I lay back heavily against the chair I’m in and glare at him. “You skipped around and just read the good parts, didn’t you?”

He looks offended. “Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I’m not smart.” He chuckles. He lifts my hand with his so he can thread his fingers though my mine.

Pete jumps when my dad slams through the pool gate. Dad glares at him, but he doesn’t move his hand from mine.

“Reagan,” Dad barks.

I blow out a quick breath and say very nicely, “Yes, Dad.”

“Chase Gerald’s father just called.” He looks at where my hand is tangled with Pete’s, and if death rays that shoot from the eyes existed, then Pete would be a puddle of ashes on the ground.

“Is that the guy from the drugstore?” Pete whispers.

I nod, slicing my eyes toward Pete for a second. “What did he want?” I can already guess, and my heart sinks at the very thought of it.

“He said Chase came home talking about you being at the drugstore with some thug.” He glares at Pete, and Pete stiffens, his hand tightening on mine.

“Did you explain who Pete is?” I ask. I don’t want to leave anyone with a misconception about Pete.

“I told him that he’s someone my daughter is crushing on, but that I wasn’t worried about it because she’s a smart girl with her head on straight.” His voice rises on the last words, and his glare at Pete grows even fiercer.

“I’m not crushing,” I protest. But I so am.

Dad faces me. “Then what would you call it?”

I don’t know what to call it because I don’t know what it is. I shrug. Pete stiffens more when I do that than he has since Dad came through the gate.

“Chase wanted to know if you might want to go to the party at the country club tomorrow.”

“I already told him no,” I say. But I can already see the look on my dad’s face. That’s not going to work.

“I told him you’d love to.” He opens the gate and stops, looking at me from over his shoulder. “He’s picking you up at six.”

I growl under my breath. Mainly because there’s not much more I can do since Dad is gone. The gate slams shut behind him. I pull my hand from Pete’s.

“Where are you going?” Pete asks.

“To catch my dad so I can tell him I’m not going.”

“Do you want to go?” he asks. He watches me closely, his blue eyes blinking slowly.

“If I wanted to go, I wouldn’t have told him no.” I heave a sigh.

He steps back from me and takes all the warmth I was basking in a minute ago with him. “I think you should go,” he says quietly.

“Why?” I ask softly. Something is really, really wrong. He doesn’t usually distance himself like this.

“Your dad wants you to go,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t want to piss him off.”

He starts to walk down the length of the pool. He signs to the boys, and they all start to put away the balls and the floats and they line up by the door.

“I’ll see you later,” he calls quietly. Then he leads the boys from the pool area back toward their cabins.

What did I do wrong? I seriously have no idea.

I see Dad going through the back door of the house, and I run to follow him. I don’t know why he just did that, but what he said made Pete mad at me, so he needs to go apologize.

“Dad!” I call to his retreating back. He doesn’t turn around to talk to me. He keeps going.

He’s ignoring me now? What the hell?

I follow him into the kitchen and see him glaring at my mother, who looks a little bemused. “How could you do that?” I ask. My heart is thumping like crazy, and I can barely catch my breath.

“What did you do?” my mother asks.

Dad shrugs and washes his hands at the sink. He ignores me completely. Mom raises her brow at me in question.

“He called Pete a thug, and then he told me I have to go on a date with Chase just because his father called and snapped his fingers.” I snap mine for good measure.

Mom’s inquisitive grin turns into a scowl. “What?” she asks. She grabs my father’s shoulder and turns him to face her. “You of all people called Pete a thug?”

“To his face!” I shout. “Then Pete left. And I don’t even know what he’s thinking.”

“I know what he’s thinking,” Dad murmurs. Mom frowns.

“He’s thinking you don’t like him!”

Dad makes a noncommittal hum. That’s it? A hum?

Mom’s face softens. She can read Dad like a book. I just wish I could.

“What?” I ask. I look back and forth between them.

“Your dad is afraid Pete’s trying to get in your pants,” Mom says. She lifts her brow at Dad. Dad just glares at her. He won’t even look at me.

I throw up my hands. “That’s just it!” I cry. “He’s not trying to get in my pants. He won’t even kiss me!”

“Oh,” Mom breathes.

Dad murmurs something, and Mom rubs his shoulder, her eyes soft as she looks at him.

“What?” I ask again.

“Your dad’s afraid you’ll get your heart broken,” she says quietly. She looks sympathetically toward my dad.

I take a deep breath and steel myself. “Most girls get to have their hearts broken when they’re eighteen or so. Maybe sixteen or whenever they find their first boyfriend.” I jab a finger toward my chest. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend, Dad,” I say. My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them back. How messed up is this? “I like Pete, and he’s someone you can like, too. So, what’s the problem? We haven’t even been on a date!”