Behind My Killer Heels [3] | ON HOLD | OLD VERSION | INCOMPLETE

Chapter Thirteen

My father took a sip of his red wine and then chuckled. "To be honest, I would've won the case either way." He grinned.

"I'm sure you would've." My dad rolled his eyes subtly, his tone dashed with a hint of sarcasm. I giggled when my father stared daggers at my dad who just flashed him a smile.

"Were you being sarcastic?" my father raised a dark eyebrow.

"I don't know." My dad took a sip of his whiskey before continuing. "You tell me, Jason." He laughed. It was no secret that my dad enjoyed teasing my father, in fact they enjoyed teasing each other and a lot of the time teasing me as well.

My father blinked. "No wonder I'm the favourite parent." He grinned mischievously and I groaned, knowing very well what he had just sparked.

"Megan-" my dad turned to me quickly but I raised my hand.

"Nope!" I laughed. "I agreed to endure all the terrible dad jokes you guys have to offer but I said a long time ago that I don't have favourites, I love you both equally." The two men relaxed in their seats and I laughed.

The thing about the dad jokes was true, I endured a lot of dad jokes growing up, the perks of having two of them. They mostly came from my father who thought he was an absolute comedian. Jason Clarke was witty, occasionally arrogant and it was safe to say that I'd learnt my spectacular sarcasm from him. He was nothing like my dad.

My dad, Michael, was a lot calmer in general but boy, did he have a temper on him. His dad jokes were more bearable than my father's but they were still dad jokes nonetheless. He'd taught me a thing or two about taking life by the horns but he also taught me everything he knew about fine spirits. He was more whiskey while my father was more wine.

They were different, miles apart but I definitely loved them the same. Them and their silly dad jokes and useless attempts at getting me to admit which parent was my favourite.

"Nice try though." I acknowledged, taking a sip of my own drink.

Dinner with my parents was always entertaining, there was no doubt about that. We were in a restaurant, waiting for our desserts to arrive. After a long day at work, I had been more than excited to see my parents again.

"Michael, you were joking, right?" My father asked sheepishly. My dad grinned at him, a sincere grin that caused little creases around his green eyes.

"Of course. I was just messing with you, love." He replied.

"Just messing with me..." my father repeated. "It's because I'm going grey, isn't it?" he laughed.

My father's normally mahogany hair had started to pepper these past few months with strands of white and grey appearing all over his head. My dad took his hand and squeezed it gently.

"We're both going grey, love." He said to my father as he lightly tilted his head to the side. My father chuckled.

"Dearest daughter of ours, what do you plan to do with this pair of old men you call your parents?" he asked me with a smile. I shrugged.

"I was just going to ship you guys off to some old age home in like Denmark or Australia, somewhere far." I teased. The two men laughed and as our waitress arrived with our desserts I couldn't help but feel a small lump in the pit of my stomach.

The fact that my parents would one day be gone and that I'd have to live my life without them brought an unpleasant feeling to my stomach. I struggled with death and to think that the two most important people in my life would one day come face-to-face with it made me feel beyond depressed. I hadn't even noticed that I was mindlessly stirring my Dom Pedro.