Page 149 of The Stud

My mouth immediately flies open to respond yet nothing escapes.

Because the truth is I don’t know what Iwantto say any more than what Ishouldsay?

Sorry, I got you traded?

Sorry, I got myself fired?

Sorry, we’re the laughingstock of the league?

And why doIneed to say sorry?!

Hewas the one who couldn’t resist the porn style photoshoot with me in the next room!

He’sthe one who can’t seem to keep his oh so silky mitts to himself!

Awkward silence easily floats onward, only ceasing when Dad reaches for another fry. “You really punch the camera dude in the face?”

“Right in the fucking gibs,” I gloat and suck a bit of sauce off my finger.

“He lose any?”

“Don’t know.”

“He need a med assist?”

“Don’t care.”

He dips the potato in the dressing while nodding. “And your sister?”

“Iwould’vepunched her in the gibs, but you threatened to take away my inheritance if I beat her again, so I refrained.”

Light chortles precede him politely nodding. “Appreciate it.”

“I mean…you really fucking should.” Abandoning the latest bone for a napkin from the plastic bag occurs between sentences. “She creates the worst shit show in my personal history anddoesn’tget hit in the face. Pretty sure you should nominate me for Sainthood or at the very least a Mark Messier award because it takes true leadership not to smack a broadskie for that level of fuckery.”

More laughter comes from the houseguest between chews. “I don’t think they give those trophies tonon-players.”

“Maybe they should.”

“And maybe you should ask yourself what it is about Audrey thatreallybugs the shit out of you.”

“That’s easy.” I let my back hit the edge of the couch. “Her.”

“What about her?”

“Everything.Anything.”

Dad’s head falls slightly to one side, nonverbally requesting more information.

“I hate that she wears so much goddamn makeup. And that her outfits are always so tiny. And show so much skin. And she always looks so fucking perfect in photos. And so perfect incrowds. And at dinner. And parties…and events…and…” the ugly truth struggles to glide out of me, “like shebelongsin spaces and places I don’t. Like shebelongswith someone like Frosky. Andbehaveslike it. And can play the role I know I can never play. I hate that…sheis what the worldexpectsto see with him. And I hate that she goes out of her way to fucking remind me of that.”

“You know what’s funny?” His fingertips brush together to remove the seasoning from them, an action that summons Bear to lick up the crumbs. “You and your sister are more alike than either of you realize.”

“Ugh,” rolls off my tongue as my head lolls backwards, “don’t say that. I don’t wanna pukeskies.”

“Youthink you’re not pretty enough or flirty enough or mannered enough or manipulative enough to be in places you wanna be whileshethinks she’s not strong enough or smart enough or secure enough or clever enough to be in the places she’s convinced herself she wants to be.” An almost downtrodden headshake leaves him. “Neither of you seem to understand how to appreciate your own strengths without seeing what it is you have convinced yourself you lack. And as your father?Me rompe el corazón.” Dad’s fingers drop to pet the top of Bear’s head. “However, this is not about what breaks my heart or my failures as a parent or even about the increasingly extensive therapy we will be pushing your sister into exploring, but aboutyou.” He continues to stroke my dog’s thick fur while a lump of tears begins to matt itself in my throat. “So what…if the world expects to see something different than what it does? Since when has that ever mattered to you?”

“Since I fell for the one dude who needs me to be someone I’m not,” is choked out just above a whisper.

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