Page 50 of A Favor Owed

I hope it’s Mikey picking me up. I won’t have to worry about anything slipping out with him. We’ll just talk about the Giants and video games and whatever girls he thinks are hot in his classes at NYU.

But, of course, no such luck.

I’m in the cell phone lot. Let me know when you’re here.

My dad’s text pops up on my screen as soon as I turn off airplane mode. Damn it.

I’m here, I text back. It’s late enough that it will probably take us only about half an hour to get to our house. I hope I can hold off any talk about Angie.

I head down to baggage claim and out to ground transportation. My dad pulls around soon enough and hops out before I can even get the door open.

“Hey, kid,” he says, wrapping his strong arms around me and slapping me on the back. “How you doing?” My dad is tall and strong and in damn good shape for a guy his age. He has salt-and-pepper hair, sun-browned skin, and dark eyes that always crinkle with laughter despite the demons that plague him. He was a firefighter before being injured about a week before 9/11. Angie Pines thought I’d be weirded out by anxiety and depression? My dad spent years in therapy trying to get over the guilt. He never went back to being a firefighter. He mostly lays floors and does drywall for home remodelers. Making documents for people trying to provide for their families is the only thing that makes him feel like a hero again.

“I’m good, Dad,” I say, hugging and slapping him back.

“Let’s get out of here.” He heads back around to the driver’s side. “Your ma’s climbing the walls.”

I smile and shake my head as I throw my bag in the backseat. I’ve been away only about a month, but it’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing my parents.

“So, how are things?” he asks as he pulls out into traffic.

“Good. Lots of work, but I manage to have some fun.”

“You always do.”

We talk about the Giants for a while, and I start to relax. But I should have known it wouldn’t last. My dad and I won’t have much alone time this weekend.

“How are things with our girl?” he asks. I blanch at his choice of words.

“They’re okay, I guess.”

“Do you have to talk to her or anything?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, uh, I talk to her.”

My dad glances at me sharply and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “She’s a beautiful girl, from what I remember. Tall, right?”

I shrug. “I guess. And yeah, she’s tall.”

“You guess, huh?” he says drily.

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s in your class?”

“Yeah.”

“You must see her all the time, then.”

“She’s part-time, so she’s in only three of my classes.” I clear my throat again. “But yeah, I see her.”

“What’s she like?” he asks casually. He glances at me as he checks the passenger side mirror and changes lanes, his expression unreadable.

“She’s smart.” That’s objective enough, I guess. “Pretty quiet, keeps a low profile. Works at a bar near school, rides her bike everywhere.”Kisses like an angel, has the body of a goddess, and gives head like a pro.I’m glad it’s dark so my dad can’t see my face turn red thinking about the things I know about Angela Pines.

“From what I remember, she seemed quiet and polite, all business,” says my dad. “I didn’t really spend much time with her, though.”

“Right.” I search my brain for something else to talk about, but my gift of gab is totally failing me. Fortunately, my dad turns the conversation to a house he’s working on, and we spend the last few minutes of the drive talking about water damage and drywall problems.

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