Playing It Safe

by Lisa B. Kamps

  But God, she was only thirteen, just barely. The thought of her growing up, the thought of any boy showing interest in her, scared the living hell out of him. And he prayed, every damn night, that her looks were the only thing she inherited from his ex, that she was better able to handle the attention she would receive—might already be receiving—than her mother ever had.

  For Amy, the attention had become an addiction, something she craved, something she needed as much as she needed air to breathe. His ex had constantly been seeking attention, searching for that superficial validation even after they had married. It didn't matter where it came from, as long as she had it.

  He pushed away all thoughts of his ex-wife, banished the sorrow and regret of mistakes made—by both of them. That was in the past, and it was time to let it go.

  That didn't stop the urge he had to lock Brooke in the basement until she got older. Like, say, maybe until she turned forty.

  He gave himself a mental shake, forcing his mind back to the here-and-now, to answering Brooke's question.

  "Yeah, it would matter."

  She made a small snorting sound and rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Right."

  He turned toward her, placed one hand on each of her shoulders, and peered into her eyes. "Yes, it would. If you—either one of you—aren't comfortable with this, let me know."

  "And what? You'll cancel your big date?"

  "Yes, I would." It would kill him. His gut was already twisting into a knot at the idea—but he'd do it. "You girls come first. Always."

  Brooke watched him for a long minute, her gaze so intense, seeing too much for a girl her age, that he almost looked away. Then she rolled her eyes and snorted again, nothing more than a normal teenager once more.

  "That's stupid. I mean, it's not like you haven't already—" Her mouth clamped shut and she darted a quick glance at Isabelle before looking back at him, her eyes not quite meeting his. "Kissed."

  Brooke's observation slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Not so much what she had said—no, it was what she didn't say. And Christ, how could she know? How did she even know about that shit anyway? She was a girl, too young to have any knowledge of kissing, let alone knowledge of…of sex. A sickening thought twisted his gut and he quickly shoved it from his mind.

  No. Oh, no. No fucking way. He wasn't even going there. The idea that his little girl may have already…that she wasn't—oh no. No, no, no. Absolutely not.

  "Daddy, are you going to marry Miss Savannah?"

  Isabelle's innocent question, asked on the heels of Brooke's observation, sent him over the edge. He damn near jumped from the bed, his fingers working the knot of the tie that was suddenly strangling him.

  "No, Sweet Pea. We're not getting married. We're not even going out. I'll call and…and—" Fuck. He needed to cancel the date. He didn't want to, but he had to. And then he was going to barricade himself in the house with the girls until they turned fifty.

  Or until he died, whichever came first.

  The way he felt now, he just might keel over from a heart attack in the next thirty seconds.

  Isabelle and Brooke both started talking at once, their high-pitched voices coming at him from both sides. But it was Brooke's louder voice that cut through the din, demanding attention.

  "Dad! What are you doing? You can't cancel!"

  He paused, the ends of the tie dangling from his hands. "I think I need to."

  "Why?"

  Why? Good question. Too damn bad he couldn't come up with an answer. At least, not one he could give to the two young girls sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him with identical expressions of bewilderment. So he settled on his mother's favorite standby, the explanation she had given for everything when he was growing up.

  "Because."

  Aaron yanked the tie off and moved to the closet, hanging it on the rack with all his other ties. He reached up, undid the top button of his dress shirt, and pulled in a deep breath.

  "That's just stupid."

  "Yeah, Daddy. That's stupid."

  He spun around, frowning at both his daughters. "Okay, no more 'stupid'. I am so tired of hearing that word around this house. Come up with something different."

  Brooke jumped to her feet then promptly stomped one against the floor. "But it is stupid! Why would you even do that?"

  "I don't think it's a good idea."

  "That's just stu—" Brooke's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, her mind obviously searching for another word. "Dumb."

  "You need to go, Daddy. Miss Savannah'll be sad if you don't."

