I purse my lips at the last one. It makes my fucking dick hard.
Fuck me.
I make my way to the kitchen, and kick on the sink, waiting for the water streaming out of the faucet to grow warm before washing my hands. I don’tneedto wash them, but it’s something to do, while I wait for Ben Knight to return my goddamn phone call.
“Dad!”
My front door bangs open right as I turn off the sink, and I don’t even flinch. It feels like I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop for fucking days now.
Molly’s voice comes out annoyed as she stumbles in. “Why is it so dark in here?” She flips on the light and then blinks as our eyes meet. She’s wearing a denim jacket over her sweatshirt, hair bundled up like she’s just rolled out of bed.
Which is definitely her normal.
She stomps into the kitchen, drops her backpack at the island, and goes about flicking on every light in the area around her. “Dad? What are you doing? It’s almost four in the afternoon.”
“Saving electricity, which is something you’d understand if you had to pay a bill,” I let out a chuckle.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever.” She heads for my coffee pot then and starts the process of grabbing a new filter. “Dr. Williams will be here in like thirty minutes.”
I spin around, anxiety spiking in the form of my heartrate. “You don’t have tutoring on Tuesdays.”
She starts measuring out coffee grounds. “Uh huh… But I totally blew her off last week, and that was so rude of me—and I really want to do this essay contest. She’s so nice and is coming over today. I figured it’d be fine since you’re here.”
My jaw ticks. “No.”
Molly stops, some of the grounds spilling out onto the counter as she freezes mid-air. “No… what? That literally makes no sense.”
I shake my head, trying to keep my tone even. “No tutoring. Not here. Not this week. Or probably ever again. You can go to your mom’s.”
She stares for a beat and then narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” I say stupidly. “End of discussion.”
She snorts and dumps more coffee into the machine. “Funny joke, Dad.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not joking.”
My daughter kicks on the machine and gives me the most annoyed expression I’ve ever seen her make. She crosses her arms, eyebrows up. “So, what’s the deal, then? Did she say something? Did she do something? Did you psychoanalyze her, and decide she might taint your house with her niceness?”
My jaw drops at her attitude. “I don’t have to giveyoua reason as to a boundary I’m setting formyhouse.” I open the cupboard, grab a mug, slam it down harder than I mean to. “Drop it, Molly. No tutoring here.”
She watches my hands, and then jumps to my eyes. “You’re acting weird right now. You know that, right? Because you can’t keep your eyes off her when she’s here. Is she toodistracting?”
“I don’t think she’s who she says she is,” I counter, and while Idobelieve that, I don’t know the depth to which I think that theory goes. It’s feeling a lot like a fucking excuse right now.
“Hmm,” Molly says, drawing out the word. “You know what I think?” She taps her finger to her chin. “I think you’re projecting.”
I glare at her, trying to summon the old dad stare, the one that used to end arguments before they started. But she just stares back, unimpressed.
Damn, having an adult kid is hard.
“So… Did you two have a fight?” she asks, and her voice is almost gentle, which is somehow worse than her attitude a few minutes ago. “Or did you screw it up like you screw up everything else?”
That one lands, but I shove it down. “This isn’t about me.”
“Bullshit,” she snorts. “It’s always about you and your control problem.”
I turn my back, open the fridge, even though I’m not hungry. “Watch your mouth.”
