I see Dad roll his eyes through the slots in my fingers. “Doubtful, but thanks for... for... I don't even know what.”
“Well.” I smack my lips together and lift my head. “We should get on the road.”
“I'm going to need you to leave a key for your room,” Dad says to me.
My face falls. “Why?”
There’s no way in hell Queen Isla of the Senile Subcontinent is going to get her greasy hands on my room.
“In case of emergency,” Dad defends himself, holding up both of his hands. “I won't let Isla in there.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” he answers as he grabs his coffee off the counter and takes a long sip.
“Anything else?” I ask.
Dad shakes his head. “Nope. Just remember to drive careful, have fun, and don't get lost.”
“Excellent advice, Mr. Winthrop,” Wilder quips, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Stop being a kiss ass,” Dad chides Wilder. “I'm not Jill. I don't care if you can fix a printer. Not after listening to...” Dad trails off as he shudders. “Whatever that was this morning.”
Rocking my world. That's what it was.
But I keep that thought to myself.
“Cash told me to tell you two nymphomaniacs he'll be waiting outside when you're ready to go,” Dad sighs.
“He called us nymphomaniacs?” Wilder tilts his dark head to the side, intrigued.
“No.” Dad runs a hand over his face. “He called you sexual deviants, but I thought nymphomaniac sounded less...judgmental.”
“Coming from the guy who didn't sleep with Blondie for four months,” Wilder huffs. “What a—”
But I shove an elbow into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “We should get going. Thanks, Dad.”
I move to give Dad a kiss on the cheek, but he flinches a little.
“Sorry,” he offers. “Just... kind of hard to look at you or... well, you know.”
“Right,” I say as I swallow hard and step back. “We should go.”
“I love you,” Dad tries.
“I love you, too,” I tell him as Wilder's fingers slip into mine and he yanks me out of the kitchen.
A week on the road is starting to look better and better as the minutes pass.
“Why do I always say dumb shit around your dad?” Wilder whisper-yells as we rush up the stairs.
“Because,” I groan, “you want him to like you.”
Wilder scoffs. “Doesn’t he already?”
Honestly? I’m not sure.
So, I say nothing.
