Playing the Vixen 》Teen Wolf

8 - Attack

        Dad hovers near the fridge, one hand resting on the handle. His '#1 dad' coffee mug in his left hand. "You okay?"

        I absentmindly stir the sugar in my tea, my chin resting in the palm of my left hand. "Hmm?" I hum, too lazy to look away from the dark liquid. 

        "I asked if you're okay." Dad grabs the creamer from the fridge. He eyes me as he pours some into his coffee. 

        I nod once. "I'm fine." 

        "Really? 

        "Mm." 

        Dad raises an eyebrow. "Because you've been stirring your tea for the past ten minutes with this concentrated look on your face. Is there anything you want to talk about?" 

        I set my spoon against the inside of my Minnie Mouse mug. "I just don't know what to do."

        "Please tell me it's not about a boy. It's not about a boy, right?" Dad demands, bringing his coffee to his lips. I remain silent. He chokes when he sees my guilty face. Once he's able to breathe properly again, dad places his coffee on the counter. "Who is it? Is he on the team? Do I need to give him extra work during practice? It's not Greenberg, right? I hate that kid."

        I shake my head. "No, gosh, no. It's not Greenberg."

        "But it is someone on the team?" He points to me.

        "Yeah." 

        Dad groans. "Great. Now, I'll have to kill someone on the team."

         "How can you tell if someone likes you?" I wrap my hands around the warm mug. I made this tea a little over ten minutes ago and I haven't even taken one sip out of it yet. My mind has been too cluttered for me to do anything besides let my thoughts take over.

        Dad's face scrunches up in despair. "Why can't you talk to your mom about these kinds of things?"

        "I don't want to talk to mom. She'll ask too many questions." 

        "What about all the questions I've been asking?" 

        I wave my hand at him. "Dad, please."

         A loud groan emits from his mouth. He rubs a hand over his face, clearly not looking forward to this conversation. "Fine. Fine. We can talk boys." Dad pulls out one of the stools and sits down across from me at the island. "What's his name?"

        "Stiles."               

        Dad's face scrunches up. "Stiles? Who the hell names their kid Stiles?"

        "His first name isn't Stiles." I explain.

        Dad takes a sip of his coffee. "What's his first name then?"

        I shrug. "He said it was too hard to pronounce."

        "Then what's his last name?"

        "Stilinski." 

        Realization dawns on his face. "You mean Biles."

        "Biles? No, his name is Stiles."

        "He told me Biles."

        I shake my head, confused. Why would Stiles say his name was Biles? No, I think my dad just got confused somehow, which really isn't that hard for him. "Dad, you're not helping me any here."