“Definitely going to kill him,” Sam muttered. The double French doors were cracked and led to a deck.
There was a hot tub there, from which came the whoosh of the jets and the unmistakable sounds of a man’s voice and a woman giggling.
Sam stepped out the French doors, and again Becca followed, figuring that by the steam coming out his ears, father and son might need a referee.
“You’ve got to be f**kin’ kidding me,” Sam said.
Mark was indeed in the hot tub with a woman, and as the undies had indicated, they were buck naked.
Becca immediately whirled back to the doors, but unfortunately she’d let them shut behind her when she’d come out, and naturally they’d locked. “Crap,” she said, rattling the doors for good measure.
Behind her, Mark and the woman were making noises over the sound of the jet bubbles that were going to haunt her for the rest of her life. Sam, too, if the growl from deep in his throat meant anything. “Dad,” he clipped out, sounding like he was forcing the word past cut glass.
There was the sound of water sloshing, and she imagined the couple breaking apart. “Oh, hey,” Mark called, and against her better judgment, Becca took a peek.
Thankfully, both the nudists were now in the water up to their necks.
“Didn’t expect you so early, son,” Mark said. “Next time I’ll hang a tie on the door or something for notice, yeah?”
Sam shoved his hand into his pocket and came up with his keys, which he handed to Becca so she could unlock the doors and get inside, but, working on sheer nerves now, she promptly dropped them.
“Hi, Sam!” the female called cheerfully, her hands over her ample br**sts. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She grinned. “I’d shake your hand, but. . .”
Sam let out an inarticulate sound, and she peeked at him as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands to them.
“Sorry, son,” Mark said. “After the stroller fight, I asked Sheila for a paternity test like you’ve been suggesting. She came clean—I’m not the daddy.” He smiled at the naked woman. “So then I went out to celebrate, and met Brandy here at that bar out on Highway Forty-two.”
Brandy giggled and waved, like there could be any guessing about which one of them was Brandy.
“You’re not supposed to be drinking,” Sam said. “And pizza’s out, too. I took you to the dietitian, and she gave you the recommended list.”
“I don’t like salad or fish.”
Sam’s mouth tightened grimly. “Do you like living?”
“I was liking it a whole hell of a lot more about four minutes ago,” Mark said.
“You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Sam said tightly.
“Oh, he was,” Brandy piped up. “I was doing all the work.”
Mark beamed at her. “And you’re good at it, honey.”
Sam let out a breath. “Gonna have to empty the tub and bleach it.”
Becca had picked up the keys and was trying to find the right one.
“You two want to join us?” Mark asked. “The water’s great.”
“Fuck it,” Sam muttered. “I’m gonna sell it. The whole house.” He snatched the keys from Becca’s hands and unlocked the door. He gave her a little shove inside, followed her in, and slammed the door behind them hard enough that the glass rattled.
“Sam—”
He leveled her with a dark look that for some inexplicable reason didn’t scare her anymore. He evoked a lot of feelings within her, but fear wasn’t one of them. “He’s trying to be something to you,” she said.
“Well, he succeeded. He’s a pain in my ass.” He hustled her out the front door and back to his truck, where he whipped away from the curb with a squeal of tires. Not all four. Just two.
Becca grabbed the dash. “If you’d just give him some of your attention, your time—”
“We’re over this conversation,” he said firmly.
She waited until they were on the highway. “Listen,” she said gently. “I know he screwed up a lot while you were growing up, but I think he genuinely regrets—”
“Over it, Becca.”
“Really?” she asked, feeling her own temper rise. Whenever she was over a conversation, he still pushed.
He must have heard the annoyance in her tone because he slid her a look that had male bafflement all over it, like she’d just asked him if she looked fat in these jeans or what he liked about her.
Somehow that was worse, that he truly didn’t get it, the clueless man. “Why do you get to push me to talk, and I can’t push you?”
“That’s different,” he said immediately.
“How?” she asked. “How’s it different?”
He downshifted into a turn and said nothing.
“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms. “Thought so.”
“Get off your soapbox, Becca,” he said, apparently just as annoyed with her as he was with his dad. “It’s not like you’ve ever really told me shit about you.”
Okay, that was possibly true.
Five tense minutes later, he slid into a parking spot outside of the Love Shack and turned to her.
She made a point of looking out the passenger window.
Sam sighed, the sound filled with frustration and regret. “Look,” he said, “he drives me crazy, okay? And I’m a total ass. I’m sorry.”