  "I'm not going. Not if you girls aren't okay with it."

  "But we are!"

  If the comment had come from Isabelle, he might have believed it. But coming from Brooke? No. He couldn't. "Brooke, how am I supposed to believe that when I know you don't even like her?"

  "I never said I didn't like her."

  "Brooke. Really?"

  She lowered her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "She's okay. I guess."

  Aaron wanted to believe her, he really did. But he knew better. He shrugged out of the suit jacket and placed it on a hanger, then undid the buttons of the shirt sleeves. "Why don't you two run downstairs and help Grammy out? I'll be down in a few minutes. After I change."

  And call Savannah to cancel their date. And Christ, he hadn't expected the wave of disappointment that crashed over him. Hadn't expected to feel so hollow and empty.

  He felt a hand tug on his arm, looked down to see Brooke standing next to him, her eyes big and round and filled with tears. "Daddy, I'm sorry. Don't cancel. Please? I'll be nicer to Miss Savannah. I promise."

  "Brooke—" He had to stop and clear his throat because, fuck, the sight of his daughter staring up at him, looking like she was the one to blame for his decision, slayed him. "Brooke, this isn't your fault. Okay? It's just—this whole dating thing. I'm not ready. I'm too old. I'm not—"

  He stopped before he said too much, remembering that this was his daughter he was talking to. His thirteen-year-old daughter. "It'll be fine, okay?"

  "No, it's not okay. I want you to go. We both do." She turned to Isabelle. "Tell him, Isabelle."

  "Brookie's right, Daddy. We want you to go."

  His head started to spin, trying to make sense of the sudden change of heart. Not from Isabelle—although he wondered if he needed to worry about that comment she had made about getting married. But Brooke…this wasn't like her, especially when he knew she wasn't overly fond of Savannah. He hadn't pushed the issue, hadn't asked why, had just chalked it up to one of those things.

  Maybe he should have pursued it before now.

  "Why, Brooke? Why is it suddenly so important to you?"

  "Because—" She looked away, chewed on her lower lip for a few seconds, then heaved another long sigh as the words left her in a rush. "Because you like her and I guess she's really not that stupid and you smile a lot more when she's around so that makes it okay."

  And damn if Aaron's throat didn't fucking close up. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a ragged breath. Then he pulled Brooke in for a hug, felt her stiffen for a brief second before she relaxed and wrapped her arms around his waist. He looked over, crooked his finger at Isabelle, then grunted when she crashed into them, joining in the hug with a laugh.

  Brooke was the first one to pull away. "So you're going to go?"

  "Yeah, I'll go." He redid the buttons on his sleeves then reached into the closet for the suit jacket.

  "Dad, no. You can't wear that."

  "Why can't I wear it? It's a suit. There's nothing wrong with it."

  "Because that's what you wear to work!"

  He blinked against the surprise he felt at Brooke's comment. Yeah, sure. He wore a suit to and from the games, that was their dress code. But it's not what he wore for work.

  He really needed to start bringing the girls to more games.

  "There's nothing wrong with a suit—"

  "Bu
t Dad, that's all she's ever seen you in. That and sweatpants or gym shorts or those stupid cargo shorts you always wore during the summer."

  "What's wrong with cargo shorts?" The question popped out before Brooke's comment completely sunk in. Before the truth of the words sunk in. And shit, she was right. Sweatpants. Gym shorts. Cargo shorts. That's all he wore around Savannah because he was always home when he saw Savannah, and he dressed for comfort when he was home. Didn't everyone?

  He stared at the suit jacket dangling from his hand, then looked at his two daughters. "Then what am I supposed to wear if you don't want me wearing this?"

