Page 39 of The Wild Card
After brushing my teeth until my gums hurt and detangling my nest of hair, I pull on my metaphorical big girl panties and text my parents that I’m not coming home.
Actually, I’m not sure if these count as big girl panties as I’m choosing text over a phone call, and when my mother immediately calls me, I send her to voicemail and text both my parents back instead.
Molly:This isn’t up for discussion! Was just letting you know about my change in plans! [smiley face emoji]
Dad:Unacceptable. You have two interviews lined up next week.
Molly:I do? Huh. I don’t remember setting up any interviews.
Passive aggressive? Sure. Because it’s an effective way to highlight the fact that my job hunt has moved firmly out of my control and into the hands of my father.
Without my permission, I might add.
Mom:Your father set them up. Which means it’s his reputation on the line.
I always wondered where my mom would land if push came to shove. Typically, she’s pretty passive and goes with the flow, playing dumb about my dad’s control issues without actively taking part.
I guess now I know—she sides with him. Of course.
Dad:Get on that plane, Molly.
Molly:Sorry! That won’t be happening.
Dad:What about the dates I have lined up for you? These are sons of business associates.
Molly:Hm. I guess maybe it’s best to keep those relationships strictly business?
Wow. The boldness I’ve discovered by way of texting is absolutely freeing. I should have tried thisyearsago.
Dad:Your foolish choices don’t just reflect on you. You’re sullying my reputation.
I resist the urge to send him Taylor Swift lyrics in response, even if there are some that would be totally on point.
Mom:Just come home. We love you. This is concerning, coming out of nowhere like this. We care about you and want you safe.
Wow. A change of tactics. Now they’re doing a whole angry cop versus emotionally manipulative cop routine.
Molly:I’m fine! Chase and Harper are gracious hosts.
I draw in a breath, needing an extra dose of courage for the next text.
Molly:And about those dates … I’m actually dating Harper’s brother. He’s wonderful. So is the job. I’m really happy and will be staying here. Got to go but just wanted you both to know. [smiley face emoji]
Before they can tell me acting isn’t a real job or tell me that I couldn’t possibly have gotten into a relationship that quickly, I turn the phone face down on my bed and walk out of the room. I can deal with any fallout or with the lie I keep perpetuating later. Time to face the music. And my fake boyfriend.
I find Collin sitting at the kitchen island, frowning down at his phone. He doesn’t hear me, and I hover nearby, watching him for a moment.
The man could be slapped on a billboard selling just about anything and it would probably cause traffic jams. Full lips and eyelashes long enough to make most women jealous. (Myself included.) Messy dark hair that looks like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. I’m not typically into beards, but I could be. For him.
What a billboard wouldn’t be able to showcase is Collin’s personality. He’s bright and fun, able to toggle between teasing and a disarming sincerity. I think of the way he took care of my feet last night, blistered and sore from trying to break in new cowboy boots on the fly. The way he took care of me.
Collin Graham is good people, Wolf Waters said in the coffee shop.
And he’s right. Add the good people to the billboard-worthy looks and Collin is an absolute catch.
How is this man single???
The only thing marring Collin’s nearly perfect features is the expression he’s wearing now. There’s anger in it, but another, uglier emotion I wish I didn’t recognize: shame.
