Page 20 of Southie
Even though his smile seemed forced, the gesture caused the fluttering in my stomach to rise. The man was handsome, even more when he smiled, no matter how disingenuous.
He looked back at my father. “Mr. Jennings, keep our deal between us. I don’t want it getting back to Mr. O’Connor and neither do you. That would be terrible for both of us, and I won’t be able to save either of us if that happened. I’ll be here first thing. You both have a good night.”
Without another word, he left. The only thing remaining of his presence was the lingering smell of his delicious cologne and the suffocating tension in the office. I looked back at my father when the door closed.
“Daddy—”
He held up his hand before I got another word out of my mouth about what I’d walked in on, once again leaving me wondering what in the hell was going on and who the man was that had caused feelings to surface I’d never experienced before.
* * *
The ride home with my father was taxing, filled with tension and silence. This had become our new normal. His hands gripped the wheel tightly and every time I tried to ask questions about what I’d walked in on, he got angrier. His anger soared so much that he began yelling at me to stay out of it and not concern myself with his business.
The anger rolled off him in waves even after we made it home. I believed the guy in the office had had something to do with my father’s attitude these past months. He kept mentioning Paddy O’Connor, and I wondered who that was and if a simple internet search would answer my questions.
I could ask Damian when I saw him on campus. He’d grown up in Boston.
Without any word to me, my father walked into the house, straight to his office, and slammed the door behind him, effectively shutting the conversation down for good.
I closed the front door behind me, locked it, and set the alarm. Approaching my father right now wouldn’t be the best decision. No matter how hard I’d push, he’d shut down and take his anger out on me. Instead of continuing to get no answers from him and only receiving his anger, I decided to retire for the night and get my answers tomorrow.
If he’ll give me any.
Lying in bed, I couldn’t get the image of the sexy man out of my mind despite all the unanswered questions about him and my father’s relationship.
The red silk sheets beneath me caressed my skin the way his voice had, pushing images of him through my mind like flipping through a high-end fashion magazine. It was the way he exuded power and the fit of his tailored designer clothing; his neatly cut ginger-colored hair that my fingers itched to run through and my skin longed to feel; the cadence and gruffness of his voice. It all had me pushing my thighs together from the heat that pooled between them.
Mr. Dark and Mysterious, I wouldn’t mind exploring with my hands, my tongue, and anything else he’d allow me to indulge his magnificent body with. I’d be willing to do so without question.
I’d lost the urge to sleep with any man since my last attempt at a relationship. I settled for using my hands and vibrator when the urge arose. Even though there had been no shortage of men who wanted something from me, no one had piqued my interest, until now. With this guy, I’d give up my brief moment of celibacy just for one taste, one ride, or both. Whatever he’d give, I’d take.
Although dangerous, and the fact that his presence at the gym was a threat to my father, which made him off-limits, none of that mattered to my body. I was drawn to him.
My father made it clear to me once we got home that under no circumstance should I come to the gym unless he called for me to be there. I’d asked if it had anything to do with the guy in the office and Paddy O’Connor, even though the answer was obvious.
He’d responded in a clipped tone like always.“For once in your damn life, listen to me, little girl. Do not come to the gym!”
I tried my best not to take my father’s behavior personally, especially now that I may have stumbled onto why he’d been angry these past months. However, I still needed the full story, not just the snapshot I received in that meeting. It was my nature to find out what was going on.
My mother always said I did the opposite of what they wanted me to do, even as a child. She’d said I had a rebellious nature. So, I’d find out what my father wouldn’t tell me and see if he needed my help even if he didn’t want it. If I had to go to the gym to find out, then that was what I’d do. I’d find out who the mystery man was and what business he had with my father.
The phone ringing brought me from my thoughts. At this time of night, it could only be one person.
I cringed whenunknown callerflashed across the screen. After declining the call and sending it to voicemail, I waited for the notification to pop up like it always did. Lately, the caller refrained from saying anything, only breathing heavily on the other end which sent a chill down my spine.
This would be the third number he’d gotten since I left North Carolina. I thought about telling my father about it, but he’d been so stressed lately, I didn’t want to add to his problems. He and my mother warned me to stay away from Frankie, but I didn’t listen. Now, I was paying the price.
Franklin Scott, who I called Frankie, was my high school sweetheart. The person I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. In our hometown, Frankie was popular. All the guys hated him, and all the girls wanted to be with him.
When Franklin, Charlotte’s star athlete at the time and a Division One prospect in football, approached me unexpectedly one day in the cafeteria at school, to say it shocked me would be an understatement. I didn’t even think he knew my name, although everyone knew him, including me.
As the daughter of a former boxing champion, we were wealthy. I grew up in an upscale neighborhood on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina. Frankie was the son of a former pro football star.
We attended the same upscale private school in Charlotte. Granted, my parents were wealthy, but I wasn’t like the other kids that attended the private school. Most of those kids came from old money, and although Frankie’s father had been a professional athlete, that prestige extended back to his grandfather.
I didn’t come from old money. Both my parents grew up poor in small rural towns in North and South Carolina. My mother had been a schoolteacher until her diagnosis with cancer and my father came into his wealth through boxing. Both my parents worked hard for what they had, but not coming from the same background as my schoolmates made me an outsider.
No one invited me to the weekend parties on the lake, and I never hung out with any of the popular kids. I had one friend, my best friend, Erica who I’d known since elementary school.
