Perfect Set by Melanie Jacobson

Author:Melanie Jacobson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: reporter;sports;dream job;sun;sand;beach;sea;ocean;single;clean;lds;romance;beach volleyball;volleyball;athlete;date;dating;media;chemistry;redemption;love
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2018-03-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

My dad was sitting on the front steps when I got back to my house after sparring with Kade. I spotted him, chinos rolled, deck shoes with no socks, shirt open at the collar, graying hair artfully messy. It was so studied and painfully deliberate. But women liked it. One after another in the last ten years.

I eyed this sad half of my parent lottery crowding my doorstep, forearms braced on widespread thighs as if he thought blocking the width of the stair would keep me out of my house.

It might. But I might turn around and go on another run, a long run, a run all the way into the ocean, where I’d swim and swim and swim.

As if he sensed it, he held up a hand, and the only reason I let it stop me was because it was more of a plea than an order, that upheld hand. “Hey, kiddo.”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Great. Pretty sure I texted you that already.”

“Sometimes a dad wants more than a text. Glad I caught you. I thought you might be headed out for work already.”

“I need to leave for my office in twenty minutes.”

“So aren’t you surprised? I came all the way from Vegas to see you.”

“Did you?”

He grinned, the same grin I’d seen him use to charm clients back when he’d sold real estate when we were kids. He’d burnt out on that, frustrated that he couldn’t close big deals like his colleagues, which he blamed on their willingness to be fake. I’d heard that rant a lot. I’m real, and real doesn’t sell houses. Seemed more to me like his problem was that he saw himself as being wronged by everyone and everything around him, the constant victim in his own imagined tragedies, but whatever.

“Of course I came down here to see you.”

“I’m sure you had a delivery down here.” His most recent job was driving for a freight company with a hub in Las Vegas, where he lived with Number Four.

“Yeah, sure, but that’s not the point. You’re the point. Let me take you to breakfast, honey.”

I scrubbed my hand through my hair, feeling the light stickiness of sea air that would need a quick rinse and blow dry before I headed out to work. “I don’t have time, Dad. I wish you would have called.”

“Why? So you could not answer me again?”

“I get busy.”

“You never get un-busy. I’m here. Go to breakfast with me.”

Arguing about it would take longer than doing it. “Why don’t you go pick something up from the Waffle Box while I shower? Meet me back here, and we’ll do a quick breakfast, but Dad,” I said, catching his gaze and holding it. “I really do have to go to work this morning.”

“Sure, yeah. I need to get back on the road. I just want to get in quality time with you.”

He gave me a quick squeeze as he passed me to get to the sidewalk. I wondered where he’d parked his semi as he took off toward Main Street and waffles.

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