“Ohhhh. Where are we going and with whom?” she asks, sitting up.
“Out to dinner, and a…friend,” I stammer.
Cindy raises a brow at me, not convinced of my answer.
“Regan, are you going on a date?” She stands at the revelation.
“It’s not a date,” I proclaim. “At least, I don’t think so.” I collapse down on the bed, still holding my phone up so Cindy can see me.
“You don’t think so? It either is or isn’t, Reg. Did they ask you to this dinner or was it mutually agreed upon?”
“Why does that matter?” I question, my arm draped dramatically over my face.
“It matters a lot. I thought you weren’t dating, anyway. Focusing on your career or some shit.”
“Iamfocusing on my career, Cin. I just need to know what to wear. Will you help me or not?”
Cindy heaves a dramatic sigh. “Take me to your closet.”
We spend the next thirty minutes finding an outfit that’snice, but not too nice, since this in fact is not a date. Though I know Cindy isn’t convinced of that. We decide on my favorite red dress. It makes me feel confident and it's not too overly formal, either. Nice enough to go to a nicer restaurant or go to the Meadows Diner. I slip on the low nude heels and give Cindy one last look. She nods her approval and wishes me luck on my not date. I roll my eyes, and she laughs as she hangs up. Quickly, I throw on a little bit of makeup and head downstairs, hoping Dad is elsewhere.
As I’m still descending the stairs, my phone pings with a text. Dean’s here and my heart jumps knowing that he’s here to pick me up, to see more of me outside of the racing schedule. Dad is scrolling on his phone while some rerun of an old sitcom that I don’t recall the name of plays in the background. I do my best to scurry past him, like I’m still a teenager trying to sneak out of the house.
“Where are you going, all dressed up?” he asks, not even looking up from his phone. Damn him for noticing everything.
“Out with a friend,” I respond a bit too quickly, which catches his attention.
“Which friend?” he presses.
“Dad, I’m twenty-one. I think I can go somewhere and with someone without telling you,” I snap. I usually never talk to Dad like this. Would he care that I’m about to go to dinner with Dean Dixon, of all people? I’m not sure, honestly. He knows we didn’t—don’t—like each other, but he’s never given his own opinions on him one way or another.
Dad raises a brow at my response. “Excuse me? You still live under my roof, and I should know where you’re going and who you’re going with,” he says in a stern tone.
I roll my eyes and my phone pings again with another text. He’s never going to let me leave if I don’t answer him. “Dixon, okay? I helped him fix his truck and we decided to go to dinner. Happy?” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Dixon? Dean Dixon?” he asks, shocked.
Trust me Dad, I’m just as shocked as you are.
“He’s here, I gotta go,” I say quickly, grabbing my purse off the hook and running out the door. My frustration is still bubbling from Dad’s interrogation as I climb into Dean’s truck. Dad really needs to realize that I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a woman who can make my own damn decisions.
TWENTY-THREE
DEAN
Me
I’m here
Is everything ok?
I’m sittingin Regan’s driveway, waiting for her to come out. I hope she isn’t having second thoughts about going to dinner. I just want to break the tension between us after we kissed. Thinking back, this might not have been the way to do that. I spent a good twenty minutes spiraling, wondering if I had asked my rival out on a date after kissing said rival.
It’s not a date. It’s two people going to dinner. That’s it.
Since we didn’t decide on a place, I dressed a little nicer than what I usually would, a nice pair of dark jeans and a grey button down.
I’m about to send off another text when she storms out the front door, slamming it. One look at her and my mouth has gone dry: she’s in a figure hugging red dress. So far, it’s my favorite thing I’ve seen her wear. Shows off her perfect curves and tits, showcasing her toned legs in a low pair of heels. I’mstill taking her in, but her face is scrunched up; something’s wrong.
