Page 12 of The Jackpot Screwer
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I groaned quietly.
“You know, maybe I’ll go and speak to Mr. Bridges,” I replied, getting up from the chair.
“Mr. Bridges is in a coma, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he is, but he also isn’t scared of his wife twenty years after stealing her last damn Pop Tart. I also think I’ll get more sense out of him.”
Dad glared and then swung sideways on his stool so that he was facing me fully. “I give great advice, just ask your sister. Now spill it.”
Chewing on my bottom lip I contemplated if I was doing the right thing. Maybe I should have spoken to Hunter and kept our imminent arrival between the four of us who already knew.
“Is Lance finally going to retire and put you in charge?” Dad asked, dropping his paintbrush into a jar of water and then leaning back to take another look at his masterpiece.
“No, and I think I’ll retire before he does as this rate. Which is why I’m gonna ask him to let me become partner.”
Dad looked impressed as he wiped his hands on his smock. “Good idea. Do you need money for that, is that what you want to talk about?”
“No,” I sighed. “I have that covered.”
He brought his gaze back to mine and shrugged. “Okay, well what then? ‘Cause I gotta tell you son, the damn suspense is killing me.”
“You swear you won’t tell Mom?” I questioned, rubbing my sweaty palms together.
He didn’t answer but was definitely thinking about it; the look on his face was like he was passing a kidney stone.
“Dad!”
“I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I? Now just get on with it.” He huffed impatiently and then turned momentarily back to his canvas. “Gotta say, son, it’s good, don’t you think?”
I took my first real look at the picture and did a double take.
“Fuck, Dad, please tell me that isn’t Mom’s naked body.”
He grinned and then winked.
“What is wrong with you?” I cried, throwing my hands into the air. “You’re determined to scar me for life.” My head whipped around the room. “Where the hell is she? If you’re painting her why isn’t she in the room?”
“I drew her yesterday, now I’m painting her.” He started to mess around with his paints, turning his back on me.
Not wanting to waste another minute, I blew out a long breath.
“Okay,” I said, getting his attention. “You ready?”
He nodded, swinging back around to me. “Go ahead.”
I cleared my throat. “Bronte’s pregnant and has dumped me and I have no idea what to do.”
Dad reared back on his stool. “What the actual fuck?”
“Yeah, you heard right.”
“Shit, son,” he replied, pushing up from his stool and moving toward me. “That’s some damn big news.”
The shock was evident as Dad placed a hand on my shoulder and blinked rapidly.
“I suppose me giving you a lecture about birth control is pointless,” he said puffing out his cheeks.
“Kind of late, yeah.”
