You’re Mine by Penny Brooks novel Chapter 168

Chapter 168

Easton

It's a rare day where I'm at home with just Dad, texting Harper and begging her to come visit so I can fuck her in my pool.

I'm not even ashamed to admit my actual text was — come to my house so I can fuck you in my pool.

She has to study for a test, so I upped it and said, pool and hot tub.

I have an hour before she can even attempt to get here, and I'm bored out of my mind, not because I'm not fucking, but because all I can think about is her and college, which stresses me out so much I'm useless when it comes to anything else.

Somehow, I find myself downstairs in the kitchen staring into the fridge like it's going to magically shit out food for me when my dad's voice sounds.

I jump a foot.

"Seriously? At least announce yourself.

"So, my hard footsteps against the marble floors weren't enough?" I shut the fridge and shoot him a glare.

“Or my heavy breathing? Or the fact that I said your name at least three times while you stared into the fridge like it was Heaven and you were a few seconds away from following the tiny light?" "Very funny.” I run my hands down my face.

"Sorry, it's been a long day.’ "Same"

Dad pulls out a barstool and sits.

I can tell he’s not joking as he tugs on his black tie then pulls it off all the way only to shrug out of his suit jacket.

"I had to defend an innocent person who's now going to jail all because sometimes even the law can't save you.

He has two kids under four, and his wife's all on her own now.."

Dad shakes his head.

"Son, sometimes life isnt fair.” "No"

I agree.

"It isn't.” He leans onto the countertop.

"Want to talk about it?” "My feelings?” I state.

"No, not really.

I mean, what happens if I just blurt everything out then start crying like a little bitch?" "Then we disown you.

It's in the parenting handbook they gave us when you were born"

Dad deadpans.

“And again, very funny.” Dad pulls out a chair.

’Sit, talk, unwind, want a beer?” "Is this the part where I say I'm underage like a good little boy and refuse to admit the fact that I've consistently been having parties and raiding your liquor cabinet for at least three years?" "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that just like I'm going to pretend you arent underage and I'm not handing you alcohol, and you didn't just send a text to your girlfriend about fucking in the hot tub.’ I actually gasp.

He doesn't make eye contact.

"Make sure you're not connected to the cloud son, bad things happen when you are.’ I clear my throat.

"Noted"

"Anyway.."

He gets up and sure as shit goes to the fridge, grabs two beers, hands me one, and says, "Let's go sit outside"

Normally this is the part where every teen panics.

Is my archaic father going to try to have the sex talk with me? Is he going to use puppets again? Am I going to be scarred for life? Or is he just going to try to be relevant? The horror.

I mean.

Fuck.

Instead, we sit down in silence.

He sips his beer, I open mine, and sip it while giving him side—eye that says, spit it out before we awkwardly start talking about the weather or baseball, how ‘bout those Yankees.

I've had enough awkward conversations with my dad to last me an eternity, so I really don't need to add another one.

“What's on your mind?” Dad asks.

"You know, other than the hot tub, I won't ever go in for the rest of my existence” I hide my grimace behind the beer and take another sip before answering.

"I'm going to Stanford"

"And your mom and I couldn't be more proud.” He slaps me on the thigh.