All Over You (Unforgettable You, Book 1.5) (17 page)

“He wants to see you now. He wants to get to know you.” I’m not averse to giving people second chances. From what Becca’s told me about his attempts to “bond” the guy’s been persistent and it all sounds sincere.

Her head jerks up so quickly, had I been slower in tipping my chin back, she might have taken out one or more of my teeth. For a couple seconds, she stares at me through narrowed eyes, her jaw tight and her lips compressed into a straight line. Just as abruptly, it’s like all the fight goes out of her and she drops her head back onto my shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“He didn’t want me.
He didn’t want me.
He wanted my mom to have an abortion.”

Crap. I’m trying to give the bastard the benefit of the doubt. I’m trying to find some of his redeeming qualities.

“You weren’t real to him then.”

She snorts a laugh. “Well I was pretty damn real nine months later and he still didn’t want me.”

“Look, I’m not trying to make excuses for the guy but he was what, eighteen, nineteen? He was young and probably totally self-involved. He was probably pretty scared too.”

Her gaze shoots up and clashes with mine.

Like I was.

I don’t say it but the words hang in the air between us.

She shakes her head in denial. “No, you’re a better man than he was. His family has money and he fought my mom for every single dime of support she was entitled to. He thought she got pregnant on purpose and this was his way of punishing her. But he never once thought about me. Not once.”

God, she’s jumping to my defense and I can’t remember feeling less worthy of it.

“He was a tool. An immature prick. But have you ever thought that maybe he’s changed. It’s been almost twenty years and the last three he’s been trying to forge some kind of relationship with you.”

She gives a disdainful sniff. “He has three more kids. He can father them. As far as I’m concerned, he’s too late to be any kind of father to me. ”

By the set of her jaw, I can see I’m not going to change her mind. And it’s really not my place to as I’m probably a little biased when it comes to believing in a person’s ability to change. It happens and I’m living proof of it.

“Do you resent them? His kids?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Just because I don’t like him doesn’t mean I don’t like the rest of his family. They haven’t done anything to me. Certainly not the kids.”

Whenever she talks about them, she gets this wistful look on her face, which pushes me to suggest, “Then why don’t you meet them?”

She stares at me, skepticism in her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Do you not get that I don’t want to see the man?”

“Why would you have to? You just need to ask him if he could arrange it for you. I’m sure he’s told them about you.”

Good, she’s not looking at me like I’m nuts anymore, her expression now thoughtful as if she’s giving the idea serious consideration.

“But he’d still have to bring them.”

“What if you asked his wife to bring them? You don’t have anything against her do you?”

“No. But she might not want to.”

Despite her apprehension, I sense a growing excitement below her cautious surface.

“Well there’s no harm in asking, right?”

“You think? I mean even for me isn’t that kind of ballsy? I can just imagine the conversation. ‘
Okay John, I don’t want to see you but I’d appreciate it if you could arrange it if your wife brought your kids to meet me
.’”

Suddenly, she’s lying on my chest, her chin propped up on her folded arms. Steely determination glimmers in her eyes as she stares intently at me. “But you know what? I’m gonna do it. I want to meet them.”

As if the possibility—well more like probability—of meeting her siblings has given her a new lease on life, she gives me a quick kiss and scrambles out of bed. She shoots a glance out the window. “Come on, let’s get dressed. It’s snowing and I want to make a snow angel.” Turning, she flashes me an ear-to-ear grin.

“You go first.”

Two minutes later, after she’s gathered all her stuff for her shower, she heads to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the room to wallow in my guilt.

I don’t know what the fuck is my problem. I just torpedoed the perfect opportunity to come clean. Tell her about my mom. More importantly, tell her the whole truth about me.

But when I saw how she was about her father—not that I’m comparing—but still… The guy’s been begging her to see him, begging her forgiveness for three years and she refuses to budge, refuses to give him another chance.

When we first started going out, I could immediately tell that if she knew about my history, I wouldn’t have stood a chance with her. For one, she despises guys who sleep around. I might have been what she’d jokingly called a manwhore. And I still remember the disgust in her voice when she told me how her dad got off from owning up to his responsibilities because his parents were rich. Whether he was in the right or wrong, they were more than willing to throw their money around on their son’s behalf. She can’t stand people who abuse their influence. And she can’t stand dishonesty and let’s face it, that’s me from the get-go.

I scrub my hands over my face. I know I need to tell her. Soon. Definitely sooner than later. I’m not even going to fool myself into thinking that just because we’re having sex again I’m in the clear. This whole thing can still blow up in my face big time. And that’s probably why I’m dragging my fuckin’ feet. I can’t risk losing her.

But you know what? I’m not going to think about this right now. We’ve got three more days in Montreal, two more nights before we have to get back to reality of school and all that other stuff. I can deal with it when we get back.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

R
EBECCA

With the six inches of snow that fall the morning after the “no sex” went out of effect, I am in snow angel heaven. That day we skip going to the slopes completely—like we have a choice—as we’re snowed-in. But it’s fun to just hang out romping around in the snow, watching movies and eating popcorn in front of the fireplace and cooking dinner with the girls.

