Page 11 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

"You have a key to the McKinnons’?"

I gestured for her to enter and shut the door behind us, wondering how long it was going to take before she realized what was going on. I knew the moment the lightbulb went off because her eyebrows rose practically to her hairline.

"Oh, my God. You're Mr. McKinnon. You're Lindsay's father."

4

Miranda

Oh, my God. This couldn't be happening.

I stumbled back, feeling like I'd been punched in the chest. Brett reached out a hand, probably to steady me, but I pushed it away.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"No, I'm not alright. I slept with my roommate's father."

His jaw tightened. "It's not as unsettling as having slept with my daughter's roommate. I guess even more so now, you wish you could scrub the memory from your brain." He stalked off, leaving me in the enormous open living area.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a drink. And then I'm going to call a tow truck and see about getting you home."

It was strange how hurt I was by the way he wanted to get rid of me. Like he was disgusted by what we had done. But why wouldn’t the whole situation be as disturbing to him as it was to me?

I followed him into a large kitchen that had to be half the size of my father's house.

"Did you know who I was?" I don't know why I asked that. I guess it just seemed hard to believe that in a city as large as Boston, I would have hooked up with the one man I shouldn't have hooked up with.

He glared at me. "Maybe you should stop talking to me because all you do is piss me off.”

“Oh, really?” I fumed.

“First, you accuse me of stalking you. Now, you think I knew who you were, suggesting I would fuck my daughter's roommate on purpose?” His hands jerked as he poured several fingers of amber liquor. “I picked you up by the side of the road. I brought you to my house, and I am going to get you help. So maybe you can stop treating me like I'm a psychopathic pervert." He downed his drink.

I swallowed and blinked at his tirade. Of course, he was right. "I'm sorry. I'm just having a hard time figuring out how this happened."

He poured more liquor. "You know what would be much more likely? That you set your sights on me."

I tensed, taking umbrage at his comment. "Why is that?"

"Lindsay told me about you, although she calls you Mira. She mentioned how you have to scrape for every penny. You saw an opportunity not to have to live that way anymore. And now, here you are again, in my house. Apparently, Lindsay isn't coming. How convenient."

My jaw dropped, shocked at what he was insinuating.

He pulled out his phone. "Where the fuck are you, Lindsay?" He started tapping on it. Finally, he pulled the phone up to his ear and listened. After a few moments, he put the phone down. His hard gray eyes stared at me. "This message came in a little while ago from Lindsay. And yet, here you are."

I felt sick to my stomach. "I am not a gold-digging whore. And I didn't get Lindsay's message until I was already mostly here. I told you, I was trying to turn around to return home when I ended up in that ditch."

"Right,” he said. His tone told me he didn't believe me. "And I am not the type of man to fuck his daughter's roommate." He shook his head. "My mistake was going off script with you. You're not even my usual type."

His words were a slap to my face. Hurt and anger boiled up. My fists clenched at my sides. "I wasn't enough plastic for you, eh?"

He downed his drink. "No. You’re too immature."

I flinched.

"A grown woman would own up to the fact that she was as much of a participant in our fuck-fest as I was and stop blaming me."

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