by Leigh, T. K.
“It feels…”
“Yes?” I say again, inching even closer still.
“It feels—”
“Brooklyn!” a booming voice yells.
I quickly shoot off her as she scrambles to her feet. Both of us look at the other in horror before she darts up the hill toward her front door where her father stands. I wonder if he saw us. By the stern look he gives me as I climb up the grass toward him, I have a feeling he did.
“Evening, Drew,” he says, his voice clipped.
It’s not that he doesn’t like me. He does. He’s been like a second father to me, but that’s no excuse for why he just caught me in a compromising position with his only daughter, the apple of his eye, his pride and joy. It doesn’t matter how much he likes me as a person. He’s still the father of a beautiful teenage girl he’ll willingly go to jail for.
“Good evening, Mr. Tanner. I apologize for the intrusion,” I say, using all the manners Aunt Gigi and my father have ingrained in me over the years.
Despite the close relationship I have with this man, he’s always scared me. Being a career firefighter, he gives off the impression of being a no-nonsense kind of guy, not to mention a hard-ass. He’s definitely not someone I’d ever want to upset.
I continue. “I just needed to talk to Brooklyn about something.”
“It’s quite all right.” He looks from me to Brooklyn, then back at me again. I shift my eyes to hers, catching them. She chews on her lower lip, her face flushed. When neither one of us makes a move, he says, “Isn’t your father expecting you for dinner?” I shoot my eyes back to his and he cocks a brow, crossing his arms over his broad chest, making him appear even more intimidating.
“Yes. Of course.” I begin to retreat, this entire situation becoming more awkward. As I walk by Brooklyn, I pass her a sly grin. “‘Night.” I wink.
“Bye, Drew,” she murmurs in a smooth voice.
As I walk away, I can’t stop thinking about her, about how amazing she felt in my arms, her breath intermingling with mine.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter 3
Brooklyn
“Smells good, Dad,” I say, doing my best to steer the conversation away from the topic of Drew and the fact that he interrupted us just seconds before we kissed. I’m still not sure how to feel about it. Did Drew actually want to kiss me? Or was he only doing it to make sure I had the first kiss I always dreamed of? Was I just a charity case to him?
He’s the guy at school. At least he was before he graduated last week. Handsome. Funny. Star hockey player. And hopelessly out of my league. He’s never really paid much attention to me…until earlier today. I have trouble rationalizing the Drew who was seconds away from kissing me with the Drew who can have any girl he wants. Girls who are much more experienced than me. All further proof that I’m probably just a charity project. I absently wonder if that was on the list of approved community service projects for graduation… Kiss the school geek.
I grab two plates from the cabinet and go about setting the kitchen table. It’s riddled with scratches and marker stains from when I was a little girl, but my father refuses to get rid of this piece of furniture. Most of the items in our house are dated, but he just can’t bear to part with any of them. My mother picked out everything, right down to the German figurines they bought in Munich during their honeymoon. I often catch my father standing in front of the display case, staring at the dozens of ceramic pieces. These days, many are worth a small fortune, but he still won’t part with them. They’re my mother’s, and they’ll always be my mother’s, regardless that she’s no longer with us.
The woman who gave birth to me often feels like an enigma, especially with the passing of years. There have been so many occasions I wish I could have a mother-figure to talk to. Lately, I wonder if she had never died, would my dad still be so strict and controlling? I understand why he’s the way he is. The heartache of losing the love of your life never goes away. He says he’s moved on, that he’s no longer affected by her death, but I still occasionally see a pamphlet from a grief counseling session stuffed in his jacket pocket. Because of this loss, he’s petrified of the same thing happening to anyone else, namely me. We’re all each other have. Whenever I get irritated that I’m not allowed to date or wear clothing that shows even a hint of cleavage, like the rest of the girls in my school are, I remind myself that this is his way of keeping me safe.
Once the table is set, I lift my eyes to my father’s, the silence unnerving me. He stares down at me with worry. “Brooklyn, sweetie.” He inhales a breath. I can tell this situation is just as uncomfortable for him as it is for me.
“Dad, it’s okay. Let’s just drop it.”
He walks toward the counter to grab the foil-covered plate, the aroma of grilled steaks emanating from it. I blow out a slow breath, thankful to have dodged this conversation. Then he stops himself, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms in front of his chest.
“Do you like him?”
“Who? Drew?” I respond, as if it’s completely absurd. “Of course not. He’s Molly’s older brother.”
“I know who he is.” Dad’s voice is alarmingly calm. “Which is why I’m concerned.”
“You have nothing to be concerned about. Promise.”
“Are you sure? He’s eighteen, pumpkin,” he reminds me, using his childhood nickname for me. It makes me feel exactly like a five-year-old. I surmise that’s what he intended.
“I know how old he is, Dad.” I grab a few napkins out of the holder and go about folding them just to give myself something to do.
“He’ll be going off to college in two months.”
“Dad…,” I groan.
“There’s a big difference between a boy in college and one in high school. Trust me. I was in his shoes once. This is why I don’t want you dating yet. You’re still too young and can easily be taken advantage of.”
