Page 33 of Falling for My Best Friend's Dad
Kayla helps me with the morning preparation before she takes the lasagna to Mike. “So what brings you home? Starting the holiday already?”
“No,” Mike says. “I came back for a job interview at DocuSign.”
“No way!” Kayla exclaims.
Without glancing their way, I lift an eyebrow when I hear the name of the most desirable company to work for in the Bay Area.
“Yes, lucky me.” Mike chuckles, smiling. “Software Development Engineer.”
“Did you get the job?”
“I did. The interview was yesterday. I’m going back to Boston on Monday.”
“Does it mean you’re moving back soon?”
“Yep. I’m about to look up the apartments. It’s going to be daunting.”
“I know what you mean. Why can’t you stay in your parents’ house?”
“I could, but I would like to have my own space,” Mike says. “Do you still live with your family?”
“Yes,” Kayla says. “But I lived in the dorm throughout college, only moved back home after I graduated five months ago.”
“Cool,” Mike says.
Kayla leaves the lad alone, chewing his food. When she brings him his check, he asks, “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”
“I have to work here starting at noon, but I’m free in the morning.”
“Great. We should get together. I’m planning to hike the Ecology Trail. Want to come along? If we set off early in the morning, we could make it back by noon.”
“It sounds good. I miss hiking,” Kayla says excitedly. “Haven’t done it for at least two years.”
I’m hanging a goblet onto the wine glass rack. Instead of handling it with care, I grip it tight, forgetting how fragile the glass is. Before I know it, a sharp pain forces me to loosen my grasp. “Goddamn it!” I curse I stare at my bloodstained hand. The splinters crash onto the counter and spill on the floor.
“Oh my God, Richard!” Kayla rushes toward me. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” I say, turning on the faucet and let the cold water rinse my bloody finger.
“Be right back.” She disappears into the storeroom and comes back with a first aid kit.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” I say, reluctant to show her my hand as she requests. I’m embarrassed at my childish behavior. What the hell is wrong with me?
She grabs my injured hand and pries it open. A deep cut runs through all my fingers and my palm. The bleeding hasn’t completely stopped. “This is not fine!” she glares at me with worry in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She applies Neosporin onto my wound and then wraps my hand with gauze. “You’d better keep it clean and dry,” she says. “Use your left hand.”
I chuckle. “Thank you, hot nurse,” I murmur.
She shudders as she looks up. My words mess up her breathing and her ability to speak. But I can see through her emotions from her eyes. She wants me. That much is clear. Mike means nothing to her. She’s mine—all I need to do is pull her to me and kiss her in front of her high school sweetheart and tell him to fuck off.
I’m about to do just that when Kayla leaves the bar and returns with a broom and a dustpan.
“I’ve got it,” I say, taking the broom from her hand. “Go ahead and attend your friend.”
“But your hand…” she hesitates.
