Page 103 of All Bets Are Off

“Zachary.” He nodded in greeting. “You’re looking well.”

“You too.” I waited for him to say something about Olivia but he didn’t comment. “And Olivia looks pretty too, doesn’t she?”

Olivia shot me a quelling look. With her eyes she said “don’t bother.”

I continued to stare expectantly at my father.

“Of course she does,” Dad replied without hesitation. “That goes without saying.”

“It’s still nice to hear.” I kept Olivia firmly anchored at my side. “Mom looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”

“Your mother is always dressed appropriately for the occasion,” was my father’s stilted reply.

Mom looked at him, no love in her gaze, then pointed her smile at us. “I have to check on a few things. You guys should actually play in the tournament. You’ll have fun.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, squeezing Olivia’s hand at the same time. “Keep those smiles exactly where they are. I love seeing them on your faces.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Once she was gone, my father proceeded to sip his drink and stare.

“Are you going to play?” I asked after a full thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence.

“Croquet?” Dad made a snorting sound. “No, I don’t think I am. There’s no skill to the game.”

“I think he’s just afraid,” Olivia supplied out of nowhere.

I stiffened slightly and gave her an odd look. “You think who is afraid?”

“Your dad,” she replied. “There’s no shame in it,” she added for my father’s benefit. “I wouldn’t want to play if I knew I was going to lose either. Have a few cocktails, mingle. You’ll have more fun doing that than losing.”

I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Or maybe I was worried I would cry if my father lost it and startedscreaming at her. Rather than react, I simply watched my father to see what he would do.

“That’s nonsense,” Dad said, forcing a laugh. “Why would I possibly be afraid of losing? This isn’t a game of skill.”

“So you’ve said.” Olivia’s smile never faltered. “It’s fine. We’re going to play, though.” She tugged on my sleeve. “Come on. I want to be purple.”

“You’ve got it.” I took her hand and nodded at my father. “I’m sure we’ll see you before we go.”

I could feel my father’s eyes on me as we started toward the booth where they were handing out mallets and balls.

“Oh, no,” Dad said as he started to follow. “Now I’m going to play. I’m going to show you exactly how little skill is involved.” He passed us to get his mallet and ball, leaving us in the dust.

I slid my eyes to Olivia, who looked smug. “Are you happy? You poked the bear.”

She shrugged. “He bugs me. What can I say?”

“He’s going to be a monster when he loses.”

“Yes, well, that’s what I’m counting on.”

“IT WAS RIGGED!”

Dad was still complaining thirty minutes after Muffy Watson stopped dancing with her trophy. She was seventeen, the daughter of one of his so-called best friends, and thrilled with her mall shopping certificate.

“There’s no way that girl beat me,” Dad hissed as I nudged Olivia toward the cocktail table. If I was going to have to listen to my father lose his shit for the second time in less than a month, I was going to need something to wash away my headache.

“You’re driving,” I said to her in a low voice. “I’m going to drink away my sorrows, and since you’re the one who caused this little scene, you’re the one being punished with no alcohol.”

She looked genuinely apologetic. “How was I supposed to know that a teenager was going to be the one to beat him?” she challenged. “There’s no way I could’ve known that.”

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