  Brooke and Isabelle exchanged a look. Identical grins spread across their faces, filling him with a dread he didn't quite understand. Then the girls shoved him out of the way and started digging through his closet, tossing clothes over their shoulders in search of a daughter-approved outfit for his first date in forever.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Savannah laughed when Aaron finished the story. He had felt like an ass at first, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have even started telling it. It was embarrassing, admitting that his daughters had dressed him for the evening. But they had just been seated at their table when she looked over and complimented him, telling him she'd never seen him in anything but sweatpants or his suits.

  Yeah, definitely embarrassing. He'd have to pay closer attention when he got dressed each day, instead of just reaching for the closest pair of sweatpants when he rolled out of bed.

  He pulled the wine bottle from the small bucket perched on the edge of the table and refilled her glass before topping his off his own. "Just don't tell them I told you. I'll never live it down."

  "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." Savannah sipped the wine then reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Candlelight reflected off the diamonds in her lobes, shooting rainbow fire back at him. She looked poised. Relaxed. Beautiful. The knit sweater draped her body, the scooped neckline showing him just a hint of creamy cleavage. Black jeans hugged her body, down to where they disappeared into the top of the knee-high leather boots she wore. The denim clung to her, molding to her curves, something he had noticed—and appreciated—as they made their way to their table.

  And he really needed to stop thinking about getting her out of her clothes. Their date had just started, with a casual dinner at this small Italian restaurant. They still had hours ahead of them—he hoped. Dinner. A movie. Drinks afterward. And then, maybe, when he took her home—

  He had to stop thinking about later. That's not why he asked her out tonight. Not even close.

  Savannah grabbed a breadstick from the small wicker basket and broke it in half. "It sounds like things are getting better with Brooke."

  "Yeah. I think. I mean, it's been over a month since she told me she hates me so…" He shrugged, letting the words trail off.

  "A whole month, huh? Progress." A small smile teased her mouth as she nibbled on the breadstick.

  "I worry about her, you know? About both of them, but especially about Brooke."

  "You're their father. You're supposed to worry about them."

  "It's more than just that. I worry about her growing up too fast, you know? She's been through so much. And I think she had a harder time adjusting to everything than Isabelle. Brooke—" Aaron paused. What the hell was he doing? He was on a date. With Savannah. There were a hundred other things he could be talking about. "Sorry. You don't want to hear me talking about the girls."

  "Why not?"

  "Because. I mean, we're on a date. We should be talking about something else. It's just…" His voice trailed off. He ran his finger up and down the handle of the knife resting in front of him, then started flipping it over. Front-to-back, front-to-back. He realized what he was doing and quickly dropped his hand to his lap.

  "Sorry."

  Savannah leaned forward and grabbed his other hand, her fingers threading with his. "You keep saying that. Why?"

  "Why am I saying it? Or why am I sorry?"

  "I don't know. Both."

  "Well, I'm saying it because I am. And I'm sorry because I have no idea what to say. This…it's been so long since I've been on a…an actual date. I'm not sure how to act. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be sitting here, talking about my girls, though."

  Savannah squeezed his hand then sat back. Did his admission surprise her? If it did, she didn't let on. And she either didn't see the heat filling his face, or she chose to ignore it. "Aaron, this isn't exactly a first date. I mean, we're not strangers. We've known each other for a year now. And we've already—"

  She stopped, her gaze darting away from his. His face wasn't the only one sporting a small blush.

  "I guess, uh, guess we started things out of order, huh?"

  "Yeah, I guess we did." She laughed, the sound light and musical, and sipped some of her wine. "What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't worry about talking about the girls. They're your daughters. I expect you to talk about them. I'm just glad things seem to be getting better between you and Brooke."

  "Yeah. Me, too."

  "Is she, um, is she okay with this? With us going out tonight, I mean."

  "She says she is. I think she knows that we—" He cleared his throat and looked away. "You know."

  "Oh, God. No." Savannah groaned then lowered her head, covering her face with both hands. And shit, why the hell had he said anything? He leaned forward, nearly knocking her wine glass over as he reached for her hand.

  "I didn't mean—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

  Savannah finally looked up, a blush glowing on her face. "She actually said that?"

