“They’re supposed to be the best donuts in the country,” I say as we stand in line, the scent of sugar and oil wafting through the air.
Laila keeps taking photos of everything around the shop, and I have to admit when I looked it up this morning, I knew she’d love its very Instagrammable aesthetic. We didn’t get up and on the road as early as I wanted to, so it’s already past eight, but I figure as long as we get to Denver tonight, we’ll be fine. Then by tomorrow night, I’ll be in Vegas to stop Kirsten from making the biggest mistake of her life.
My daughter called this morning, apparently after she received the full rundown of everything from Laila.
“Just be nice to her, okay? She doesn’t take breakups well,” my daughter had said. Which was mostly why I chose a trendy, hipster donut shop for breakfast, but as I glance over at Laila with her face full of makeup and a certain little pep in her step, I start to wonder what my daughter was talking about. Laila looks better today than she did yesterday. I mostly expected Laila to take this worse. The girl is so hung up on perfection, thinking everything has to be a certain way it’s made her gun shy. I just wish she’d stop expecting the man to make her first time flawless and amazing. That is just not going to happen.
This morning, I caught her watching me a little too intently as I combed my hair in the mirror. Sharing a room with her was reckless and inappropriate. I won’t lie—when the clerk at the hotel told me they only had one room, I was relieved. Not that I expected anything to happen between us. I just wasn’t ready to leave her side. Tonight we have to get two rooms. It’s only appropriate.
Our conversation last night left me feeling a little strange. Well for starters, the fact that she’s a virgin and not in a saving-myself-for-marriage-because-I’m-religious sort of way is doing things to my head. Laila is bold in all the ways that matter, but she seems to be lacking confidence in this area. Why? I totally had her pegged for the kind of girl who takes the lead in the bedroom. Fuck knows that little prick we left bleeding in the parking lot of the strip club last night wasn’t going to give her what she needed.
As if I know what she needs.
I mean…I do, but I’m not letting that thought get comfortable in my head.
I’m not thinking about my daughter’s friend like that. She’s too young for me, and the virgin thing doesn’t really do it for me. Not at all.
Nope.
“It’s your turn to order,” Laila says, knocking me in the arm with her elbow as I stare blankly at the chalkboard scribbled menu above the head of the girl currently waiting for me to tell her what I want to eat.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Laila steps in front of me. “Oh, absolutely not. You are getting a donut, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
I don’t want to tell her that this much sugar this early in the morning on a day when we need to preserve our energy for a long day is a terrible idea, but she’s smiling, and my daughter gave me strict orders to be nice to her, so I let her order me a maple donut with bacon on it.
Then, she proceeds to order an elaborate coffee with no less than five words. “Vanilla soy extra shot latte no whip.” Like it’s the secret password to get into an exclusive club, the girl behind the counter nods and smiles.
“Coffee?” Laila asks.
“Uh…yeah. Black,” I say to which she wrinkles her nose in a way that is definitely not adorable and making me want to touch it.
Trying to escape the thoughts in my head, I meander to the opposite end of the counter and scroll through the emails on my phone. Laila excuses herself to use the restroom, and I try not to watch her walk away. Her leggings are gray today and tight around her backside like they are actually made for working out. She’s paired them with a pair of trainers and a loose fitting sweater.
Laila is tall, taller than most girls I date. At six-two, I still tower over her, but she comes nicely to my chin which I hadn’t noticed in the car. I bet I could tuck her head there comfortably and kiss her without having to crane my neck too—
“Your black coffee,” the girl behind the counter says, passing me a hot paper cup still steaming through the tiny air hole in the top. I find myself smiling at her with a certain twinkle in my eye, noticing those big blues and full blonde hair. “And this is your girlfriend’s latte.”
My face falls. I only hesitate for a second before taking the cup and thanking her. Her thinking Laila was my girlfriend was a certain punch to the gut.
As she comes out of the bathroom, we take our donuts and head for the car. She has a weird look on her face, like she’s deliberating something.
