Page 71 of Full Service

This is just my luck. I want a man who has set up strict boundaries.

No more touching. Professionalism all the way.

I can so do that. I can be the most professional.

After class and a short shift at the club, I make my way to my dad’s place. Parking in the lot and groceries in bags around my wrist, I traverse the densely packed trailer park. I can see my dad’s truck and camper in the distance and pick up my pace. He’s been working a construction job here for the past few months before he heads off to the next place. It’s been nice having him here, and with his busy schedule, I realize that he’s probably not been making himself actual food.

Been living off frozen dinners and beer, I’m sure. That can’t be healthy.

My mind flashes to Dr. Sinclair, and I bite back a smile. I wonder if he goes home and cooks himself dinner or if he has a freezer full of frozen dinners too.

Hm, I’ll have to see about that.

Maybe I’ll have to start cooking him dinners too.

Now that’s an idea.

“Ev!” my dad says, exiting his trailer, a beer in his hand. He looks so much like me, wide shoulders and blond hair, but twenty-four years older, and a little more rugged.

He’s always joked that I’m the reason he has wrinkles near his eyes. Apparently, I was a wild child. I got in trouble more than I should have growing up, but then again, it was never anything serious. Just stupid kid stuff. And my dad was too busy to really get angry over it. He usually just shook his head and pinched his nose in frustration.

“Hey,” I say, holding up my arms, the plastic bags dangling there. “I’m making you dinner.”

“Nothing healthy, I hope.”

“Just a side salad. But we’re doing steak and potatoes.”

His lips quirk up. “Deal. Let me get the grill out.”

He disappears around the back of the trailer and reappears a moment later with a portable grill, setting it up and attaching a propane tank to the underneath.

I set my stuff down in a chair and walk inside, washing my hands and taking a look around. This was a trailer my dad bought after I graduated high school when he started to work in different places along the West Coast. It was a cheap, old trailer with questionable choices in upholstery, but my dad, Joe, is a simple man and doesn’t seem to mind it.

I pull the fridge open and grab a beer, twisting the cap off and taking a swig.

My face bunches up as I swallow it down. Never really did like beer, but then again, it’s always what I drank with my dad. Probably when I shouldn’t have. But it’s kind of our thing.

“Got some new seasoning to try with the steak,” I say, and my dad bunches his nose.

“A.1. Sauce is just fine. Don’t need no spices.”

“Dad. If you’re using A.1. Sauce on steak, it’s not good.”

“Works just fine for me,” he says and then grins.

My eyes roll as I get to work, turning the grill on and prepping my space. I know what he’s doing. He’s egging me on, trying to get under my skin. He’s always done this. It’s a subtle art with him, and I try to not let him win.

But I know when he does. His lips quirk up and his eyes twinkle.

Fucking dads, man.

“So, what’s new with you? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

My eyes roll again as I set the steaks on the grill and place a pot on the burner.

“Pour the potatoes in the pot, old man. And I was here last week.”

“Hm, seems my old mind has forgotten already.”

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