Page 57 of A Wild Card Kiss
I nearly dance. “A Tuesday-night redo?”
“More than seven years in the making.”
“I’m game,” I say.
“It’s a date,” he says, sounding pleased. I feel pleased. As freaking punch. “How have you been?” he asks, sliding right into chatter again, as easily as we’ve always talked.
Yup, this is good timing. Good fun.
“I’m pretty darn good,” I say, relieved to mean it wholly.
“Yeah?” He asks the question not like he doubts me, but more like he’s sure glad I’m saying so.
“I am,” I confirm. “I’ve spent lots of time with my friends and my sister and my dad over the last few months. It’s been good for the soul.”
“You’re close with them?”
“Definitely. All of them. My dad has always been my rock. Ever since I was growing up. He was the one who was there for me whenever I needed someone.”
“That’s awesome. What’s he like?”
Ah, that’s an easy question, and one I love answering, since Iadmire my father so much. “He’s great. He’s always believed in me, supported me. When I was younger, he told me I was strong and independent. He instilled in me a belief from a young age that I could do anything I set my mind to. Fine, maybeanythingdidn’t include flying to the moon or singing opera, but still.”
Harlan chuckles. “If you can fly to the moon, I want a ticket on that ride.”
“And I’d give you one,” I say, right as Harlan slides into a croon, singing a little of Frank Sinatra’s tune of that same name.
Oh. My. Stars. The man can sing too. “Now you really have an unfair advantage,” I say.
He chuckles. “You and your list of unfair advantages.”
“Hey! You started it, having all these pros,” I toss back.
“Would you prefer cons, woman? Sheesh,” he says, then shifts back to the dad talk. “Also, I like your dad already.”
I laugh. “You don’t even know him.”
“But that’s how it should be with a dad and his daughter. That’s how I am with Abby. Do I think she’s the most adorable creature to ever grace the face of this Earth? Hell yes. Do I tell her that every day? No way.”
“What do you tell her instead?”
“That I think she’s smart and kind and friendly. That those are the things that matter.”
A loopy smile takes over my face. I’m not even sure I want to have kids, so why is it so damn sweet how good this guy seems to be with his girl? But then, the answer lies in why I see my own dad a lot. “That will make a difference for her. I love having a goodrelationship with my father, and I think it’s great that you focus on those things with Abby. My dad taught me to believe in who I was on the inside, not on the outside.”
“Sure seems like it worked. You’re full of spit and fire,” he says, emphasizing each word with his very Harlan-like panache.
“Hey, are you saying I’m a spitfire?”
“The very definition, and that’s a damn good thing.”
I’ll take that, thank you very much. “I believed in myself, too, and I chased after my dreams with the tenacity of a lion going after a gazelle. Sort of like how you are on the field.”
He lets loose an embellished roar. “You know that’s what they called me several years ago? King of the Jungle? It was my nickname.”
I crack up. “No! Really?”
“Swear on the Lombardi trophy. I had long hair. Kind of more golden blond, less brown than now,” he says, explaining, and this I can’t resist. I turn the call to speaker and search Google for said photos as he talks. “A sports reporter called me abeautiful lionat a charity auction.”