“Everything okay?” I ask as we climb into the car. She gives me a tight-lipped smile and head nod that is less than convincing.
We’re on the road for almost an hour before she finally pulls her earbuds out of her ears and turns toward me. “Okay, can I ask you a personal question?”
I clear my throat, my brow furrowing. Well this should be interesting.
“Uh, sure I guess.”
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
Well, fuck. I should have seen this coming after last night. I opened my big mouth and had to weigh in on her belief that her first time had to be some magical experience, when in all of my experience it definitely would not be. Now she’s curious, and I can’t blame her for it, but fuck…this about to get awkward.
“I was seventeen.” Please don’t do the math.
“And what was it like?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s sitting with her legs folded up, running her hand along her thigh like she wants me to lose control of this car. Trying to focus, I straighten my shoulders and remind myself that this is my daughters friend, and she’s asking me these questions because I am a father figure to her. Nothing else.
“Well…it was fast. A little too short, if I’m honest, and we made the stupid mistake of skipping the protection.”
Her brows fold inward as she stares at me, then a moment later recognition dawns on her face.
“Wait…” she says.
“Yep.”
“Your first time…was when Kirsten…was conceived?”
Jesus this is awkward. “Afraid so.”
“Damn.”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, no wonder your perspective on sex is skewed. You royally botched up the first time. I still think the first time can be special,” she argues without looking at me.
“Liz getting pregnant had nothing to do without how terrible it was. That was due to inexperience.”
Still chewing on her lip, she faces forward, thinking for a long moment before she turns back to me. “But it got better, right?”
I can’t help the laugh that comes out. “Exponentially.”
She grimaces. “You could just say much better. You don’t have to be so British and formal.”
“Well, I am British,” I respond, and she does that nose crinkly thing again. Once again, I have a hard time not booping her right on the nose as she does it.
“How many people…? She says, her voice trailing.
“Are you asking for my body count?” I ask in a higher pitch than I intend.
“I guess.”
“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?”
“Well, you’re a good looking doctor in his late thirties. I can’t help if I’m curious!”
Never mind the fact that she just called me good looking. Never mind that. I’m not actually going to tell her my number. Do I even know my number anymore? I feel like I lost count somewhere around the year I turned thirty, and even then it wasn’t disgustingly high, just more than one could keep track with notches on a bedpost—if I wanted anything to be left of said bedpost.
“Let’s just say a lot.”
“Don’t you ever want to settle down?” she asks.
“Sure, but it’s a little hard to get a girl to agree to stay with you when you tell her that you’re planning to move to America to be with your only child.”
Her body sinks against the seat as she turns and looks out the window. Something about that answer bothered her apparently.
“I didn’t know you had always planned on coming. What took so long?” Her voice is smaller than normal, and she’s picking at the hem of her sweater.
“The job I had in London paid so well it allowed me to save up enough to cover Kirsten’s college in just five years. I couldn’t pass up that, now could I?”
“Yeah, but you put off your whole dating life? Did you really avoid settling down for Kirsten?”
I look at her with a confused expression. I don’t know why she’s so interested in this, but I can tell she’s feeling a certain way about me and my job in London. It makes me wonder if Kirsten has ever spoken about me being in England this whole time, but it wouldn’t be right to ask.
“My job as a parent comes first, Laila. I put off dating because I had a commitment to do what was right for my daughter.”
“Well, what about now?” she asks. My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Now, like you said, I’m almost forty. I still work insane hours, and I have to put Kirsten first. Even if that means dropping everything to drive across the country with a twenty-one year old who asks too many questions.” Forcing a smile on my face, I look at her expecting her to laugh, but she’s not. She’s still chewing her lip, avoiding my gaze with regret written all over her face. Something is clearly bothering her, but I’m too busy reminding myself that lusting over Kirsten’s best friend isn’t exactly sticking to my commitment to do right by my daughter, is it?
