of her either becoming anxious, or, worse, excited over the prospect of her daddy going on a date. And, honestly, my mother finding out would be even worse; that woman is borderline obsessed with the idea of me meeting someone. So, for now, all they need to know is that I have a dinner meeting with a brand manager; at least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
When I walk downstairs, I find Mom and Lucky seated at the kitchen island, a box of cookies in front of them, my daughter carefully selecting one from the bunch.
“KPop Demon Hunters anda sugar rush?” I murmur, passing by and pressing a quick kiss to my mother’s cheek.
“Gluten free,” Mom sasses, her gaze looking me up and down as I take a bottle of water from the fridge. A knowingsmile curls her lips as she says, “You look nice for a brand meeting…”
It’s her tone that makes my eyes want to roll back in their sockets. But I manage to refrain, looking away with a muttered “Thanks” before taking a long swig of water.
“Where’s the…meeting?”
Fuck. I probably should have thought this lie through a little better. “Um… some… steakhouse downtown.” Not a total lie. I managed to secure a booking at the best steak restaurant in Tribeca. But I can’t tell my mom. Linda Estes is a New York City socialite. She knows a lot of people in this town, and she is a goddamn sleuth when she wants to be.
“Daddy looks like Aladdin,” Lucky says proudly, daintily placing her cookie of choice ontoThe Little Mermaidplate in front of her.
“He sure does, Lucky girl,” Mom says, smile still knowing.
I do roll my eyes this time, shaking my head. And I need to get the hell out of here because I can’t keep shit from my mom; never been able to. “I gotta go.”
“Have fun…” Mom says in a teasing tone.
I feel my cheeks flame, and I can’t look at her as I walk around to give Lucky another kiss. “I love you, Lucky Duck,” I whisper, touching her nose with mine.
“Love you, Daddy,” she whispers right back.
Taylor Swift blares through my truck as I cruise down Broadway, tapping my hand against the steering wheel and singing along to every word. Lucky is in her Taylor Swift era, and honestly, I’m not mad about it. Could I change the playlist to something a little more suitable for a twenty-five-year-old guy on his way to his first ever date? Sure. Am I going to? Not while “Blank Space” is playing, that’s for damn sure.
