Page 13 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

I keep my eyes on the eggs and don’t answer right away. The question hangs in the air, heavier than the smell of breakfast cooking. I flip the eggs, buying myself a moment to think. "Nothing much," I reply, keeping my tone nonchalant. The memory of Allie, of our night together, feels too personal to share, even with Caleb.

He studies me for a moment, clearly not buying it, but decides not to push. "All right, keep your secrets, old man," he teases, moving to grab a plate.

As we settle down to eat, the conversation shifts to safer topics—Caleb's upcoming finals, the latest news in the culinary world, anything but being left in the lurch by a woman in my own house.

I’ll forget her in no time, I think, even as part of me knows it isn’t true.

Chapter 8

Allie

Hopping on the train that morning, my head swirling with thoughts of last night. The memories have me grinning like an idiot at my reflection in the window. But then, the grin fades a bit as I wonder—did I bail too soon?

It's classic me: making decisions on the fly and worrying about them after the fact. It's not like I can do much about it now.

Stepping off the train onto my block, everything looks more worn out than usual. I feel like Cinderella the day after the ball.Patrick's place feels like a world away from the graffiti-tagged bricks and the smell of last night’s takeout in the air.

I make my way to my apartment, and the second I open the door and step in, I see Stacy at the kitchen table. Her eyes light up like I just walked in carrying a birthday with candles.

She practically vaults from her seat, quivering with anticipation. "So? Spill! I want details, Al. I've been dying here!"

I hang up my bag by the door, debating how much to tell her. "Well, for starters, his place is straight out of a magazine, a brownstone in Park Slope."

Stacy’s mouth is open, and she’s hanging on every word. I can't help but laugh at her expression.“Go on …” she says.

"And Patrick is … something else. He’s like if Mr. Darcy and James Bond had a love child. I had an incredible time.”

"But then, why are you home so early?"

I flop down in the chair across from her, shrugging. "I don't know. I just felt like the night had reached its natural end."

Stacy looks at me like I have two heads. "So, wait, he didn’t ask you to go? You just left?"

I wince. "When you put it like that, it sounds … bad."

She rolls her eyes. "Only you, Al. Only you could have a fairy-tale night and turn it into a difficulty."

I lean back and think about last night. Despite the teasing, a part of me can't shake the feeling that maybe she’s right.

“So, how steamy did it get?" she asks, clearly dying to hear the salacious details.

But I'm not biting. Some things feel too personal, too intimate to share, even with my bestie. "Let's just say it was memorable," I answer, sounding purposely vague.

"You're no fun," Stacy huffs. But then, seeing she's not going to get the dirt she's craving, she changes tactics. "Fine, be that way. But what about that selfie I sent you? Bet you're dying to know who the mysterious couple in the background was."

I nod, eager to shift the focus away from my own tale. "Yeah, who were they? Your babysitters for the night?"

Stacy bursts into laughter. "Something like that. That was the guy who bid on you, believe it or not. He and his wife ended up taking me to the aquarium. They're like the sweetest grandparents ever. They just wanted to contribute to the cause."

I can't help but smile at the thought—my wild night compared to her evening with doting grandparents at the aquarium. "That sounds adorable, actually."

"Yeah, it was." Stacy's grin fades slightly as she leans forward, her tone turning protective. "But back to you and Patrick. I need to know more. "

I shake my head, not willing to share more. "He was a perfect gentleman. And, for the record, it was the best sex I've ever had." I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks at the admission, but it's the truth.

Stacy raises an eyebrow. "And yet, you left?"

"There was something about him," I say, struggling to articulate the mix of emotions I was feeling. "Something that made me nervous."

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