“Maybe.”
He grinned and kept talking.
“One, it’s gonna happen, and trust me, it’s better not to procrastinate. We get it out of the way and move on.”
Okay, well, his surety in the solidity of our togetherness didn’t suck.
However …
“And two, for future reference, we need to understand how huge a dick my dad is gonna be so we can plan how to handle that later. Or if I tell him to fuck off and arrange it so I see only my mother until Dad apologizes for whatever Dad is gonna do.”
“Wh-what,” I swallowed, “what’s your dad going to do?”
“That’s got a few parts too.”
Fantastic.
“Hit me,” I invited without a great deal of enthusiasm.
“First, you’re a dancer. Which he will look down on. But before, you were a stripper, which he’ll absolutely look down on.”
Really not feeling the love for his dad.
“And that would be about him being a snob,” he continued. “But you could be a lawyer, a doctor, have your art in the Guggenheim or work for fucking NASA, and he’d still find something about you that was not good enough for his son. And that would just be him being Sylas Pantera.”
Okay. Then, Sylas Pantera was an equal opportunity meanie.
Not better.
But at least I was forewarned.
“Second,” Axl carried on. “He’ll lay into me. It could be subtle, it could be overt. But it will happen.”
“Oh boy,” I mumbled.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Just to say, my dad will charm you. He’ll be funny and interesting, and he’ll talk sports or current events and you’ll think, ‘This guy is not so bad.’ Then, when he gets comfortable around you, he’ll let things slip. He’s so good at it, the first half a dozen things will happen, and you won’t even notice them.”
“Wanna bet?”
I took in his expression.
Nope.
I did not want to bet.
What I knew from his expression, his actions, not just that night, but for a long time, was that he was serious about this.
About us.
And I was serious about us.
Absolutely.
And thus, he was right.
Get over the crappy stuff in order to move forward armed with the knowledge of how it would be so you could prepare for that.
I needed to focus on the good parts: we were together, that appeared to be solid, and the fact Axl was intent to move us forward.
We’d fought hard to get here. It’d be nice to have some time to glory in the spoils. And not just one fantastic date where Axl liked my dress, listened to everything I said, fed me amazing food and acted like he truly thought I was not only the most beautiful woman in the room, but the most interesting one in the city.
And, obviously, whatever he had on tap for that night, which at the very least smelled divine.
But it wouldn’t feel very glorious, having stuff hanging over our head that would spoil our spoils.
Anyway, it was Thursday. Monday was forever away.
And Monday came after Sunday, when the Revue was not operating. It was straight-up strippers at Smithie’s Sunday and Monday nights so the girls could have a rest.
Hopefully, Axl had Sunday off.
Also hopefully, he’d spend it with me.
Suddenly, he bent and kissed the side of my neck where he wasn’t holding my hair.
“All right,” he said there after the kiss, then pulled away and looked at me. “I see this really flips you, and you’re right. It’s too soon. I’ll put Mom off.”
“Axl,” I said quickly when it looked like he was going to move away.
He stopped.
“I get it,” I continued. “And that ‘it’ has two parts too.”
“Sorry?”
“The first, I’m a procrastinator. You learned that the hard way. If something scares me, I avoid it.”
“Hattie, baby, this isn’t me saying—”
I shook my head and put my hand to his chest.
He shut up.
“I conditioned you to that because that’s me. Seriously. I have to own up to it. And honestly?”
“Yeah?”
“Meeting your folks terrifies me. So, if I had my choice, I’d meet them on our wedding day, after the actual wedding.”
He got a look on his face that made me keep going.
Fast.
“Not that I think we’re getting married or anything.”
That look interpreted itself when he started laughing, something he had been holding back.
“Are we doin’ that shit outdoor or indoor?” he asked through his laughter.
Well.
Phew.
He wasn’t freaking about me bringing up our wedding when we’d been seeing each other (officially) for two days.
“Shut up,” I muttered through a grin.
“White cake, baby, with lemon filling, and that whipped cream frosting. None of that heavy buttercream crap,” he ordered.
“So noted,” I said, still grinning.
He sobered and said, “I hear you about avoidance.”
“Good call, cutting that off at the pass,” I told him.
He just studied me with a warm light in his icy eyes.
“Part two is, you’re right again. We’re doing this. So why wait?” I concluded.
“That mean I’m gonna meet your dad soon?”