Page 117 of My Only

He nodded to himself, ignoring my reaction.

“Because I knew that girl was a good girl,” he continued. “And although I knew my son was a good guy…?” His voice dipped lower and he lifted his gaze. “You were nowhere near ready to keep a girl like her smiling all the time.”

A sharp laugh.

“No, son. It would've taken just one girl with sweet-smelling perfume to turn your head so fast?—”

He snapped his fingers.

“—it would’ve spun off like a bottle cap.”

“Dad.” I exhaled sharply.

I met his gaze, squaring my shoulders.

“You know I wouldn’t cheat on Ayla, right?”

His eyes narrowed.

A heavy, wordless glare.

I gritted my teeth.

“You know that, right?”

My father finally spoke.

“What I know…”

He leaned over the table, lined up his cue stick. Took his shot. Pocketed a solid ball. Then straightened up again.

“…is that tonight?” His voice was calm. “You looked like a man who could be mistaken for someone else’s husband.”

“What?!” The bass in my voice came harder than expected, echoing around us.

“Yes.” He walked around the table, lining up another shot. “You say you’d never cheat?—”

Another swift strike. Another ball sunk.

“—then why put yourself in a position for it to happen?”

I guffawed. “You’re overreacting right now.”

“No.” He finally looked up at me. “You’re just lying to yourself.”

A beat.

“And worse…” His expression darkened. “You’re lying to your wife.”

My fists curled at my sides.

“I would never cheat on Ayla,” I repeated, teeth gritted. “Never. I’d have to die first.”

“Then stop putting yourself in positions where you have to go back on your fucking word,” he roared.

I took a breath.

Stepped back.

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