“Morning. How’d you sleep?” the object of my annoyance says from behind me.
“Good, good, good.”Oh god, please stop saying good.
“Good.” He flashes me a smile, not adding anything about the night before.
Okay, this I can handle. As long as we don’t talk about what happened last night, I’ll be fine. I’ll still obsess over it, but I can pretend.
“I wonder if Harrison decided to ignore Pari and have us cage fight to the death?” I ask, indicating our workout clothes.
“If he does, then I’m not going to go easy on you because you’re a hot girl.”
“Oh.” I giggle awkwardly. My hand raises without my permission to tuck my hair behind my ear. Shit, I even look awaycoyly.
Jesus, I’m insomuch trouble.
I clear my throat. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” I try to get back to the adversarial relationship we had over twelve hours ago, hardening my voice after the giggle.
But it’s hard. He must have given me sexually transmitted stupidity. And we didn’t even do the deed.
What’ll happen if we do have sex? Will I show up the next day in a pastel swing skirt and matching cardigan, offering him a glass of whiskey in one hand and the Richmond sale in the other, candidate for Stepford wife of the year? Would I lose my edge, the drive to compete?
Either way, Dad would lose all respect for me and not trust me to do the shows I want.
Harrison saves me from that future by calling for our attention.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope you all brought your athletic skills, because today’s event is a tennis tournament in my court.”
“Yay.” I feign enthusiasm, luckily drowned out by the genuine enthusiasm from everyone else.
“We’re really going for a perfect week of patrician shit this week,” a voice whispers from my side.
I twist my head and jump away from the source of the voice, putting my hands up to defend myself if needed. I was so busy trying to avoid Gavin by stepping away from him that I didn’t realize he’d gotten even closer. And that’s a sad metaphor for my life right now.
“Whoa, there.” He puts his hands up. “The cage fight isn’t till later.”
“You can never be too prepared for a cage fight,” I say weakly.
“But everyone expects the fight, since it happens at a scheduled time. It’s not the Spanish Inquisition.”
Because no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, just like that Monty Python skit. Nice.
“Did Sir Stuck-Up just make a Monty Python reference...andsay this week was too patrician for him? The shock. Very unexpected.”
“My dad loves them.” He sounds sheepish, like he does every time he gets vulnerable or personal.
“Mine too,” I admit.
“Hey, the hated enemies have something in common,” Gavin says as we start following Harrison to his private tennis court. “Maybe we should get them together and force them to have a cordial night watching Monty Python together.”
“You really want to see a fight to the death, don’t you?”
“Fight to the death?” Gavin snorts. “More like two old men getting winded slap fighting.”
I laugh, and then immediately feel bad for laughing at Dad’s expense.
Harrison gets to the courts before I can further betray my family honor. He’s becoming really helpful at interrupting awkward moments for me. Sure, he was nowhere to be seen yesterday. Although that ended...happily for me.
Pun very much intended.
