Quarantined with the Billionaire

by Jade C. Jamison

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  Turn the page for a short excerpt from MY BOYFRIEND’S DAD…

  Excerpt from MY BOYFRIEND’S DAD

  SOME PEOPLE IN my small town might wonder how I made it to my eighteenth birthday. But I did. I made it to adulthood…in spite of my mother.

  Some people might also find it strange that she wasn’t around to help me celebrate—but I was used to her absence now more than not.

  Don’t worry. I was celebrating, just not with her. Instead, my boyfriend Brendan invited me over to his house for a gourmet meal followed by cake and ice cream. While his dad slaved away in the kitchen, I sat on Brendan’s bed—next to the giant suitcase he was filling with clothes.

  His room was typical—twin bed, night stand with lamp, oak dresser, desk with his computer, athletic trophies on a couple of shelves—but Brendan had to be one of the neatest guys I knew. I loved spending time in there. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Bren,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and looking up at him.

  Brendan shook his head, causing his blond hair to fall in his eyes. It was strange. Brendan had always had super short hair but he’d been growing it out over the summer. The one time I told him it looked sexy, he rolled his eyes. “It’s just for two weeks, Bree. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

  “That’s what you think,” I said, standing. As Brendan folded another t-shirt and placed it neatly into the suitcase, I wound my arms around his neck, looking up at him and forcing him to return my gaze. “You’ll have lots to do. The only thing that’ll keep me occupied is my babysitting jobs.”

  “Shoulda taken that job at Bob’s.”

  Bob’s meant Bob’s Burger Barn. Logically, I knew Brendan was right, but the last thing I wanted to do was work full-time over the summer for a local fast food restaurant, especially one whose décor resembled the inside of a farm building. Even though I could drive, I didn’t have a car, so I also didn’t care for the idea of sweating in a kitchen all day and then walking home in the harsh afternoon heat of summer—or, worse yet, in the evening when it was cooler but I was more vulnerable. Nope. Babysitting was better because the families gave me rides both to and from my home, and the pay wasn’t bad.

  Yeah, I should have been saving for my future—and working a full-time job would have helped—but Brendan was my future. I saw myself with him forever, including the white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. And if we had each other, I wouldn’t need to worry about amassing a work history full of burger joints and scraping pennies from those dumb jobs.

  I kissed Brendan hard on the lips and he responded, placing his hands on my hips and sliding his tongue into my mouth. It had taken us the entire two years we’d been together, but he was officially a great kisser. Still, I wanted more.

  I started snaking my hands down the front of his shirt and then, when I reached the bottom, I slid them up underneath. I loved feeling his musculature, because he was into weight training. Physically, he blew away all the other boys in our class. My sweet boyfriend cared more about his appearance than most of the guys I knew, and that included his physique. Lucky me.

  My fingers relished the sensation of touching his tight, hard abs, and I started feeling tingly all over. For a while now, I’d been dying to have Brendan touch me the same way. At first, I’d thought it was because he was trying to be a gentleman.

  As my fingers neared his pecs, he said, “Bree—” putting an end to our kiss.

  I got ready to protest like I had many times before when we heard his dad at the bottom of the stairs. “Kids, dinner’s ready!”

  Brendan raised an eyebrow at me, his brown eyes telling me in no uncertain terms that we were done with our little make out session. I sighed as he took my hand to lead me down to the dining room. Clever move, because then I couldn’t even smack his butt. Maybe he’d sensed my intentions.

  I tried to be happy as we walked down the stairs. After all, preparing a meal for my birthday was supposed to make me feel loved and wanted, but, I supposed, I was suffering from sexual tension—and there was no relief in sight.

  As we made our way into the dining room, I said, “Mr. Brown, dinner smells amazing!”

  He turned, smiling. I’d never met Brendan’s mom, but I imagined my boyfriend had inherited most of his obvious traits from her—other than his height, because he was almost as tall as his dad. Otherwise, they looked a lot different. Mr. Brown had dark brown hair and vibrant blue eyes. Oh, he seemed to be in great shape, too, but putting these two men together, I wouldn’t have guessed that they were father and son. Brendan had the cutest dimples. “Now that you’re eighteen, Briana, you’ll have to call me Logan.”

  Logan. I’d known that was his dad’s name, but it felt strange to my tongue. Every adult in my life, other than my mom, was known as Mr., Mrs., or Ms. Something. I wasn’t quite ready to call him by his first name because it felt unusual. For now, though, I could humor him. “Okay, Logan.” Yep. Weird.

  His smile had always felt so warm and genuine, and the first time Brendan had brought me home to meet his dad, I’d felt welcome there—sometimes more than I did my own home. I smiled back and watched as he placed large pieces of chicken on a platter from a baking dish.

  I loved eating at their house. It was better than the usual fare at my home or at the school cafeteria. Mr. Brown—er, Logan—walked the platter over to the table in the dining room area which was separated from the kitchen by an imaginary line between the two rooms. Their home felt elegant to me—spacious, full of windows, with fine furnishings and nice things. I appreciated the break from my cramped, dark house.

  “I wanted to make something special, Briana. Have you ever had Chicken Kiev?”

  “No. It looks good.”

  “It’s awesome,” Brendan said. “How come you never make stuff like that for me, dad?”

  His dad had an amused look on his face as he shook his head. “What did I make you for your birthday last year?”

  Brendan thought about it for a few seconds. “Lasagna.”

  “And why did I do that?”

  The look on my boyfriend’s face said it all. “Because that’s what I asked for.”

  “Briana didn’t ask for anything. We invited her over, so I tried to think of something she might like.”

