True (True Believers #1)(9)
Author: Erin McCarthy

In high school I had taken control and tried to create a life for myself, with marginal success.

Now Dad was attempting to do the same thing.

Sometimes I wondered what Susan saw in him. But I realized that he was a supersweet, generous guy, even if he was a total dork. He was a lovable dork. And once in an unexpected moment of sharing, he told me that Susan had been married to an abusive guy who spent all their money on his failed fitness club. So in comparison to that, Dad was downright sexy I would imagine. Or at least not threatening.

“But if you need help studying, let me know. We can go through it now together.” He put his thumbs up in the air. “Team Macintosh!”

Oh, God. See? Totally adorable dork.

I laughed. “Thanks, Dad. I think I’m okay, though. I’m going to the library because Jess and Kylie are still sleeping. I’m in the dorm lounge right now.” No one used the lounge on our floor. It was a forgotten room that smelled like burned microwave popcorn and had threadbare carpet and one square wood couch. There was a whiteboard hanging crookedly on the wall, but nothing was written on it.

“Still sleeping? It’s past two. What are they anemic or something?”

Susan laughed and rolled her eyes at me, a knowing look on her face. “Oh, John, it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” she teased him. She gave him a quick kiss on the temple. “I’m guessing they were out partying.”

He made a face, pulling away from her kiss. I knew he was embarrassed by the affection. “Didn’t you go with them, Ror?”

“No. I was studying and watching a horror-movie marathon.” And thinking about Tyler’s bizarre little visit.

I could see my answer had my dad torn. He wanted me to study, but he wanted me to have a social life. Even though he would never say it, because we didn’t talk about emotions, I knew he felt guilty for not making things easier for me as a kid.

“Make sure you’re still having fun,” he settled on, a nice generic suggestion.

“Yep.”

“So . . .” There was a pause so painful I frowned. I had no idea what he was going to say, and he looked like he had sat on a pin he was shifting around so much, wiping his hands on his knees. “Any cute guys there that you like?”

Yikes. For some reason I had a feeling that Susan had suggested he open up this ridiculous dialogue with me. “Nope. This was voted the Homeliest Campus in America, you know.”

It took him a second, but then he made a face. “Ha ha. You know what I mean.”

“I do. And no, I haven’t met Mr. Wonderful. I haven’t even met Mr. Sort of Okay.” Then I gave him a smile. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I have plenty of time still to explore unhealthy relationships with self-absorbed jerks. I’m taking philosophy next semester so I have high hopes for that class.”

“Perfect,” he said, pulling a smile.

I knew he worried about me. He had already been dating my mom by the time they were twenty, and he seemed to think my lack of a boyfriend up to this point was an indicator of impending crazy-cat-lady, old-maid status. Maybe he was right. But I worried enough about it myself. He didn’t need to carry that burden too.

“Have fun with your friends,” I told him, wanting to encourage his social interaction. In that way, I guess I was really no different from him. We worried about each other. When you spent a decade with no one else, it just worked that way.

“Thanks, honey, you too. We’ll talk to you soon. Over and out, Captain.”

I saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

Yep. An adorable dork.

***

On Monday, I wandered around the bookstore straightening UC T-shirts and sweatpants, wishing I was anywhere but my work-study job. I had done okay on my chem exam, but I wasn’t prepared for lit class, and I had sat through the lecture wondering if the book I had attempted to read was even the same one the professor was talking about.

Tired and pissed off at myself, I moved from rack to rack, pounding hangers down to make the sweatshirts stop exploding in all directions, and contemplated going for tutoring in lit, though I wasn’t even sure they offered it. Tutoring was for math and science and foreign languages, not for reading a book. Presumably once you got to college you knew how to do that.

“Is this me?” a voice said from behind.

I turned and there was Tyler holding up in front of him a woman’s tank top that read Sexiest Bearcat, a lazy smile on his face as he watched for my reaction. Oh, God. He was the last person on the planet I wanted to see when I was stressed and still wondering why he had been in my room on Saturday.

“It’s not your color,” I told him, feeling hugely self-conscious that I had barely managed to brush my hair before work, and I’d bitten off my lipstick from irritation hours ago.

“Yeah, you’re right. This one would look good on you, though.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. No one had ever accused me of being sexy before, and if I were going to pick spirit wear, it wouldn’t be a tank top designed to show off br**sts. So not my style.

“Not your color either?” he asked.

“No.” I went back to the rack, straightening what I had already straightened, wondering what he was doing there. Mid-semester, the bookstore wasn’t all that busy. Usually it was parents and high school students on tour who came in and bought golf shirts and UC Mom tees. Somehow I didn’t think Tyler was there to buy either of those.

He was just standing there, eyeballing the rack next to me without any sense of purpose. Wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans that hung exactly the way they should on a guy, he had a bicep tattoo that read TRUE Family in a tribal script. For some reason, that softened my irritation with him. It wasn’t his fault he made me uncomfortable. He was just trying to be nice. Maybe he felt sorry for me because of what had happened with Grant, and he had come to the bookstore to buy pens and just wanted to say hi and I was being weird about it. When you knew someone, you went over and acknowledged them. It was the way human beings interacted and I needed to stop looking for more meaning in everything than there was.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked him, striving for casual. But instead I sounded like a fifty-year-old saleswoman, and he called me out on it.

“Yes, can you show me this in a bigger size? And can you help me find gifts for my grandkids?” That was him mocking me, no question about it.

My cheeks heated.

Tyler scrutinized me. “Seriously, Rory, I know you’re at work but you don’t have to act like we’ve never met before. I don’t think they’ll fire you if you talk to me for five minutes. It’s work study. You’d have to light the stadium blanket display on fire for them to can you.”