Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5 by Catelyn Meadows

Author:Catelyn Meadows [Meadows, Catelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catelyn Meadows
Published: 2020-09-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Because the sleek, black Porsche was the same car that had picked me up my first night here, I expected the ride to consist of just me and the driver. To my surprise, Dad was at the wheel. Not in a suit, but in jeans, complete with baseball cap.

Slipping into the passenger seat, seeing Dad casually dressed in jeans and his hat, brought its own pang along with it. This could be any other time. Back before Dad left us. When we were still a family.

“You want to tell me how you lost your phone?” he asked, one hand resting on the gear shift between us.

Boys fighting over me. One of those boys being Tate, Dad’s wife’s son. Not a conversation I wanted with him. “Not really.”

“You can talk to me, you know.” Dad gave me a defeated smile as he wove his way through the parking lot. “I’m still the same.”

I sank against my seat and hugged my backpack, which was still in my lap. “You’re not. You drive fancy cars and live in mansions and have a different wife. That’s not the same guy I’ve known my whole life.”

“Bailey,” he chided.

“What? It’s true.”

Signal clicking, Dad waited for several cars to pass before turning onto the main road. “Is that why you wouldn’t sing for Laurel the other night? You sounded great at the game, by the way. Why didn’t you tell us you were singing?”

I hugged my arms around my chest as if trying to keep myself together. “I don’t know.”

“Laurel won’t bite, you know. She is very nice.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She—”

“I went to a bonfire with a group of jocks and cheerleaders,” I blurted, not liking the conversation’s direction. “Tate invited me, so I went along. While we were there, I tried taking a selfie of Tate and me, and one of the guys from the team tore my phone from my hand and tossed it into the fire.”

Dad slammed on his brakes a little too hard at the stoplight. “He did what? Who was he? Sounds like I need to contact some parents.”

I reached for Dad’s shoulder and thought better of it. “Please don’t. I’m just praying this whole thing will blow over.”

“What did you do? What did Tate do?” The light turned green. Dad eased forward into traffic.

“Tate jumped him,” I said.

“Like—he fought him?”

I expected Dad to get angry, but he kept his attention on the road. No clenching of steering wheels or implications against Tate for his lack of self-control. Just raised brows and too much calmness.

“Guess he’s taking me seriously,” Dad finished.

“What does that mean?”

“I asked him to keep an eye out for you.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It was both cool of Dad to care enough about me to make that kind of request, and sweet of Tate to agree, but I also didn’t want to feel like any more of a project to Tate than I already did. Was that why he’s been doing what he was doing?

“Do you have a lot to do with him?” I asked.

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