  As I looked over all the food on the table—the chicken, fluffy mashed potatoes with brown gravy, bright green beans, and a tossed salad—I felt spoiled, something I rarely had throughout my life. My mother had never made me a meal like this. There was one time when I was four or five when she made cookies for me to take to a school Christmas party, but that was it. “Thank you so much. Everything looks amazing.” I wasn’t kidding. I’d had dinner with them many times in the past but nothing as elaborate as this. I already knew Brendan’s dad was a great cook, and the smells wafting from the table made my stomach growl.

  “Well, have a seat.” Logan filled up a plate and then set it in front of me before loading up another plate for his son. Soon, all three of us were enjoying the meal.

  I wanted to try the chicken first. After cutting off a small piece, I popped it in my mouth and let the savory flavors immerse my taste buds in ecstasy. “Wow.” I didn’t say anything else, instead scooping up some mashed potatoes and gravy onto my fork.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I love it.”

  “Yeah, it’s really
good, dad.”

  As I enjoyed the flavor explosion in my mouth, Logan asked Brendan, “Are you all set to leave tomorrow?”

  “I think so. I just have to pack my toothbrush and stuff like that tomorrow.”

  “Feeling okay about your last year of football?”

  “Yeah. I’m excited.”

  “What about you, Briana? Are you ready for your last year of school?”

  I was. I was ready to be a full-fledged adult, but I knew that it all started with graduation. If I left home now, just because I could, I would be at a disadvantage. Just one more year. I could make it. “Yes. I’m looking forward to my new classes.”

  Brendan said, “Dad, you’re giving me cash for camp, right?”

  “Yes. And you have your card?”

  Father and son continued to talk while I enjoyed the food, and we all chatted throughout the meal. Afterwards, I helped with clean up, but we weren’t done yet. “I hope you have a little room for cake and ice cream,” Logan said.

  “Chocolate. Your favorite.” Brendan beamed at me and wrapped an arm around my waist.

  I grinned. “There’s always room for chocolate.”

  Brendan’s father had gone all out. It was a round two-layer cake with chocolate frosting. While Brendan and I had been talking, he’d unwrapped two candles—a 1 and an 8—and placed them on top.

  They—or, Brendan’s dad, rather—had really outdone this celebration. It made me feel special—and loved. “Oh, thank you!”

  A warm smile covered Logan’s face. “I didn’t want to risk you not being able to blow out all your candles and two are easier than eighteen. I want your wish to come true.”

  If only those blown-candle wishes would come true. I’d take the wishing part more seriously if they did. Instead, I knew it was just a silly tradition. Still, both of them were staring at me, waiting for me to indicate that I was ready. I raised my eyebrows while Logan struck a kitchen match. As the scent of sulfur flooded my nose, I thought about it. If wishes really did come true, what would I ask for?

  Love. Security. Happiness. Feeling fulfilled.

  With those basic thoughts in mind, I sucked in a long, deep breath, down to the bottom of my lungs, and then blew out those candles.

  “You seemed so serious,” Brendan said. “I almost want to ask what you wished for.”

  The picket fence. The two beautiful children. A husband who loved and adored me. Oh, and a terrier. But mum was the word.

  We ate the ice cream and cake and, when we were done, I asked Brendan’s father, “Did you make the cake, too?”

  “I did.”

  I thought some of telling my boyfriend how lucky he was to have a parent who spoiled him so much, but Logan was spoiling me today. And I was having too much fun to go and ruin it by mentioning something like that.

  Just as I thought things couldn’t get any better, Brendan slid a card across the table toward me. “Open it.”

  I smiled. This felt serious. So I did. The pink envelope tore easily. Inside was a glittery card with sweet sentiments, but what meant the most was how Brendan had written at the bottom, Love you. Your Bren. And there was a gift card to my favorite clothing store downtown. It was a local shop and I always liked to browse, but I’d never been able to buy more there than a pair of earrings. Brendan knew that—and the gift card for one hundred dollars floored me.

  “Brendan, you didn’t need to do that.”

  “It’s from me and dad.”

  “Thank you so much, but—”

  “Don’t you dare say we shouldn’t have, Briana. You only turn eighteen once. Enjoy.”

  After we finished eating cake and loaded the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher, I said to Brendan, “I should probably head home so you can finish packing.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “Thank you so much for dinner and the cake, Mr. B—I mean, Logan.”

  “You’re very welcome, Briana. It was my pleasure.” We exchanged a smile as Brendan walked me to the front of the house.

  Once again, I gave him a long sweet kiss and, in the middle of it, I thought maybe I should have wished for Brendan to feel ready to have sex with me. Instead, I’d wasted my wish on a dream that would no doubt happen but was too far away to appreciate.

  “I’m gonna walk you home, Bree. It’s dark out now.”

  “I’ll be fine, Brendan.” I only lived two blocks away and, while I hated the idea of walking from downtown to home, walking through my neighborhood didn’t bother me in the least. After all, I’d been doing it my whole life.

  “Nah. Let me just tell dad.” As he started to turn, though, Logan appeared behind him as if on cue.

  “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday again, Briana. We’re honored that you spent it with us.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it anywhere else.”

  And then, the weirdest, most unexpected thing happened. Mr. Brown—Logan, that is—pulled me into an embrace, hugging me close. That in and of itself wasn’t so strange, but he seemed to hold me for a long time as his hands were smoothing my back.

  When he finally let go, I glanced at Brendan. He didn’t give me or his dad any kind of odd look, so it must have just been in my imagination. When we said our final goodbyes, though, Logan gave me a quick wink, too.

  I tried to tell myself it was all in my head…but something told me it wasn’t.

  What happens between Briana and Logan? Find out in My Boyfriend’s Dad!