Page 150 of Best Kind of Trouble
Meaning it’s his turn to try to end dinner before it begins.
He knocks. “The madman and madwoman are here!”
I lean against him, and he wraps his arm around me. He’s obviously in good spirits, despite what’s sure to be another aggravating conversation.
The door opens, and my father appears. Much to my mother’s horror, my dad has started wearing more casual clothes forour family dinners. Tonight, he’s wearing a shirt with the logo for our local minor league baseball team, the Asheville Tourists, paired with athletic shorts. There’s no sign of my mother, which means she’s probably already drinking a martini to drown her sorrows about my dad’s new wardrobe. I think it’s part of a strategy he’s formed to bond with Liam so he can then use Liam to influence me. It’s not going to work, of course, but I’ve come to realize this is as close to caring as my father gets.
“Lovely to see you both,” he says. “Come on. We got some beautiful steaks tonight. Biggest steaks you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, too bad.” Liam snaps his fingers. “Maybe we should reconnect next week. I just became a vegan. It was those fake chicken nuggets your old company makes, sir. I tried them once, and now it’s an addiction.”
My father glances at Liam’s thick biceps. “There’s no way you can maintain your physique on a vegan diet, son.”
“Oh, sure I can. I just need about ten avocados and a pound or two of potatoes, and I’ll be good as gold. I can help Alicia prepare them. There’s a specific method.”
My dad glances over his shoulder. “Well, I did want to talk to you kids about a pretty big opportunity for our little brewery, but I’m not sure Alicia will?—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put her out,” Liam says. “No problem at all. I can bring my own dinner next week.”
My father flinches. My mother would hate it if a guest brought their own food, and we all know it. “No need for that. Just send…maybe send an example of what you can eat.”
“You got it,Dad,” he says. “Coming right up. We’ll see you next week.”
Before my father can say anything else, Liam sweeps me back into his arms and struts toward his bike.
“I can walk,” I say, trying not to laugh as he hurries down the path. I can hear the front door closing.
“No time for walking. We don’t want to give them a chance to figure out a workaround.” He sets me down next to the bike. “How’d I do?”
“I think it’s a record,” I say with a grin.
“Good, because we’ve got plans.”
“Are we getting steak?”
“Even better,” he says as he puts my helmet on me and buckles it.
Several minutes later,he pulls up in front of the boxing gym.
“It’s open,” I tell him, almost scandalized.
“You see, businesses have to stay open for a certain number of hours a day to stay successful, Briar.”
I raise my eyebrows. “This place is almost never open.”
He unclasps my helmet. “Because Mick is lazy, and we usually come after hours. I like to take full advantage of the privacy.”
I lean in and kiss him before climbing off the bike. My pulse is racing, because I sense he’s up to something, and I don’t know what it means yet.
He joins me on the sidewalk, and we walk in together, hand in hand.
When we enter the reception area, we find Mick sitting behind the desk, his legs propped up. He’s a big guy, like Liam, with dark hair cut short and a scar across his jaw. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s always been nice to me.
“Aw, fuck,” he says, glancing at his watch. “You’re, like, two hours early, man.”
“We got out of dinner.” Liam raises his eyebrows. “I told you I was going to try to get out of dinner.”
“It was the Mr. Miracle name tag,” I feel compelled to add. “We think it has magical properties.”