I groan louder, wishing I could summon a fairy godmother to come and whisk me away from this conversation. These aren’t the types of discussions my father typically has with me. Anything of a sensitive nature is usually relegated to Aunt Gigi, but he must realize this isn’t something she should handle.
“Boys like Drew are more…experienced.”
“Dad,” I say once again, rolling my eyes. Regardless of whether he senses my discomfort, it doesn’t sway him. He continues.
“They’ll expect more, perhaps things you’re not ready for just yet, and they may not take no for an answer. You may think you know how to handle yourself, that he’s a friend so there’s nothing to worry about, but I know boys. They’re all the same, friend or not. Their hormones are out of control and they’re thinking about one thing and one thing only.”
“Dad! Enough!” I whirl around, meeting his eyes. “I get it! You don’t like Drew, just like you don’t like any boy. It doesn’t matter. He’s out of my league anyway.” Lowering my voice, I add, “He’d never be interested in someone like me.”
His expression softens as he approaches, wrapping his arms around me. “What makes you think that? If anything, you are out of his league.” He pulls back, his hands gripping my biceps as he looks upon me with all the love and devotion a father can. Perhaps even more, considering he’s made it his mission to make up for the mother’s love I’m missing. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. That’s why I have these rules in place. To protect you.”
I swallow hard, giving him a half-hearted smile. “I know. Drew and me… There’s nothing there.”
I want to believe that’s the case, but I still can’t stop thinking about the surge of electricity that coursed through me as his breath danced with mine, the anticipation of what was to come unhinging me, making me forget about everything for a brief moment. It was…magic.
Chapter 4
Drew
I have troubling fighting back my smile as I walk into my house later that evening. It’s dark, everything silent. After leaving Brooklyn, I was on a high
and in no rush to head home. It’s irrelevant that we didn’t actually kiss. I felt more fulfilled afterward than any other act of intimacy I’ve ever experienced, even sex. It’s crazy to think of Brooklyn this way, but I suppose I’ve always found her to be beautiful. Now I want more than to simply admire her from afar. I want to be hers, and I want the world to know she’s mine. I’d like to see Damian Murphy try to talk to her now.
“Getting in a bit late, aren’t you?” a deep voice says, startling me as I make my way down the hall and toward my bedroom. I pause, peering into the den, a small lamp casting a subtle glow. My father’s sitting in his recliner, a folded newspaper in his hand as he works on his crossword puzzle. At almost sixty, he’s older than most of my friends’ dads, but he doesn’t look it. His hair is still full and dark, despite a few gray ones beginning to sprout up.
“I guess.” I shove my hands into my pockets, rocking on my heels.
“Where have you been?” He arches a brow.
“Out,” I say nonchalantly.
“Anywhere in particular?”
I narrow my gaze. My father isn’t remotely close to being as strict as Brooklyn’s. I don’t think I’ve ever had a curfew, which is why this line of questioning gives me pause. It’s completely out of character for him.
“Not really. Just hanging out with some friends.”
He assesses me for a moment. I’m waiting for him to call me out on my lies. Then he blows out a sigh and places the newspaper on the side table. “Reece Tanner called earlier this evening.”
I try to keep my expression even, not giving anything away. “Is everything okay?”
He opens his mouth, then pauses, formulating his response. “He mentioned you stopped by. That when he went to call Brooklyn in for dinner, it appeared you two were in an…intimate position.”
“I was pushing her on the swing and she leapt off,” I explain, straightening my spine. “She lost her footing and fell down the steep hill in her front yard. I went after her to make sure she was okay, then fell myself. It was nothing.”
“And the fight with Damian?”
I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”
“How you broke his nose because he was talking to Brooklyn.”
“He was doing a lot more than just talking to her, Dad.” My jaw tightens.
“That’s not what Damian claims.”
I open my mouth to argue, then stop. It doesn’t matter. “Brooklyn’s just a friend.”
“The fact you even have to say that makes me think she’s not. Men don’t break someone’s nose over a girl who’s ‘just a friend’.”
“Dad…,” I begin, but don’t know what else to add. I’ve never liked lying to him. Molly does it all the time, but this man has sacrificed so much to help me get where I am. The least I can do is give him the respect he deserves.
He looks up at the ceiling and I see his lips moving, as if mumbling a prayer. While my father isn’t nearly as devout as Aunt Gigi, refusing to attend services except for funerals and weddings, I often catch him praying. In his mind, you can still be close to God without having to go to a building to feel His power. There’s something about that theory that speaks to me, too.
When he returns his gaze to mine, he appears more assured. “When you were born, I was grateful you were a boy. Mostly because I didn’t have to worry about all the stuff that goes along with having a teenage daughter…even though I found out nonetheless. Still, there are some things about raising a son, especially once they hit eighteen, that are difficult.”
I swallow hard, not sure I want to hear what he has to say.
“I’ve been in your shoes. I guess you can say I’ve always had a thing for younger women.”
“Dad.” I look away, feeling a blush building on my face. The last thing anyone wants to talk about with their parents is their sex life.
“Your mother was fifteen years younger than me, after all. When I was your age, I thought I was in love with one of my neighbors, a girl I practically grew up with. I was eighteen. She was only fifteen.”
