Page 57 of Swiped By My Dad's Best Friend
“I can see that,” he murmured as I passed him, making me hyperaware of my faded jeans, T-shirt, and thick flannel jacket. I dressed for my job, not to impress. My knowledge and skill set had always worked for me before. But now—up against a savvy businessman masquerading as a landscape technician—I wasn’t so sure my longtime reputation would be enough.
I rapped on the door, and it opened. A pretty, middle-aged woman winced when she saw me. That wasn’t good.
“Oh, Mr. Laurie, I meant to call you,” she said. “My daughter’s husband had nothing but good things to say, but I’m afraid we’ve just contracted with Legacy.”
I clenched my jaw, glancing over my shoulder at my competition, who gave an irreverent wave as he climbed into his monstrous pickup and started the engine.
Turning back, I attempted to smile. “Perhaps I could at least present my proposal? You can choose your favorite—”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “We signed paperwork. His presentation was just so impressive. They’ve done some beautiful work at similar estates. And this place needs all the help it can get.”
“I understand.”
She closed the door, relief flitting across her features before she shut me out.
Turning on my heel, I stomped back toward my truck. What was I going to do? I couldn’t start wearing fucking suits and driving a billboard of a truck. Could I?
I started up my plain, unflashy work pickup and bypassed the turn-off to the office even though it was only three in the afternoon. I couldn’t face the crew after that failure. Instead, I turned toward home. The beer in my refrigerator was calling to me. So was the urge to talk to Cooper.
He was my new addiction—a much stronger compulsion than Budweiser, for damned sure. Better for me too, I hoped. It’d only been two days since I’d left him at Hayworth, and I was desperate to get back there and see him again. But Skype would have to do. Like a lite beer, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but it was better than going without a fix at all.
Assuming he had time for me.
Cooper had been working harder than ever since I’d supported him in his efforts to get on the right path.
* * *
COOPER
My Micro Economics professor walked down the aisles, placing tests on desks. “I had hoped for better results,” he said, “given the weight this test has on your grade.”
He took a step forward, placing a test on a desk ahead of me. “It seems only some of you heeded my words.”
His eyes met mine for a moment, and my heart lurched in fear. Was that message for me? And if so, was he implying I’d listened, or that I hadn’t? Oh fuck. What if I blew this test even with all the studying I did? There’d been a lot of material I’d missed, and my brain could only absorb so much information in four days.
“Cooper,” he murmured as he reached me, searching through the stack. “Ah, here we are.” He placed the test on my desk. He looked down at me, but I couldn’t read his expression as he said, “Make sure you study for our final too.”
Mouth dry, I nodded quickly, too nervous to look at my test result. I reached out and flipped the test upside down on my desk while Professor Young moved on, delivering more cryptic remarks.
I tried to refocus my attention on the lecture as class moved on, but that damn test kept beckoning my gaze until I finally shoved it deep in my backpack. I could look at it later. I wasn’t ready to see it if all the hard work I had put in—not to mention the effort Trace had gone to for me—hadn’t paid off.
I’d been doing so well. Going to my classes, doing the work. If I saw that I’d blown this test, I knew myself well enough to know I’d sabotage myself all over again.
Instead, I went to philosophy, half afraid I’d get my paper back too. But term papers took longer to grade. I spent an uneventful hour taking notes and trying to keep my mind from drifting to Trace. He’d be back Friday, and this time I wanted to skip the meltdown and dive straight into sexy time.
All the more reason not to look at that test,I reasoned.
After class, I hustled to the frat and dropped off my books, then changed into work clothes. We were headed over to Wallace Lemmings’ home to make an assessment. He was a late admittance to the project because we needed at least three case studies to present in our proposal to the judging committee. But that meant we had to work quickly to weatherize his home. It was already early November, and weather in the Midwest was unpredictable.
Just as I was tugging on my work boots, Skype rang on my laptop. I paused, nonplussed. Usually, Trace didn’t call until evening. We tried to meet up about the same time each day, even if we only managed a few minutes together. Since sharing real intimacy last weekend, we’d mostly only checked in with each other to talk. Sexting had lost a bit of its shine. Being on the other side of the screen just wasn’t enough.
I leaned forward and hit the connect button. “Trace?”
“What, no sexy Daddy greeting today?”
I grinned. “Sorry, Daddy. You took me by surprise. It’s so early.”
“Yeah, sorry. I was just hoping to catch you. Been a busy week. You’ve got a lot of irons in the fire and—” He stopped, his gaze flickering over me. “Oh hell, you’re getting ready to leave, aren’t you?”
