Page 14 of Craving the Player

"Did she? Ican'twait.”

"Drop the sarcasm, dip shits. She can hear you," Dad snaps, his voice menacingly low. Dropping down on the cushion beside Tyler, Ilift my brows and clasp my hands behind my head.

"Where'syour wife? How come she gets apass on dinner?" My question is directed at Tyler, but Ilook to my Dad as he leans against the large arch separating the kitchen from the living room, wearing an innocent expression. One that says, Gracie is my favourite, that’swhy.

"She’steaching adance camp," Tyler says, smiling ever so slightly. He’sproud of his wife, no doubt. She opened her own dance studio last year, using it to help little kids whose parents can’tafford regular dance lessons. She doesn’tcharge them anything. Not for their uniforms, shoes, or competitions. It’sreally something out of afairytale for those excited new ballerinas. Something that Gracie’sable to do because of the millions racking up in my brother'sbank account from years spent playing professional hockey for the Vancouver Warriors. They’re both so incredibly selfless that it makes me want to be better. Do better. Unfortunately for me, it’snot that easy.

"Ihope everyone'shungry!"

Oh joy to the fucking world. Here she comes.

Three sets of eyes fall on Lana as she comes rushing into the living room, an apron wrapped around what looks to be avery tight red dress matched with apair of terrifyingly tall heels—always dressing to impress, this one.

"Starving," Dad replies sweetly, grinning while slipping an arm around her waist. He looks hopelessly in love with her. It should make me happier to see him like this.

"Brooks!" she giggles when Dad'shand disappears behind her, grabbing her ass. Holding back my vomit, Iturn to see Tyler doing the same, his hand moving to shield his eyes.

“Dad." Iclear my throat. Ican feel my eyes rolling when he ignores me and starts placing sloppy kisses on Lana'sexposed shoulder. "Dad, the food'sgoing to be cold," Isay again, louder this time.

"Right!" Lana'sthe one to pull away first, finally taking notice of the people around her. "The kids must be starving, baby."

Her comment has my nostrils flaring. I'm not akid.

"Right, right. Sorry." Dad chuckles nervously before waving us towards the kitchen.

"Thanks. For aminute there Ithought Iwas going to empty the contents of my stomach on the floor," Tyler mumbles under his breath when we reluctantly start to follow Dad towards the kitchen.

"Next time it'son you," Ihuff. There are no number of mental speeches that Ican recite in order to feel prepared for this dinner. No matter what Isay or how many fake smiles Iwear, I’ll never accept Lana as his wife. Idon’tknow how, and I’mnot sure I’ll ever even want to.

"Deal,” Tyler replies, wearing asimilar scowl to my own.

“What the fuck?” Isay under my breath when we reach the kitchen. “It smells like ateenage girl'sbedroom in here.”

At least ten vanilla scented candles stretch across the length of the new, sleek black table placed in the center of my dad’soutdated, crowded kitchen. The dark wood looks like it can seat at least eight people, which is confusing in itself, considering that there are only four of us on agood day.

What limited walking space there used to be in this yellow-lit room has shrunk by more than half. Tyler and Iare forced to walk shoulder to shoulder just to get to two empty chairs on the left side. We choose the ones farthest from the Stacey'smom wannabe so we don’thave to listen to the love birds whisper dirty things to each other when we inevitably fall into tense moments of awkward silence.

Dad sits across from us with Lana on his right. He wears abroad smile while rubbing his stomach in big circles. "This looks delicious.” Ican sense the double meaning in his words before Isee his gaze moving up and down his fiancé’sbody with anod of approval. It’ssomething that Iwould say if Iwere in his shoes. It takes asolid two minutes before he actually looks at the overly extravagant meal laid out across the yellow, tulip covered table runner.

"Imade all your favourites!" Lana smiles wide, proud of herself.

Oh, Ibet you did.

Cocking my brow, Itrail my eyes over every dish, getting more confused by the second. Kale salad, salmon with tofu. Is that quinoa?

"When did you start eating rabbit food, Dad?"

His tight lipped scowl doesn'tpack the same punch it did when Iwas younger. Ieasily brush it off and speak again.

"If Ihad known that she was stuffing you full of green shit, Iwould have brought pizza." My lips lift slightly when Ihear Tyler snicker before attempting to cover it with acough.

"Braden," Dad snaps, steam nearly shooting from his ears. Ican’tseem to shut myself up, though. Something about seeing someone make him eat like he isn’talready as healthy as afucking horse makes my insides churn. My dad has been aboxer for his entire life. He’sprobably healthier than Iam. He doesn’tneed to be on adamn diet. Lana clearly doesn’tunderstand how much we need to eat to keep up with the sport so that we don’twither away to nothing. Dad’sprobably just too nice to say anything.

"Yes, Father?" Ising, watching as he tightens his grip on the edge of the table, fingertips turning white.

"It'sokay, Brooks," Mommy Dearest sighs. She places her hand on top of his in hopes of relaxing him. The rock on her ring finger that emptied out the entirety of my dad’ssavings account sparkles under the hanging light. If Ihave to sit here any longer, Imight just end up eating my own fucking tongue for dinner. “I’mjust trying to keep his cholesterol down.”

“His cholesterol?” Inearly choke on my spit. My head spins in my Dad’sdirection now, my eyes flaring with unspoken anger. “Do you have high cholesterol?”

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