  "Not exactly, no. But the message was pretty clear."

  Savannah shifted in the chair, sighed, then reached for the wine glass and took a small sip. "Brooke said something similar to me. I, uh, I thought she was just making a wild guess. I guess not."

  "She what? When?"

  "That day we went to DC."

  Aaron opened his mouth, snapped it closed again. A few seconds went by before he could finally speak. "How? How would she…that scares the hell out of me. She's thirteen. How the hell does she know about any of that stuff?"

  Savannah's brows arched above eyes sparkling with amusement. "Because she's thirteen. She's in school. Sex ed. Plus I'm sure all the kids talk."

  Reality sucker-punched him, kicking the bottom from his stomach. He opened his mouth—to shout a denial, to bellow his disbelief—but the only sound that came out was a wheeze. He grabbed his wine glass and downed the contents, nearly choking when he swallowed.

  "Christ. She's only thirteen. She's not supposed to—" He looked over at Savannah, not hiding the real fear on his face. "You don't think she—I mean, would she…" Christ, he couldn't even think the words, let alone get them out.

  "Are you asking if I think she's sexually active?"

  "Shit. Shit!" He hissed the words, glancing around in a panic to see if anyone had heard Savannah. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them. "Don't even say that!"

  Why did he get the impression she was biting back a smile? The impression grew when she raised the wine glass, using it to hide her mouth. "If it makes you feel better, no. I don't think she's sexually—"

  "Yeah. Okay, got it. No need to say it out loud again. Christ."

  "Poor Aaron." She laughed again. "What are you going to do when they start dating?"

  "They?"

  "Yes, they. You have two daughters, remember?"

  "Oh hell no. Isabelle is just a baby. Not happening. They're not dating. Neither one of them. I'll kill any boy that even thinks about asking them out."

  Savannah smiled again and he wondered if he was overreacting. No wondering about it—he was. But shit, how could he not? These were his daughters they were talking about. And he wasn't so old that he couldn't remember how he had been, a lifetime ago, back when he was a teenager. Hockey had been a top priority when he was growing up, but that had certainly never stopped him. I
n fact, playing hockey had only helped with the girls.

  He reached for the glass, frowned when he discovered it empty, then sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I guess I'm going overboard, huh?"

  "You're a dad. It's expected."

  "Was your dad the same way?"

  Savannah shrugged but she wouldn't meet his gaze, and he kicked himself in the ass for even bringing it up. "In his own way, I guess. When he thought about actually paying attention."

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything—"

  "Don't worry about it. Things are better with them—both of them—now that I'm older. I understand a little more now. I mean, they both loved me in their own way—they still do." She offered him a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes then looked away. She pulled the wine glass closer to her, running her fingers up and down the stem. "But when I was growing up, they were both so busy, I kind of felt like an afterthought."

  He reached for her hand, curled his fingers around hers and squeezed. "You could never be an afterthought, Savannah. Not even close. And especially not to me."

  Her gaze shot to his, her eyes widening in surprise. At his words? At the huskiness in his voice? Or was she surprised at the expression he knew was glowing in his own eyes as his gaze held hers? He didn't know, and he didn't care. He meant the words, every single one them—spoken and unspoken.

  Her tongue darted out, swept across her lower lip. She opened her mouth, ready to say something, only to be interrupted when the waiter approached with their salads.

  Talk about absolute shitty timing.

  And when he finally left, the spell had been broken, whatever words Savannah had been ready to say gone forever. Instead, she offered him a small smile filled with humor he didn't quite understand and shook her head.

  "And to think you were nervous about not knowing what to say."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The noise surrounding them was growing louder as more and more people made their way into the arena, filling seats that had been empty ten minutes ago. Savannah's gaze swept the area around her, taking everything in as she sipped fountain soda from a straw. This was her second hockey game, ever, and so completely different from her first that she wasn't sure what to make of it.