“It’s not like that with us.”
He gives me a skeptical look, then kicks the footrest of his recliner back down and stands. “Even I can see that’s not true. I may be old, but my eyesight is still as keen as it was when I was in my twenties. I see the way you look at her. It doesn’t matter that she’s a girl you grew up with. Nothing can happen between you. The age of consent in this state is sixteen. You can argue that it’s consensual until you’re blue in the face. That won’t change a thing. In the state’s eyes, she isn’t capable of consenting. As Brooklyn’s father was gracious enough to point out, this state doesn’t have an exception for those close in age.”
“Dad, nothing happened between us. Whatever Mr. Tanner saw was just a misunderstanding. It wasn’t like it looked.”
“I hope that’s the case. I promised him I’d talk to you, make sure you’re aware of the potential ramifications here. You know how he can be. If I were you, I’d consider this a friendly warning. I doubt the next time he calls will be as cordial.”
“Yes, sir.” I do my best to not appear downtrodden.
“You don’t need any distractions right now, Drew,” he reminds me. I meet his eyes. “Focus on your training. And that means getting enough sleep.” He looks to the clock on the wall and I follow his line of sight to see it’s nearly midnight. “We’re leaving for the rink at six tomorrow morning.”
I hang my head. “Yes, sir.” All the excitement has disappeared at the reminder of what’s at stake if I pursue something with Brooklyn. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never felt so happy as when she lay secure beneath me, our lips close. For that brief moment, I felt like I was flying. The talk with my dad forces me to come crashing back down to earth.
Chapter 5
Brooklyn
The next few weeks are much more uneventful than the start of summer vacation. Just as I suspected, no other boys from school even try to hit on me when Molly and I hang out at the beach. I’m unsure whether to find it endearing or annoying. This is my summer vacation. I’m supposed to be having fun. Instead, part of me thinks I’d have more fun if I were to join a convent, particularly with my father’s strict curfew.
As a firefighter, he works twenty-four-hour shifts, then has three days off, so I could easily stay out past my curfew during the times he’s on duty. We have a security system, complete with cameras that record all the comings and goings outside my house, but that’s not what keeps me from breaking his rules. Every morning before he leaves, he kisses my cheek and reminds me not to do anything that would betray his trust. So I don’t.
Instead, I’ve been relegated to being the token single girl during every group outing. I try not to let it get to me. Still, I do get a little jealous whenever I see Molly and Brody kiss, wishing I knew what that felt like. At the start of the summer, I thought this would finally be the year I’d experience my first kiss. Now, I’m beginning to think it’s never going to happen.
I haven’t spoken to Drew since our little incident. I’m not sure if he’s avoiding me because he’s embarrassed we got caught or because he almost kissed me. Even on the rare occasions Molly’s lips aren’t attached to Brody’s and I hang out over at her house, Drew’s either not there or locks himself in his room. It’s almost like, in his eyes, I don’t exist. I wish I could feel the same way about him.
Feeling as if I’ve been labeled a social outcast, I’ve begun picking up extra hours at the movie theater where I got a job once I obtained my work permit. Dad’s rules. If I want to drive when I turn sixteen, I have to pay for my own gas and car insurance. We aren’t so hard off that he can’t help with those things, but he wants to teach me responsibility. Plus, having a job looks good on college applications.
“Pearl Harbor,” Spencer says on a Monday evening in early August as a couple I estimate to be in their early twenties enters and makes their way through the queue toward the ticket counter.
“Nah,” I respon
d, studying them. It’s a game we play during our shifts where we try to guess what movie each person or couple is going to see. It makes the slow nights go by much quicker. “That’s already been out a few months.” I pinch my lips together. “I’m going with America’s Sweethearts.”
“Care to put a wager on it?”
“What did you have in mind?” I waggle my brows, grinning deviously. Spencer’s not bad looking. Actually, I think he’s kind of cute in a nerdy way. He’s thin and brainy, but has this aloofness to him that makes him attractive.
“Loser has to clean winner’s children’s movies for a month.”
I whistle. These are some very high stakes. Everyone who’s ever worked in a movie theater knows the theater after a kid’s movie lets out is akin to the remnants of a massive tornado. The floor will be covered in popcorn, candy stuck to the back of chairs. If you’re lucky, you won’t reach under the seat to find some parent decided to leave a dirty diaper under there instead of tossing it into the trash bin. It’s the least glamorous part of this job, and Spencer knows it.
“Time’s ticking, Brook,” he jests, shifting his eyes to the couple who are now fast approaching us. “Lots at stake here, especially your reputation. Unless it’s all just been a bunch of crap and you’re not as brilliant as we’ve all been led to believe.”
“Fine.” I thrust out my hand and he shakes it with a grin. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I turn from him, smiling at the couple, then mutter under my breath, “Hope you like scraping gum because you’re going to be spending the next month doing just that.”
“We’ll see.” He beams as he faces the couple, my heart pounding in my chest. Spencer could be right. It doesn’t matter that his guess is a movie that’s been out for a while. It’s still in theaters for a reason. “Good evening. How can I help you?”
