Page 26 of My Best Friend's Dad

Chest.

Brain.

“Just hungry,” he mumbles.

“Oh my god, when was the last time you ate? Breakfast?”

“Might have been lunch.”

I pick up his hand without thinking. It’s cold from lying on the concrete but still hot with his warmth. “That’s not too bad then. I’m still sorry though. We should have made a mad dash for a steakhouse, not this place.”

“Yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, what?” He mumbled the word so quietly that I couldn’t hear it over the screaming wind. I lean in, and his beard skates across my cheek. I’m not even going to comment about what that does to me.

“Yesterday.”

“Gah! Lunch yesterday?” I grasp his shoulders but stop short of shaking him.

“Just…got…busy. Meetings until late and problems today that had to be fixed.”

“You’re rich! You literally have so many people who would go out and get you something. All you’d have to do is call. You could employ someone to just tag along behind you and cater to your every whim. You know, an assistant?”

“Sounds perfectly awful.”

“No, you look perfectly awful.” That is strictly not true. It’s also rude. I’m worried, though, and that has a chokehold on my normal filters. “Like you’re going to pass out bad. Just…stay here. There’s an ice cream place that isn’t far. Although, I can’t say ice cream is great for an empty stomach. Is it?”

“I have a rock-hard stomach.”

Tell me about it.

My eyes track straight down to the ladder of his boxy abs, which is perfectly outlined by his soaked shirt. Those clothes are probably dry clean only. On top of ruining dinner, I’m also responsible for ruining an outfit worth more than my car. Probably.

But still…those abs.

I shut my eyes tight. For the love of the world’s most delicious tacos that we unfortunately didn’t partake in…

“I’ll find a sandwich place. And get some tea to warm us up. You just sit here.”

“If someone comes along, they might assume I’m a vagrant and arrest me for public indecency.”

“You’re still dressed, bucko.”

His eyes slide open. The corner of his lips twitch. “Bucko?”

“Sorry, that’s terrible. It’s an old nickname my dad uses for me when he wants to annoy me, which is pretty much all the time, but it’s nice because he says it with love.” Well, that could imply I’m also using it as a term of endearment. “Okay!” I quickly scramble up, tuck my phone back in my purse, and grasp my wet sweater around myself so my hard nipple problem doesn’t become a hard nipple problem that I broadcast to the whole of Providence. “I’ll be right back with…with something.”

“Don’t go out. It’s still raining.”

He literally opens his arms. He. Opens. His. Freaking. Arms. Like he wants me to crawl into them and curl up with him. Climbinto his lap and rest my head against his shoulder, both of us soaking up each other’s body heat and comfort.

All the cheers to that idea!My ovaries clearly cannot be trusted.

Stay, stay, stay!My vagina chants to the tune of those cheers while raising pompoms.

I rush out of the gazebo into the cold rain that still slants sideways from the wind, though it’s not as punishing or frigid as before. At least I can see where I’m going without Mother Nature’s freaking rage blinding me.

I find a sub shop a few blocks away. The river is a touristy area—okay, so most of Providence is. I haven’t tried it, but it looks clean and smells good.