Just a Number (23 page)

“
Y
ou sure you can’t stay awhile longer?” Alan asks over breakfast.

It’s the morning of the twenty-ninth, and Amelia and I are planning to leave early that afternoon. Truthfully, I could stay another day or two, but every day that passes finds me more and more unable to stay away from Amelia. It will only be a matter of time before we slip up again; I just know it. It’s selfish, but I also have plans to surprise Amelia for New Year’s.

“Yeah,” I reply, spearing some eggs onto my fork and taking a bite. “I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up at the office before the New Year, and then there’s the office party the night of the thirty-first.” There. Not a total lie.

Alan looks over at his daughter, looking somewhat hopeful, and it makes my stomach churn, because I already know what her answer is going to be. Offering him an apologetic smile, she shrugs. “I’d stay if he wasn’t my ride home,” she tells him. I sense a little truth in her words, but more than that, I sense her desperation for the two of us to be alone.

Of course, that could all be me. That picture Amelia sent me the other morning only does so much good; I can’t wait to have my hands on her in every way she’ll allow.

Over the last few days, we’ve managed to have a few stolen moments together, but we’re always careful to keep a safe distance from one another—save for a few fleeting touches as we pass one another in the hall. I’ll be glad once we can tell Alan, and I know that now would probably be a good time since it’s just the three of us gathered around the table, but I don’t want to ruin what I have planned back in Seattle for Amelia.

Yes, it’s selfish, I get that, but what could a few more days hurt, really? Amelia’s going to ask him to come down on the second of January, and she’ll suggest we all go to breakfast. While there, we’ll tell him everything—well, maybe not
everything
, but we’ll tell him about us.

Telling him on our terms will be better for everyone, but it’s still not going to be easy for him to hear. I think Amelia is hoping that such a public setting will help to keep him from overreacting…or, really, just reacting a little less like a father who’s just found out the identity of his daughter’s much older boyfriend.

“So, Dad,” Amelia says, shifting in her seat nervously, indicating that this is it. This is the moment she’s going to invite him to the city so we can talk to him. “I know you’re working New Year’s Eve, but is there any chance you could make it down afterward? Like, maybe on the second or something?”

Alan smirks before taking a sip of his coffee. “Why not just stay until the New Year? I’d be happy to drive you back to the city.”

“Well,” she says softly, dragging the word out, “I’m hoping to have plans on New Year’s.”

Alan appears confused as he drops his eyes to his plate and pushes his eggs around. “Hoping? You mean that uh…” He pauses briefly, almost as he’s trying to find the right word to use. “That
guy
you’re seeing hasn’t asked you to do anything?” He laughs once, and it’s without humor.

“Dad,” Amelia says, exasperated. “It isn’t like that. We haven’t been able to talk much since I left the city.” It’s admittedly hard to suppress a smirk every time she finds a way to skirt the truth without flat-out lying. Somehow, a career in journalism seems quite fitting. “I’m sure he’s got something planned.” She carefully casts her eyes up at me before tossing her napkin onto her empty plate. “You guys done?”

Alan and I relinquish our plates to her, and she takes them to the sink where she proceeds to tidy up. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to start an argument with her father about her relationship, and I can’t blame her. I’ve known Amelia long enough—and her father even longer—to know that if they continue on down that road, Amelia would have enough and tell him about us in a fit of anger. And anger only breeds more anger, which is something we’re trying to avoid when it comes to telling Alan.

Keeping his voice low, Alan leans across the table, and I fear the conversation we’re about to have. “Do you really think she’s serious about this guy?” he asks. “What could they possibly have in common?”

Anger spikes slightly, and I pick up my coffee mug, suddenly very interested by the steam rolling off the black liquid inside. I debate reminding him that I—an older guy—am involved with a younger woman and he seemed to be just fine with the idea of that, but I fear that this will only put him on the path to figuring everything out, and that’s definitely not what I want. “Let it go, Alan.”

“I can’t!” he hisses, still careful not to draw Amelia’s attention over the running water. “What kind of man goes out prowling the streets for a girl half his age?”

