Page 49 of Rush

I haven’t had a drink in seven months.

I have two new, great friends in my life. I might have the hots for one of them—Ares—but that’s just a crush, and it will pass soon.

Life is good.

I’m still smiling when I reach my dad’s office door. I knock once and then walk in.

He’s on the phone when I enter, so I just go over and take the seat across from him, putting my bag on the floor by my feet.

He lifts a finger, telling me he’ll be a minute, and I nod.

I take a moment to watch him while he’s on the phone.

My dad is a handsome man.

He’ll turn fifty next year, but he looks like he is in his early forties. His hair is full and dark with only a hint of gray at the sides. He’s this tall, gigantic beast of a man. Still in great shape for his age.

He still gets women checking him out. The hostess at the restaurant he took me to the other night was openly flirting with him. Not that he even noticed. I actually felt a little bad for her.

God, I remember the arguments it caused between him and my mom when she was still alive. I always felt bad for him because it wasn’t like he ever did anything to incite those women looking at him and flirting with him, and he never noticed back then either.

But then he never noticed my mom. Maybe that was the problem.

He’s more interested in football. Always has been, and he always will be.

He played professional football before I was born, but a knee injury took him out early in his career.

When I was a little kid, he would pick me up with one hand and sit me up on his shoulder, and I remember how safe I used to feel up there because I knew he would never let me fall.

I thought nothing and no one could ever hurt me while I had a dad who was as big and strong as he was.

How wrong I was.

“Yep, sounds good, Bill,” he says, finishing off his call. “Next week. Yep…yep. See you then.” He hangs up the phone and looks at me. “How are you doing?”

“Good. You wanted me?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, and steeples his fingers together. “Ares has been driving you to and from work.” It’s not a question; he knows it’s a fact. “Is there anything I need to know?”

I frown. “Such as?”

“Are you dating him?”

“No.”

“Sleeping with him?”

“Jesus Christ, Dad.” I shake my head, annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business who I date or sleep with—”

“You’re my daughter, so it is my business. And especially if it’s one of my players that you’re seeing.”

Right. So, this is actually about his precious player, not his daughter.

Why am I not surprised?

“Well, you can rest easy, Dad. I’m not doing anything with Ares Kincaid, except riding in his truck—and not riding in the biblical sense. He knew I lived in the city and that I was taking the bus in, so he offered to give me a lift.”

“So, you’re just friends?” He seems surprised that would even be an option.