She pats my cheek one more time. “It’s Nana now.”
For some reason that makes the back of my eyes burn. My voice is rough when it finally comes out. “Thank you, Nana.”
When Betsy and Mr. Barrett rejoin our group, she sidles up to me, a warm little sigh on her lips. I look down at her, seeing allthe changes since she first came to Heaven, and I don’t mean the physical. She looks happy now. Like she finally feels safe.
The older set move on, leaving us to the dance floor. Betsy and I dance through several songs until we’re both wiping sweat from our brows and begging off in favor of a cold drink. Deuce is flirting with one of the women that modeled for Mary London and doesn’t even lift his head when we tell him we’re headed to the food truck area.
“What’ll it be? Champagne, spiked lemonade, or a frozen margarita?” All the available adult beverages look amazing in this heat. Even with the sun down and the breeze created by all the fans, it’s still eighty degrees and humid out.
“I think a margarita,” Betsy says slowly, her arm around my waist and mine over her shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I have every intention of addressing our “just fucking” agreement at the soonest available opportunity. I feel like we’re so far beyond that it’s almost comical we thought we could keep our relationship to that level.
“Always doing things opposite of what’s expected, aren’t you, boy?”
My father’s deep drawl has my spine stiffening. We pivot to see him and a few of his old cronies with flasks in hand. Dad’s never been a drunk, but when he gets with his friends, they like to overindulge on fancy scotch. I can tell he’s past the point of a real conversation by how unclear his eyes have gotten. There for a few months after Mama died, his eyes were always that hazy by the time the sun went down.
“I guess so,” I say noncommittally, turning Betsy and me away. I hope he’ll just keep on walking, but no such luck when he bumps my arm with his flask.
“Got yourself a girlfriend?” He scoffs and it’s not a nice sound. “She’s not even from around here.”
I turn back to him, but push Betsy mostly behind me. “She’s no concern of yours. I suggest you and your friends keep walking.”
I catch Richmond’s eye and he steps up to Dad’s side. Of all his friends, Rich has always been the most levelheaded. But Dad’s not done ruining every good thing of mine.
“You doing that just for my sake? To piss me off?” He makes a noise that has my hackles rising. “Your mama would roll over in her grave if she saw the way you conduct yourself.”
I step right up to him, toe to toe. I used to keep my mouth zipped just to keep the peace, mostly because I had it engrained in me that children are supposed to respect their elders. But life has taught me that not every parent is deserving of that respect. Betsy’s taught me that sometimes the best thing to do is to flip the person off.
“Funny to hear you criticize my behavior when you’re the one drunk in public. I think you need to take yourself home before you say or do something you’ll regret.” Then I break his gaze to pin Richmond with a glare. “Help your friend home, would you?”
Rich motions for the other guys to take my father somewhere less public, but he hangs behind to speak to me. “Hey, I just want you to know what your father is asking me to do with the loan is unethical. I’m aware of it, and even after decades of friendship, I won’t do it. Just so you know, Silas.” He shakes my hand, grip firm. “And for the record, Lia would be damn proud of you, son.”
He leaves, dealing with my father, which I’m grateful for. Betsy steps right into me and folds me into a hug. The top of her head doesn’t quite come to my chin but I feel her hug everywhere.
She lifts her head, her big eyes shining up at me. “And I’m proud of you too. Takes a lot of courage to speak up for yourself.”
When I lean down to kiss her, somehow all the stuff with my father fades away. His opinion of me doesn’t matter nearly as much as Betsy’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Betsy
Sun filteringthrough the gauzy curtains wakes me up the next morning. I stretch out my legs and wince at the soreness absolutely everywhere. Nothing like walking around in sky-high heels for several hours to ruin a good pair of legs. I don’t know how these sorority girls do it on the regular. Silas shifts in his sleep behind me.
I roll over and prop my head on my hand, gazing down at him. We were exhausted when we left the party late last night. Silas offered to drive me home, and while we had intentions of hitting the shower and falling into bed together to slake that need that pulses between us at all hours of the day and night, we fell asleep the second we hit the mattress.
My brain is screaming at me to get up and leave. I don’t do sleepovers. I don’t do kissing in public. I don’t let my heart get involved with anything to do with men.
And yet here I am, curled up in Silas’s bed, dressed in one of his T-shirts, watching him sleep like a total lovesick creeper.
His bare chest rises and falls with each relaxed breath. He has a dusting of golden-brown hair that spreads across his pecs and down the middle of his abs. I lean closer, a ray of sunlight highlighting one side of his torso. Yep, just as I thought. There’s one gray hair in the bunch. I lift my arm and creep closer, my finger gently touching the gray hair before settling on his chest. I tuck this information away for a good time to tease him about it.
Silas hums in his sleep, a deep vibration I feel through the mattress. My gaze sweeps up his strong neck to his sharp jawline. A five o’clock shadow has grown even longer, creating a scruffy appearance I like, mostly because he never wears it that long in public. It’s like getting to see him with his hair down. A special viewing, just for me.
My feelings for this man are complicated. Exactly what I didn’t want when I threw out the idea of fucking for fun. I should have known I wasn’t capable of that. I know I act aloof and pissed off most of the time, which I usually am, but that’s just to mask a heart that feels too much. A heart that’s been through too much rejection by men to be worn haphazardly on a sleeve.
The thing is, Silas hasn’t rejected me at all. In fact, even when he didn’t like me at first, he still accepted me. He welcomed me into his boutique and his life, sharing about his financial strains, his mother’s dreams for the shop, and his father’s ridiculous threats. He’s done nothing but open himself to me, and I’m finding holding back to be difficult.