As I’m mixing the salad, Olivia jokingly tells me I look like I’m finally getting some. I tell her not to worry because she’s still getting enough for five of us. We all laugh and that’s when I find out my roommates made a bet on how long I could hold out. Neither thought we’d make it through the vacation so they’d bet on which day I’d fold. April won. Olivia, who by now couldn’t imagine days much less weeks without sex, didn’t think I’d last the first night. Yeah, that’s a confidence booster.

The next day we ski in the morning and then to celebrate our last night there the six of us drive into Quebec City where we are legally able to be served alcohol in a club.
Hello Canada!
It’s more fun than I’ve had in forever. Even April and Troy call a cease-fire to the cold war they appear to have going. I mean it’s been almost a year since they had sex. I say they need to get together or move on. Okay, maybe I’m not one to talk, but honestly.

Can I just say sex with Scott only gets better and better? It does. I’m convinced he’s lacing my drinks with Spanish Fly because I’m insatiable. I want it
constantly.
The guy is barely through the bedroom door and I’m all over him. The good thing is he has no problem with it. In fact, he says he loves the nympho in me because it’s the only way I’d be able to keep up with him.

After spending our final day on the slopes, the guys have the van packed by three in the afternoon and by four we’re on the road. We arrive at Scott’s apartment nine that evening to drop him off.

I walk with him to the entrance and resent how quick our goodbye kiss has to be, but I have four other people waiting for me, impatient to get to their beds.

An hour later, I tumble into mine wondering how long it’s going to take me to fall asleep without Scott spooning me—and no sex. My instinct is to call him, hear his voice, but I’m afraid that’ll just make the whole sleeping thing harder. Instead I grab my cell and text him.

Me:
Miss you.

Scott instantly replies, almost as if he’d been sitting waiting for it.

Scott:
Want u.

My nipples pebble and I feel a corresponding throb low in my stomach.

Me:
Me too. Night.

Scott:
C u 2morrow.

I close the message app and place my phone on the nightstand. Ten minutes after my head hits the pillow, I’m in dreamland.

* * *

The thing I don’t like about vacations is coming home and dealing with the mountainous amounts of laundry that has to be done. Yeah, I get it that the machine does the real work and all we have to do is toss in the clothes—after they’re properly sorted of course—pour in detergent, fabric softener, and if you’re washing whites—some bleach. But let’s face it, it’s still work. The clothes have to be dried, folded, sometimes ironed and put away. This all takes time, making laundry day a big time suck.

But when your only clean clothes consist of cotton pajamas with flaming red hearts, dingy gray sweats and the matching dingier hoodie, laundry is a necessary evil.

So that’s how I spend more time than I like the following day.

I speak to Scott briefly in the morning. Even though he denies it, I’m pretty sure I woke him up because his voice is get-my-blood-pumping gravelly, which to me, is a total turn on. We only talk a couple minutes and don’t make plans right then but promise to firm something up later in the day.

Olivia goes down to Zach’s when I’m on load number two and April volunteers to do the food shopping when I’m on load number three—the last one. With the final load in the dryer, I now have a better choice of clothes to wear.

Alone in the apartment with
Clueless
playing on the television in the living room, I’m pulling on my green sweater when my cell phone starts ringing. It’s the normal ring so I know it’s not Scott, my mom, Olivia or April, who all have personalized ringtones.

My stomach is a bundle of knots as I scoop it off my bed. A glance at the number confirms it’s exactly who I think it is. John.

God, it’s like he knows down to the second when I’d be home. That’s okay because although he doesn’t know it yet, this time I’m actually going to take his call.

Although I’m resolved to do this, apprehension is so thick in my throat it’s hard to swallow, hard to breathe. Before I answer, I take a moment and inhale a deep, calming breath, praying it will bolster my courage.

“
Hello.” My voice is cool but my hand is clammy and my heart is racing.

There’s such a long pause, I’m not sure he’s going to answer. The fact that I answered probably caught him off guard.

“
Rebecca?” he asks, sounding uncertain.

Yep, I’ve managed to shock him.

“
Speaking.” I find it hard to keep still so I leave my room and head down the hall.

“
Rebecca, it’s your dad.”

I don’t bother to correct him. “I know.”

“
Oh. I-I—” He lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s good to hear your voice. Good to talk to you.”

I hate that the sound of his laugh causes my throat to close up with emotion. I don’t want to feel anything for him except indifference. I clear my throat and harden my heart.

“
I still haven’t changed my mind about seeing you. But I do want something from you,” I state briskly as I enter the living room then grab the remote and turn the TV off. Needing to stand, I walk back out into the small hallway leading to the front door and prop my back against the wall.

After a moment of silence, he says too eagerly, “Whatever you want, Becky.”

Ugh. No one calls me Becky. Haven’t since I was in the second grade. “Don’t call me that.”

“
Right. You’re not a baby anymore.”

As if he knew me then.

“
I want to meet my brother and sisters. Do you think your wife would agree to bring them to Sparks when I come home for Thanksgiving? Unless she hates me,” I add in as an afterthought. Because she could. I would be a reminder of his former life.

“
Renee doesn’t hate you,” he hurries to assure me. “She’s always wanted to meet you. She thinks it’s important for you and the kids to have a relationship, just like I do. You are their big sister and they’ve been dying to meet you for a while now.”

At his words, a wave of relief washes over me.
Dying to meet you.
He’d told me that the first time he’d called but that had been three years ago. I have no idea how they feel about me now.