Page 8 of Every Time We Touch

“I’m sorry. I do appreciate that this conversation is uncomfortable.” She pulls her lips into a half-smile that makes her look unexpectedly vulnerable.

“Maybe we should go for a drink instead,” I offer.

“Maybe.” Jennifer chuckles. “I have many questions.”

“So no dance lesson for you whatsoever?” Jennifer is exactly the kind of person I love to teach. The kind that has no idea yet how much she will enjoy it. “Tango used to be my specialty when I was still competing.”

“I don’t have a dance partner,” Jennifer says.

Eric did mention that Jennifer was his only single child.

“There’s two of us,” I say. “That’s all we need.” I look into her light-blue eyes and consider that I would enjoy teaching her how to tango for many reasons. Then I catch myself. This is Eric’s daughter.

“I bet Juan would be up for it,” Jennifer says. “Austin’s not much of a dancer. He’s like my dad, that way.”

“Sure.” I figure it’s best not to tell her that I taught her father a few moves.

“How about that drink?” Jennifer asks. “God knows I need it.”

Chapter 5

Jen

It certainly wasn’t my intention to end up at a bar with my dad’s younger girlfriend, but here we are. It threw me when she told me about her own father—that she’s been in my position. Although I’m not the only one in this position. I have three siblings and none of them seem to fret about this as much as I do. Maybe because their lives are more than just work and work and work. I used to love being able to focus all the time, without having to worry about someone waiting for me at home, but that was before I got bored of the app I invented.

So I find myself at a bar in North Hollywood, just around the corner from Clancy’s studio. She nods at the bartender and he nods back as though they know each other. We grab a table and despite the atmospheric lighting, it’s still easy enough to notice her strong muscles and effortless way of holding herself. It makes me feel a little rough around the edges, which is not something I’m used to.

A server drops by, offers Clancy a broad smile, and says, “Skinny Bitch?”

“You got it, Mae. Thanks.” Clancy looks at me. “It’s a cocktail, not a slur.” She throws in a wink and my neck flushes. Jesus. I grew up in Los Angeles, the capital of Skinny Bitches. As if I wouldn’t know it’s just a vodka-soda with some lime.

Flustered, I mutter, “Um, same.”

“I’ll bring some ice water as well.” The server—Mae—smiles at Clancy again, then saunters off.

“You come here often?” I ask, feeling like I’m sixteen years old again and on some awkward first date.

“From time to time,” Clancy just says, then leans over the table a fraction. “Are you okay, Jen?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Good.”

Mae drops by again with two glasses of water, giving me some time to recompose myself. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? I’m the one with the upper hand here. Or am I not?

“How long did it take you to get used to your father dating a much younger woman?” I blurt out, because, in the end, it’s why we’re here.

Clancy chuckles. “Gosh, it’s hard to say.” She lifts a distractingly toned shoulder and I’m beginning to think this might have been easier if Clancy Estevez wasn’t so gorgeous. I can’t really say why, but it just doesn’t sit right with me. Although, at my dad’s retirement party someone did call him ‘the George Clooney of civil engineers.’ Heather and I still laugh about it regularly. “My dad and I aren’t as close as you and your siblings are with yours,” Clancy continues. “So the situation isn’t exactly the same.”

“You’re not close with your dad?”

“My parents live in New York, and we get along just fine, but it’s nothing like your family.”

“How do you mean?”

“Eric took me to his ex-wife’s house.” She arches perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “For starters.”

“Yeah. That must have been quite intimidating.”