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She suddenly looks relieved, and I’m not sure why. “I thought you were probably about twenty-two since you recently graduated.”
Oh, so that’s why. She thought I was a lot younger.
“I’m the oldest of four kids who’ve all wanted to go to college, and our family doesn’t have a lot. So I worked and lived at home for a while after high school to save money, and then I scraped together some scholarship funds and student loans. Finally, I could swing it and move into the dorm, but working full-time and going to school made me take an extra year to get all of my credits. I have one sister at Stanford now on an athletic scholarship playing volleyball, and my little brother will start in the fall playing football at Ohio State. Our other sister joined the army to get her education paid for.”
“Wow. What do your parents do?”
“My dad’s a firefighter, and my mom’s a nurse.”
“It sounds like you have a terrific family.” She sounds a little sad as she says it.
I smile and nod. “I think you’re right. What’s your family like? Are they around here?”
Petra’s expression closes off immediately. “No.”
“Where are they?” I begin to wonder if she has any family at all.
“I have no idea about my sperm donor. He took off before I was born, and my mother wasn’t much of a caregiver. She moved to Indonesia a few years ago to follow her ‘great adventure.’ She isn’t the best about keeping in touch with me about her whereabouts.”
Jeez, that sucks. “Siblings?”
“None that I know of, though I could have a whole bunch of half-siblings spread all over the country, thanks to my sperm donor. My mom never wanted any more kids after she had me.” She raises her eyes to mine. “Don’t get the idea that I was brought up by some poor, dedicated single mother who had to work four minimum wage jobs to keep a roof over our heads. My mom came from money. That’s probably why my so-called father wanted to be around her to begin with. That, and she’s gorgeous. But when she got pregnant and wouldn’t marry him or even name him as the father, he apparently left. She probably told him, ‘Thank you for your donation, now take a hike.’ Or maybe she even paid him off to leave, for all I know. She’s always been pretty independent. I was raised by a string of nannies with little input from my mom and went to boarding school for high school so she could travel. I’ve often wondered why she even wanted to have me in the first place. And before you speculate, no, she hasn’t shared any of her wealth with me other than paying for private school and then college. After graduating from the University of Iowa where I studied writing, I was on my own, and that’s fine with me. It makes me work really hard to support myself. I ended up in Indiana because I got a job here writing trade manuals that I quit when the ghostwriting took off.”
“I see.” I honestly don’t see it at all. My parents are the best, and I’m so lucky to have them. I’ve always known they both love me unconditionally. My heart breaks a little for Petra—who obviously has no clue what she’s missed out on. Or maybe she does, at least a little. “Have you ever tried to find your dad?”
“He’s not mydad. He was only there for the sex. That was the sum total of his contribution. So, no. I don’t know where he lives or even his last name. I’ve never seen a picture of him, so it’s no different than someone whose mother was inseminated by a sperm bank. I asked my mother about him a few times, but she never had much to say other than ‘good riddance,’ so I didn’t pursue it with her.”
“That’s so sad,” I can’t help saying.
Petra shrugs. “Not really. I don’t feel rejected by him since he never knew me. Sometimes I did wish I had a daddy to spoil me like some of my friends had.”
The look on her face belies her words. How could she not feel rejected? Her father disappeared and never looked back, and her own mother would rather gallivant around the world than be a mother—andshe prevented Petra from having a father. That’s fucked up. No wonder Petra got herself involved with a loser boyfriend. She has no example of how a relationship ought to work. And if she writes romance, she might have a pretty skewed idea of how things in real life aren’t always happily-ever-after scenarios.
Wondering how I could show her how caring people and real families ought to work, I ask, “Would you mind getting us some drinks and setting the table for lunch? I think I need to go apologize to Weston and get him to come down and eat. The lunch is a cold dish, so there’s nothing to heat up. I’ll be back down in a moment.”
“Sure, but he said he had a call.”
“Yeah, right. He was just getting out of the way. I’ll go find him.” I start to leave and then pause. Turning to Petra, I give her a quick hug and kiss her cheek. “I think we all have some talking to do.” I leave her blinking at me as I walk out of the room.
I take the stairs two at a time and find Weston sitting at his computer with the door open. I can tell he isn’t working, but I’ll play along. I whisper, “Sorry to bother you. Lunch is ready, and we’d like to eat with you.”
He gives me a half smile and says, “Hold on while I put this red seven on my black eight.”
“I knew you weren’t working.”
“Yeah?”
“You forgot to get dressed.”
“Petra said it would be good for business if I left my shirt off.”
“Smart girl,” I say and wink at him. “I like the look.” Then I add, “I’m sorry I broke up your fun and acted like a jerk about it.”
“No worries.” He rubs his hands over his face as if to wipe his thoughts clean. “I shouldn’t be messing around with her anyway. Even if she is as hot as fuck. It’s just that sometimes when I look at her, all of my reservations fly out the window.”
“Come back down and have some lunch. Maybe after we eat, we can clear the air a bit.” As Weston rises from his chair, I let my eyes travel down his muscled body. He really is a work of art. He and Petra together are like perfection. I want them so badly. I shouldn’t want them. But… I’m only human, and they are both delicious. I get an idea then and ask, “Did you turn off the AC today? It’s pretty hot in here, especially for this time of year.” As we head down the hall, I grab the back of my shirt, drag it off over my head, and toss it into my bedroom where it lands on the edge of my bed. Weston’s steps pause momentarily, and his eyes roam over me. I try not to smirk because I know how I look. Weston doesn’t have the only six-pack in this house. I quicklytoe off my shoes and toss my socks. “Much better,” I say, and we continue down the stairs. I can hear him chuckling.
Eleven
