Page 8 of Hooking Her Up

“Dad,” Kayla hisses, turning to me. “Thanks for getting it fixed so fast. And thanks for coming out in the storm for me.” She didn’t get her polished manners from her dad, that’s for sure.

“That’s his job,” Gavin grunts.

As he’s signing the invoice and handing over his card, I make faces at Kayla over her father’s head. She bursts out laughing and slaps her hand over her mouth.

“Did you hear that the carnival is coming to town?” I ask her.

Her eyes look hopeful and I reach for the stack of fliers a worker dropped off for me to hand out to customers. I circle the opening night date and write ‘you and me’ before handing it to her. She beams at me.

“You’ll be working late most evenings,” her father says. “No time for something like that.”

“It’s open late,” I say to stop Kayla’s frown. “I’m sure you can—”

Gavin shoots his hand up to silence me when his phone rings. He answers it, heading out the door. “See you back in the office, Kayla,” he says, slamming out the door.

Her cheeks are burning as she watches him go.

“Some people let phones control their lives these days,” I say, trying to make her feel better. “And some people can’t seem to return a message to save their lives,” I needle.

Her face relaxes but stays bright red. “I seem to have gotten a job for the summer,” she says, trying to smile. “Internship at my dad’s firm. Yay, investments.”

I lead her out to her car, but keep the keys in my hand. I’m not letting her go. “Try to sound more miserable,” I say. “I bet you can’t.”

She smiles grimly. “That’s a bet you’d lose.”

“Well, then. I’ll have to show you the fine art of ditching. Come with me.” Heading into my office I pull two cans of soda out of the fridge. I open the back door leading to my front yard where I have deck chairs. “Have a seat.”

“Did you actually skip school a lot?” she asks, settling in and sipping her drink.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I didn’t have any fun. It was always to get my dad to an appointment.”

“So let’s both ditch right now,” she says, glancing at her phone. “For twenty minutes.”

“Come on, are you even getting paid? An hour,” I counter.

“I’m getting paid with experience.” Her shoulders slump.

“Fuck that.”

Her laugh is music to my ears and the glum look disappears. “I like the way you think.”

“So when are you going out with me?” Instead of sitting next to her, I plant my hands on the arms of her chair and lean over, challenging her to deny me.

Her eyes meet mine. “I really thought I’d get to have a little fun this summer.”

‘You’re going to have a lot of fun,” I promise.

Her phone buzzes but she doesn’t look away, moving closer to me, the heat between us increasing as her mouth is only a few inches away. More buzzing. Flustered, she looks down and answers.

“I just stopped for a soda,” she says.

Christ. How controlling is her father that he has her on a timer?

She ducks under my arm and apologizes. “I wish I could stay.”

“Then stay.”

With a sad smile, she heads back to her car. Leaning against the door, she holds out her hand for the keys.

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