I Hate You

Part 22

"(Y/N), you look... beautiful," he says after a moment, and you feel your cheeks tinge. You hesitate, then step back, allowing him to walk into the house. You glance at the stairs, seeing your mother standing at the top, her arms crossed as she looked at your father.

"How did you know to come?" you ask, slowly shutting the door, watching as he sat his briefcase down, almost like out of habit in the same spot he always had.

"Your mother called, said you had a dance. I wanted to see you before you went," he muttered, turning to look at you again, suddenly realizing how old you really were, even older with all the makeup your mother had painted you with.

His little girl was really growing up on him.

"Oh," you glance up at your mom. "Okay. Well, Ryans going to be here soon, so ---."

"I won't stay long, I just wanted to see you," your father assures, his eyes on the short length of your skirt; he wants to say something, but he doesn't want to overstep his boundaries; your mother had called a tentative truce so he could see you after the shit move he'd pulled, so he didn't want to ruin it. "You look incredible."

You smile at him, softening under the compliment, letting your anger at him go for the moment. You're kind of glad he showed up, it was kind of like old times again.

You turn as there's another knock on the door, knowing this time it had to be Ryan. Your eyes flick nervously to your dad, and he raises his brows at you, almost looking amused.

"I'll get it," he chuckles, and you nod, quickly darting into the kitchen, stopping by the small mirror that hangs above one of the counters. You quickly check your makeup, making sure you hadn't messed it up.

Ryan's nervous as fuck, rocking back and forth on his heels as he knocks on your front door. He's starting to sweat, he feels like he looks stupid in the white tie and black shirt, and he's nervous he'd going to mess up the whole stupid dancing bit; maybe he could put it off?

He's startled when your father opens the door, and it's all over his face. He and your father stare at each other for several seconds, obviously measuring the other up.

Ryan clears his throat, lowering his hand. "Uh, is ---?"

"Come in.... Ryan," your dad says after a moment, a sour expression on his face as he opens the door wider. "You're right on time."

Ryan knows that, he'd made sure of it. He steps nervously into your house, the smell of paint fumes and scented candles assaulting his nose and making his stomach roll; or maybe that was nerves, he's not sure.

"Hello, Ryan," your mother smiles, halfway down the stairs.

"Hey." He glances around, his eyes finally landing on you as you step hesitantly from the kitchen, and he blinks, just staring at you for several seconds.

You look like a princess, and he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone so beautiful before. His lips part, but no words come out, and all he can do is look at you. You feel your cheeks heat, and you shuffle.

Your father clears his throat loudly, and Ryan straightens with a jerk, flushing.

"Hey."

"Hey," you murmur, twisting your fingers a moment as you bite your lip, glad you'd used stain so the color wouldn't come off. Ryan was looking good, and you smile as you see his tie, almost the exact color of your dress; Devin had definitely been involved.

"I like your tie," you tease, absently tugging on it, and Ryan flushes, smiling in embarrassment.

"Thanks. I like your dress," his eyes run over your again, over the strapless front where there was just a hint of cleavage, just enough to make you wonder. "You look.... wow."