Page 2 of Lucky Mother Pucker

I focus on his face—his face that looks exactly like mine. Same dark brown eyes. Same straight nose. Same hard frown that we always wear when we’re pissed.

Our hair is the same shade of black-brown. I’m as tall as he is—six-foot-four. I’ve got his build too. Broad and lean. I even play the same position he did.

My stomach churns. I hate that we’re so alike. I hate that I share so much with someone I can’t stand.

I hate that we can’t have a normal conversation like other sons and dads. I hate that no matter how good I play or how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough for him.

I swallow back the ache in my chest. “So this is why you wanted to meet for coffee? To remind me that I’ll never measure up to you?”

His gaze narrows. “I’m just trying to help you play better, Leo. That’s why I meet with you after games. I know the potential you have. If you weren’t so damn lazy—if you didn’t spend so much time with your teammates drinking and partying⁠—”

“Leave my teammates out of this,” I snap.

He exhales sharply, that disapproving look in his mahogany stare. “I do this as a favor to you. So we can go over what areas you can improve on. So you can be the best.”

“I never asked you to.” My nerves are on edge from this angry stand-off with my father. “And these meetings you insist on obviously aren’t working if you always think I play like shit.” I down more coffee, hating the bitter taste as it coats my mouth. “I’m gonna be late to class. I need to go.”

“Fine,” he mutters. He plucks a few bills from his wallet and drops them on the table. “Don’t forget about the gala next month. I expect you to be there. Wear a tux.”

The last thing I want to do is attend that. It’s a charity event for retired professional athletes here in Denver that happens every year. They show up with their families, sign autographs, and schmooze with fans. We’re expected to stand there and smile and pretend that my dad is this wonderful, wholesome family man when in reality, he’s the biggest asshole I know.

He stands up and walks out of the coffee shop. No goodbye. No hug. Not even a glance in my direction.

That ache in my chest deepens, but after a few seconds, it fades. I should be used to what a dick my dad is. He’s always been like this.

But the truth is that I’m not. And I never will be. It’ll always feel like a knife to my chest every time he reminds me how he’ll never be proud of me.

I push aside the pain and walk up to the counter to order another drink. Something with cream and syrup and sugar to get rid of that gross, bitter taste in my mouth.

I order a java chip mocha from the guy at the register, then stand off to the side and browse on my phone while I wait for them to make it.

A minute later, he calls my name and hands me the drink. I thank him and take a sip, then instantly start to gag.

I grab a napkin from the nearby dispenser and spit out the rancid-tasting liquid, coughing.

“Are you alright?” the guy who took my order asks.

I wipe my mouth. “This tastes rotten.”

The guy’s eyes go wide. “What?”

I look down at the drink. “It tastes like the milk has gone bad or something.”

He turns around and grabs a milk carton from the counter. He looks at it for a second, then purses his lips like he’s annoyed.

He turns back to me. “I apologize. One of our new hires was in charge of stocking the fridge today, and she must not have bothered to check the expiration date on the milk.”

He reaches out to me, and I hand him the drink.

“I’m very sorry. Let me make you another one.”

“No, it’s fine. I have to go to class,” I say, annoyed at how shitty this morning has been. First I get chewed out by my dad, and then I down a mouthful of rotten milk.

The guy looks disappointed, but he nods like he understands. “I’ll be sure to void the transaction on your credit card.”

“You should really hire better people. People who know how to throw away rotten milk instead of serving it to customers,” I mutter.

The second I say it, I regret it. I’m not usually this pissed off over something as small as a spoiled drink. But meeting with my dad first thing in the morning has put me in the worst mood.