I breathe deeply, evenly, and count to ten before my anger can build any more. I know he doesn’t realize he’s talking about me, but that doesn’t make it any less insulting. Besides, does he really think that little of Amelia’s ability to choose a suitable partner?

I set the mug down, my hands still wrapped around it, and I look Alan dead in the eye. “Don’t you think it’s possible that this guy’s good for her?” Alan stares at me, dumbfounded. “She’s
happy
, Alan.”

This seems to quiet him for the time-being, and I experience a flicker of hope that he might be a little more forgiving when he finds out that
I’m
the man seeing his daughter. If we can just keep reminding him about how happy we are, then perhaps he’ll listen to reason.

Behind me, the water stops running, and when I turn around, I see Amelia is wiping down the counter, having finished the dishes. “Okay,” she says brightly, almost as though her conversation with her father never happened. “I’m going to run upstairs and finish packing my things. Dad, you think about that trip up to see me. I’ll take you to your favorite restaurant for brunch.”

The tension in the room thins as Alan smiles. It’s obvious he’s not going to press her about her relationship any further, and I relax slightly. “I’ll see if I can sneak away for the day, kiddo.”

“Great.”

The sound of Amelia climbing the stairs echoes through the lower level of the house before she can be heard in her room above the kitchen. Alan finishes his coffee, takes the empty mug to the sink, and then turns to me and says he’s going to go have a quick shower before Amelia and I have to take off.

With Amelia and Alan upstairs, I decide to go make sure all my things are packed and fold up all the blankets that are still on the couch. By the time I’ve stacked the last blanket on the pile, I hear Amelia skipping down the stairs. While Alan showers, I decide to take advantage of this rare moment alone and meet her at the foot of the stairs where she sets her bags down. Taking her hand, I pull her around the corner until we’re out of sight, but still within earshot of the stairs in case Alan makes an appearance.

“Owen!” she quietly exclaims with a light giggle as I sandwich her body between mine and the wall. Her chest heaves against mine as I trail my fingers up and down her arms, inviting a fog of lust to roll around us.

Being sure to pay attention to the sound of the shower running upstairs, I lower my face to hers, kissing and nipping along her jaw, moving toward that ticklish spot just below her ear. Her body softens against me, head falling back against the wall, and her hands fly to my hips. She hooks her thumbs into the waist of my jeans while my hands splay across her lower back and travel south. She releases a soft sigh as I lightly nip the shell of her ear, and it travels straight to my groin, but I hold back every carnal impulse I have because I know we won’t be alone for much longer.

“Just think,” I whisper into her ear, smiling when I watch the skin of her neck prickle with goosebumps, “in a few short hours, we’ll be back in the city…
alone
.”

She moans in reply, pushing her hips away from the wall and up against mine. “And what exactly do you plan to do to me?” She shifts her head, forcing me to look into her eyes as she smirks slyly. Her voice is low and sexy, sending another shot of lust straight to my groin.

I’ve always hated that stereotype about how men can’t think when sex is involved, but every day with Amelia has me wondering if there isn’t maybe the tiniest hint of truth to it. Without thinking about how we could be caught by her father at any moment, my right hand moves around to the front of her body and slips between her thighs.

She inhales a shaky breath as my hand moves a few times before my common sense finally returns, and I pull it away, placing it securely on her hip. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at me through heavy eyelids. “How long until we leave again?”

Before I can reply, I hear the shower stop and the sound of the metal shower rings sliding across the bar. Smiling, I kiss her softly once more before pulling away. “To be continued.”

Reluctantly, Amelia and I part ways—she to the kitchen and I back to the living room—and soon Alan wanders down the stairs. Amelia and I offer to help him clean up the living room and take down all of the Christmas decorations before we leave, so we spend the next couple hours doing that. He never once brings up Amelia’s relationship again.

As soon as the house is back in order, I suggest that we should get on the road, and Amelia agrees. It’s obvious she’s trying to rein in her eagerness to go, but at the same time, I can see how much she hates saying goodbye to her father.

Alan hugs Amelia after she puts her jacket on. “I’ll be up in a couple of days,” he tells her. “You did promise me breakfast, after all.”

