Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Being with Jack was getting complicated. If the two of them got any more intense, her father would figure out what was going on, and that would mean trouble. Blake Adams thought he had his daughter's life all worked out. Although Whitney had always put considerable effort into proving him wrong, she was growing weary of the constant battle.
"My dad is so clueless," she said aloud.
"You think? It looks to me like he knows what he's doing," Jack answered.
"You don't know him."
"I know he's got a gorgeous daughter."
"And two really screwed up sons."
"David's doing okay. Isn't he working for your dad now?"
"My brother, David, fakes it better than anyone I know. He's not quite as bad a mess as Billy, but let's just say he has his own problems."
"So you're saying money doesn't buy everything?"
"I'm saying we need to be careful. He will not be happy if he finds out about this." Whitney circled one hand over the rumpled bed. Her father had freaked last year when Whitney took the job bar tending at Taverna. If he knew she was hooking up with John Donati's kid, there would be all kinds of hell to pay. She wasn't much concerned about herself--she could handle her father--but it could get ugly for Jack.
"It's pretty bizarre that we've both lived in Pine Lake all our lives, we went to the same school when we were little, but we never said a word to each other until three months ago," Whitney said.
Jack poured wine in the glass by the light of half a dozen flickering candles. "Maybe that's because I didn't talk to any girls until I was fifteen. And then there's the fact that you hardly qualify as a full-time resident. Four years away at boarding school, a couple of years at college, a year in Australia, a year in New York. How was I supposed to meet you?"
"I was home most summers."
"Doesn't count." He came back to bed, leaned down to kiss her, and handed her the wine glass. "But then, it doesn't matter because we've found each other now."
Whitney breathed in the smokey richness of the pinot noir and took a healthy sip. She set the glass on the bedside table. "Let's work some more on finding each other a little more closely," she said, pulling him down to her.
With music playing in the background and her attention fully on Jack, she wasn't sure how long her cell phone had been ringing, but it soon became apparent that whoever was calling was hitting "redial" over and over.
"Shit. It's almost midnight," she said, rolling over to check the clock. "Who the hell is that?"
"Maybe you'd better answer," Jack said. He got up, fetched the insistent phone from her pile of clothing on his bedroom floor, and brought it to her.
"My dad," she said after glancing at the caller ID. "This can't be good."