Page 57 of Tempting Frey
Swearing uselessly, I limped back to my front door. Shoes. I needed shoes.
“Teddy?” Oliver called from somewhere in the house, sounding distressed. Was he looking for me?
Chickie’s cruiser rumbled by, and I slumped in defeat.
My best friend now thought I was screwing his son behind his back. Which… technically, I was.
Why didn’t I tell him we were mates? I could have yelled one sentence, and everything would have been fine. Eventually.
Dazed, I made it into the living room. Out of nowhere, my stomach hurt like I was about to be sick.
“There you are.” Oliver smiled widely, all open happiness and rosy cheeks. He wore a towel wrapped around his hips, and a few drops of water glittered on his skin. His nipples were dark, and his underbelly rounded. So beautiful. But he was frowning, looking at me with worry.
I’d fucked up, dammit.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he said.
“Kinda have.”
“Huh? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“Your dad was here.”
“What?” Oliver squeaked.
“I promised Chickie I’d come for dinner last night, and I forgot. I stood them up. He stopped by while you were in the shower.”
Oliver blew out a breath. “Good thing I was in the shower, then. I’d rather break the news in a more controlled way, thank you very much.”
“Um. About that.” I rubbed my neck. There was no way around this. “He recognized your shoes in the hall. And then you called out about the toothpaste…”
Oliver blinked. “Shit. He knows?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” Was I about to be sick?
“And he left? Just like that?”
“He thinks I’m… fucking you behind his back.”
“We’re mates. You told him that, didn’t you?”
My neck itched like crazy, so I scratched at it some more. Why the hell didn’t I yell the three key words at Chickie before he stalked off?
Noticing my guilty expression, Oliver groaned. “Why, Teddy?”
“I panicked. He saw your shoes, heard your voice, and he reached for his gun… and I panicked.”
“He reached for his gun?”Oliver’s voice rose in pitch, incredulous.
“I don’t know. His hand moved that way. Maybe? I froze. I imagined how it must look to him, and I just… I’m sorry, Oliver.”
Shaking his head, Oliver found his phone on the coffee table. He ran his fingers over the screen and put the device to his ear. He tapped his foot on the floor, then glared at the screen.
“He hung up on me.”
His fingers flew over the phone, the little divot between his eyebrows deepening. Feeling useless, I sat on the sofa and put my head in my hands. Chickie’s enraged final look replayed in my head on a loop.
“He wouldn’t have actually pulled the gun, right?” I asked, feeling childish and a little nauseous.
