Falling For Dad’s College Rival by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Three

Brooke

They say time flies when you’re having fun.

Or when you’re pushing shit uphill and trying to play catch up after daydreaming for half the day.

I barely make it to the dry cleaner in time, after deciding I do need to buy a new dress and shoes after all.

And have my hair done.

And my nails.

Okay, so it’s a little bit of overkill, and it’s drained my savings, but it’s all for a good cause.

So why do I feel so… weird?

The butterflies of excitement I had all day, thinking about Trent, the reunion. Thinking about something exciting for a change.

It all starts to turn to a sick feeling of dread the closer it gets to the time I should be getting ready.

I love my new dress. It’s simple. Strapless black and shows off my chest, maybe a bit too much. It’s the one thing I tell myself I have going for me.

It takes the focus off my butt and legs, which are excellently disguised with some sheer tights.

The hairdresser’s done a great job in putting my hair up with some nice, thick curls down one side and I even don’t mind my attempt at a little makeup.

So why do I feel so...? Oh, I dunno. It must just be nerves.

I’m a bundle of nerves by the time I hear dad pull up, but I know it’s useless trying to pretend it’s just another normal day with me all dressed up, so I walk into the kitchen to greet him.

His face explains my instinct before he even registers my outfit.

He opens his mouth to say something, but stupid me, I spin around and ask him what he thinks. Knowing I’m gonna hate the answer.

“Ah, shit, honey?” he groans. “I shoulda called ya. I didn’t know you were gonna go to so much...” he starts but trails off, eyeing me up and down with a pained, guilty expression.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he adds, leaning in to peck my cheek but I know what he’s gonna say.

I should’ve known earlier.

“I decided not to go tonight, sweetie,” he says, contracting his lips. “I’ve got a ton of work to do, and well… To be honest, I just don’t feel like transporting myself back twenty years. I thought it over today, and those years before your mom and I—” he tries to say.

But I get it.

I should’ve known.

I know my dad better than he thinks, and he’s only ever reliable when it comes to things he knows are safe and controlled. Like work, pre-paid holidays, and coupon dinner discounts.

My hurt must show because he tries his best to remind me it was me who never wanted to go in the first place.

But once my lower lip starts to tremble, and my cheap mascara starts to run, he fesses up.

“Truth is, sweetie,” he says slowly, taking me by the hands and sitting me down. “The thought of seeing Trent Latham again, after all these years? It makes me… ill,” he admits, but I don’t see fear or dread in his eyes when he mentions the name.

I see that side of him I’ve only had a glimpse of.

The one that tears up photos and smashes frames.

But hearing him explain things snaps me to attention. Full attention and I get up as if I’m being pulled by strings, suddenly feeling an urgency I can’t explain.

Like I have to go tonight. As if my life depends on it.

“You’re going to your reunion, dad,” I tell him firmly, the very thought of missing my one chance to meet Trent Latham flashing through my mind.

I list off all the reasons I can think of, least of which is my outfit, hair, and so on.

“I made an effort for you, dad. To support you like you wanted,” I tell him, almost shouting and wagging my finger at him. “Oh, you’re going alright. Now get in that shower while I get your suit ready,” I command, surprised when he actually listens to me for once.

“Alright, honey,” he murmurs, looking me up and down again with some pride. “I’ll go. And thank you,” he says, pecking my cheek again. “Thanks for not turning out exactly like me,” he adds, half-smiling to himself as he hurries to get himself ready.

I set out his suit and shoes then fix my makeup in my room while he’s getting ready.

I notice my hands are shaking but try to tell myself it’s just from getting bossy with my dad. Something I’d never normally do.

But I know deep down it’s something else.

That other feeling I’ve had all day.

The feeling that my luck’s about to change somehow.

* * *

I thought I was a little nervous getting ready, but my dad’s like a bundle of nerves which isn’t helping me either.

He even asks me to drive us to the reunion before changing his mind at the end of the street.

“Nope. Sorry honey,” he groans, and I sigh bitterly, but he only means he can’t be a passenger. “If I’m not driving I don’t feel in control,” he admits, and we switch seats quickly at the next red light.

“What’s so nerve-wracking about a reunion?” I ask him once we’re on our way and he’s calmed down a little. Feeling better about being in charge of something like driving.

“I think I just had one too many coffees this afternoon,” he fibs, shrugging off my question, but I can see him chewing at his lip, his eyes dancing around and his own impatience at the wheel.

He’s usually a pretty calm guy, but this whole thing has him rattled, I can tell.

“Just don’t wander off,” he says suddenly, interrupting my little memories of the yearbook photos, my thinking about Trent Latham all over again.

“I mean, don’t leave me stranded stuck with someone I look like I don’t want to talk to,” he adds, trying to laugh it off.

“Like who?” I ask. “I don’t even know anyone there, so how would I know who you want to talk to and who you don’t?”

“It’s mostly a dinner, I think,” he says absently. Almost to himself. “So it should just be whoever we’re across from and sat next to. You’ll be next to me,” he adds.

“And after dinner?” I probe him further, feeling like maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, after all, being tied to my dad all night how the hell am I supposed to get near Trent Latham?

“I’ve got work tomorrow, so I don’t think we should stay long,” he tells me, shooting me a glance in the rearview that reminds me he didn’t want to go in the first place.

Like he’s doing me a favor now by even driving me there so I can stay just long enough for a meal.

That’s my dad.

Just as well he’s taken over driving really. The college is in a part of town I don’t know, and once inside the gates, it’s like a maze but dad seems to know the way as if he was here just yesterday.

Pulling up out front of a huge hall that looks like something out of a gothic novel, I get a shiver as we leave the car.

It’s coming in cold and will most likely rain.

Genius me forgot to bring or even think of a jacket or something to cover me.

“It’ll be warm inside,” my dad observes, noting how cold I look already as he puts his arm around me but I recoil.

Not because of his arm, but because his hands feel like ice.

“Dad, you’re freezing,” I almost shriek, but he keeps a hold of me as he steers us both towards the entrance, fishing his official looking invitation from his pocket and handing it to an old man in an equally old suit who could pass for Jeeves the butler from the last century.

“Very good, Sir,” he tones deeply. “Drinks and then dinner,” he continues, sounding like a gong as he signals one huge room full of people first and then another opposite, which I can already see is what must be an old ballroom converted to a dining hall.

“Pretty stiff looking reunion,” I mutter under my breath, noting how tense my dad is again.

“You okay?” I ask, aware of his pale look suddenly.

“I… I gotta use the bathroom,” he blurts out, shoving me towards the room full of people before darting for a set of doors nearest the huge wooden oak staircase.

Nerves, I guess. I tell myself, suddenly feeling a pair of eyes on me from the crowded room ahead.

There are a hundred eyes in there, but only one set that counts just now.

One set that’s giving me a very familiar feeling between my legs as I walk slowly, hearing my own breath catch with each step.

I glance from person to person, but nobody seems to be noticing me as I make my way in.

I’m feeling more than a little overdressed and just a little vulnerable in my low cut ‘look at how cold my chest is’ dress when I see him.

Trent Latham is across the room, his dark eyes ablaze with an intensity that I feel burning all the way inside me.

His jaw flexes as it sets with determination and despite the sound of hundreds of people chatting and mingling, I hear myself gasp.

Glued to the spot, it’s like he’s cast an invisible rope around me with his eyes and is slowly moving over towards me.

Before I know it, he’s kissing my hand and asking my name in his own special way.

Holy freaking—

Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything stupid.

“I… I…” I hear myself stammering, my gaping mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for breath.

My name’s stupid.

Stupid girl who can’t even say her name.

Shit.