Page 4 of Remy

“Do you know who else is probably going to swallow?—”

“Ivy,” Allison and I snap at the same time.

Well, I snap. Allison’s reprimand is mostly smothered by an encouraging chuckle.

“Jesus, woman. You need to get laid.” I wave a hand in Ivy’s direction. “Whatever this is, isn’t healthy.”

She laughs as she walks for the front door. “Are you going to stalk him?”

I shrug, following after her.

“And if so, can I come with?” She waggles her brows.

“Do you really think I’m going to encourage your unhinged fascination with my father?”

“It was worth a try.”

All three of us file out of the two-story building and I lock the door behind us.

We say our goodbyes, my only friends driving from the parking lot while I remain in my idling car, the map on my cell screen haunting me.

Dad stops a few blocks away at a bar I can barely recall noticing, let alone frequenting. I stare at his little dot, my stomach churning.

I don’t care if he’s dating. I’d actually prefer him having someone to ease his loneliness instead of his out-of-business hours being spent alone.

What I don’t appreciate is how he might be hiding it from me out of fear of my reaction.

It doesn’t take a lot of mental debate to justify following him.

I only want to confirm my suspicions. Take a quick peek at the woman in question. That way I can ruminate on the situation over the weekend and come up with a plan to broach the subject.

He needs to know he doesn’t have to keep a relationship from me. That I’ll support him no matter what.

So I trek the same path, drenched in social awkwardness but not feeling an ounce of guilt as I slowly push through the front door of a darkened dive bar, the sound of lively chatter and clinking glasses flooding my ears.

I pause a few feet inside to scan my surroundings, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the room as an eclectic mix of patrons occupy mismatched chairs and booths. It’s not crowded by any means, but to this queen of introversion it’s a slippery slope into a building nightmare.

“Excuse me. Can I get past?” a female murmurs behind me.

“Sorry.” I sidestep, moving out of her way.

“It’s no problem.” The blonde smiles and sashays ahead in a short skirt and long-sleeved blouse that has the bar’s logo emblazoned on the back.

I dawdle after her, my anxiety meter sliding into unwelcome territory as I dart my gaze around.

Two women cackle loudly from a booth to my left. A bunch of barely legal guys crowd a table near the front window. A glass smashes somewhere behind me. A loud curse follows.

I shouldn’t be here. And I can’t see my father anywhere. I do, however, make eye contact with a burly bearded guy with tattooed arms twice the size of my thighs and a lascivious smirk that irks me enough to snap my gaze back down to my phone.

I check the location app again as I walk for the bar. My father’s dot and mine are directly on top of each other. He’s here. Somewhere. I just?—

I smack into a solid surface. A man, judging by the grunt of impact.

“I’m sorry.” I fumble to catch my phone, the stranger’s warm hands quickly cupping mine to grasp the device before it falls.

“Looking for someone?” he asks, his voice deeply delicious.

I keep my head bowed, not wanting to engage, and instead focus on his polished leather shoes. “Forgive me. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

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