Page 3 of Kissed and Missed

After all, I have no business throwing a fit over their relationship. Not when the man I’ve been thinking about for the better part of two months is probably an even more inappropriate romantic prospect than Dad was for Sophie.

I sink lower in my seat as scenery blurs by outside the window, listening to the music playing quietly on the radio. From her spot in the passenger seat, Sophie is gazing at my father, her lips curved into an adoring smile. Meanwhile, the man who raised me keeps reaching over to lay his hand on my best friend’s upper thigh, neglecting to consider his window’s reflective surface, which is giving me a clear visual.

Lovely.

The feeling of my phone vibrating in my purse is a welcome distraction, and I dive for it. Butterflies erupt in my belly when Isee who it’s from, a helpful reminder of why I can’t throw myself out of the car without being the world’s biggest hypocrite.

Julian: Did you end up going to NYC?

It would probably be less suspicious if I didn’t reply in about ten seconds, but I’m so far past playing it cool with this man. Every time we talk, which is often, I get a little more invested. Even if I know—in the back of my dumb, infatuated brain—this is headed for trouble, I can’t seem to help myself.

Honor: We’re on our way there now. Any chance you can hack my father’s navigation system to take us home instead?

His reply comes immediately, as if he was staring at his screen, waiting for mine.

That bad?

They’re fine. It’s me.

Me, a notorious serial monogamist and romantic, who is feeling painfully lonely and single in the run-up to the most romantic holiday of the year. Everywhere I look there seem to be hearts, advertisements for flower deliveries, and couples holding hands. There are two wedding invitations and four more save-the-date cards stuck to Sophie’s and my fridge, so I can’t even get the milk for my coffee without a reminder I’m alone.

Maybe alone wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t gone to California over Christmas with the intention of reconnecting with my long-distance girlfriend and meeting her family, only to come home single and pining for her father.

Oops.

“Would you rather be hunted by a pack of wolverines or stuck in quicksand?”

I blink, looking up to find my best friend beaming at me over her shoulder. Discreetly, my father’s hand slips from her lap back onto the wheel. My answering smile is stiff. “Um. The wolverines I guess?”

“You see?” Dad laughs as Sophie waves him off, scoffing.

“But hear me out—” she begins, still smiling.

I return to my brooding, wishing I could pretend I was even a little interested in my friend’s impassioned argument over why getting stuck in quicksand would be preferable to trying to escape a pack of hungry wolverines.

Sophie has been my best friend since we were eighteen years old, thanks to a random selection at our university’s housing office. We lived together, studied together, ate together, and went off into the big, scary, real world side by side. She’s my ride or die. I love her.

Which makes it so much harder to admit that I’m also a not-so-tiny bit jealous of her now. Only a few months ago, I was in a serious relationship while she pined away for a much older man she thought she could never have. Now, the tables have turned spectacularly, and I doubt my story will turn out as happily as Sophie’s did. After all, the list of problems that may prevent me from ever having a chance with Julian Ballard isn’t short.

Problem #1: We live on opposite ends of the country.

Problem #2: He is a literal billionaire.

Problem #3: He’s twice my age.

Problem #4: I used to date his daughter.

Any one of those could be a dealbreaker. Spending three days with him over Christmas, stranded in California while fresh off a breakup with his cheating daughter, shouldn’t have donethisto me.

Maybe I would be over whatever connection there was between us if I’d made a clean break. That isn’t what happened, though.

The embarrassing truth is I missed him from the moment I got out of his car and walked into the airport. When I got that first text a few days later, it was like I could breathe for the first time since leaving California.

Which is a really, really shitty way to feel about your ex-girlfriend’s father.

When I stared down at that first polite inquiry as to whether I’d made it home alright, I knew I shouldn’t respond. I knew exactly what would happen if I kept that door open, and it wasn’t pretty. If I felt so much for the man after only a few days together, what would happen if we kept communicating? I couldn’t bring myself to just walk away, though.

A tiny, self-destructive part of me, the part dissatisfied with my quiet, ordinary life, wanted to feel every single thing Julian Ballard could give me. Even if that included heartbreak.

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