Amelia laughs softly, pulling out of his embrace and picks up her bag. “Good.”

Alan turns to me and nods. “Drive safe,” he says, the look in his eyes reminding me that I’ll have his daughter in my car with me and that he values her life even above his own.

What he doesn’t realize is that I feel exactly the same way.

After I assure him that it’s not my intention to drive recklessly, we say goodbye, and Amelia and I haul our bags out to the car. Alan watches from the doorway as Amelia and I get into the car and buckle up, both turning and waving to him before pulling away from the house and making our way toward the highway. The second the house is out of view, Amelia reaches over and takes my hand, sighing as she rests her head back against the seat and looks at me.

I can feel her happiness pulsing through her veins as she squeezes my hand, and I bring her hand to my lips for a kiss. “Just a few hours and we’ll be back in Seattle,” I tell her, briefly glancing at her before returning my eyes to the road. “How would you feel about going to my place tonight?”

“It doesn’t matter to me where we go,” she replies, her voice low and husky, “so long as we’re alone to do whatever we please to one another.” She sits up and moves closer to me, leaning over the console to whisper in my ear while I struggle to keep my eyes—and the car—on the road. “Now, why don’t you pick up the pace so you can get started doing all the naughty things you’ve fantasized about these past few days.”

Her words, as always, shoot straight through me as I commit the tenor, as well as what she’s said, to memory. The way she speaks and acts so openly about sex always renders me incapable of speech right away. I’ve never been with anyone like her. She excites me more than any other woman I’ve ever been with, and I am so glad I chased after her all those weeks ago.

There are several times while I drive along the highway that the sexual tension thickens the air enough to make me contemplate pulling over. I would give nothing more than to do just that, especially when I look over at Amelia to find her staring at me, her eyes bright and mischievous, but know that I can’t. Why not? Well, because we’d run the risk of a cop finding my Lexus on the side of the road, the windows likely fogged up while the vehicle rocks wildly. Not only do I not want to get fined for parking (is that what the kids are still calling it?), but with Alan being a well-known paramedic in Portland, there’s no guarantee he won’t hear about this.

This is all I need to keep the car on the road and my thoughts on how I plan to expel all of this sexual energy that continues to thrum through every square inch of my body.

“Do you need to stop by your place for anything?” I ask, hoping to strike up some kind of conversation in an attempt to keep my thoughts from wandering to what I have planned for the two of us back at my apartment.

“Mmm…” She contemplates my question. “Nope. I think I’m good. As long as I can throw a load of laundry in at your place, that is.”

“Of course,” I reply, glancing over at her. “I’ve got a private washer and dryer in my walk-in closet, actually.”

She smiles. “How convenient.” A brief silence falls between us before Amelia sits up straight, turning slightly to face me a little more. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

I hear the serious lilt to her voice, and my eyebrows pull together, curious. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

She pauses for a moment, seeming to think about what it is she wants to ask. “Has Stephen said anything to you? You know, about us?”

Stunned, my gaze snaps to hers. “No, why? Has he said something to
you
?”

“Kind of.” My eyes widen as she continues. “I meant to talk to you about this sooner, but there was never
really
a good time.” I nod in understanding. “He didn’t mention you by name, but the way he looked at us at the party when Julia was asking about my ‘mystery man’ and Dad was talking about your ‘hot piece of ass’”—we both laugh lightly—“made me think he suspected something.”

“Well,” I interject, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “perhaps you’re reading too much into it.”

“There’s more,” she tells me. “Remember when you came into the kitchen on Christmas day for beer?” I nod. “And Stephen walked in?” Another nod. “Well, he said some things.”

“What kinds of things?”

She exhales softly. “He said I didn’t have to explain my relationship to him or to anyone, but that we should tell Dad because our keeping it secret probably feeds his anxiousness over this entire thing.”

I shrug, changing lanes to get around the person driving below the posted speed limit. “Well, I suppose he’s got a point. By sneaking around, it probably makes him think, on some level, that
you
feel what you’re doing is wrong, and therefore it only fuels similar feelings in him.”