Page 77 of Wright Together

“What?” Bailey asked. She whipped around, and her expression froze, too. “Fuck.”

I glanced over in confusion at their reaction. All I saw was a tall man in a cowboy hat, smiling at Ellen, and what looked like ranch buddies. I didn’t know how else to describe the men who had sauntered inside.

“Dad,” Bailey groaned.

Oh…shit.

22

Eve

The world narrowed to the moment when Dad saw the pair of us together. He was with his golfing buddies. Guys he’d known my whole life. They’d ride horses, barbecue, and attend church together with their wives and children. Dad had paraded us before them for too long. Long enough for me to know each and every one of them was a creeper.

“Sit down, Bails,” I snapped.

The last thing I needed was for them to look at her ass nearly hanging out of her shorts. I didn’t give a fuck what she wore, but I didn’t want forty-year-old men to ogle the teenager.

Bailey didn’t argue for once. She plopped her butt back in the seat and went strangely silent. Whitt’s gaze shifted back to me. I’d told him the bare minimum about Dad, and I’d hoped he’d never meet the man. Because I knew exactly what was coming.

“Well, well, well,” he said with a boisterous laugh, “look at my two beautiful girls.” He left his posse behind and strode toward our booth.

If I could have gotten us out of there before this, then I would have. But there was no out with him, only through.

“Hello,” I said crisply.

“Dad,” Bailey said.

His smile was wide and fake as a snake. Ready to coil and strike at the right second. “This is a nice surprise.”

Neither of us said anything. Then, he caught sight of Whitt, who had been unnaturally still. As if he sensed our discomfort, like a predator at our back. I knew the moment my dad clocked him for exactly who he was.

“This must be the boyfriend,” he said.

Whitt, to his credit, came to his feet—a full head taller than my dad—and held his hand out. “Hello. Mr. Houston, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” he said, shaking his hand, “but you can call me Rick.”

“Whitton Wright.”

“Wright.” He pointed a trigger finger at Whitt. “Like Wright Construction, right? We see your signs all over town.”

“Correct.”

“Hope you’re treating my girls to lunch because you know they can’t afford it.” He laughed, aiming a finger at us, as if it were a joke.

Whitt gave him an appraising look and didn’t deem it fit to respond to that.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” I interjected, wanting nothing more than to put Bailey behind me like a physical shield.

“Here with the boys.” He gestured to the table of his friends. “You remember Ron, Dirk, Mullen—”

He was going to list them all if I didn’t intervene, so I quickly said, “Yes, I remember.”

“Why wasn’t I invited to your little lunch?”

Somehow, he managed to make it sound both our fault and condescending. Instead of the fact that none of us would have ever wanted him at our lunch.

“We’re only here for a day. Thought I’d introduce Bailey and Whitt.”

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