He's not my dad

part 16

After work, I went back to the apartment and packed a small suitcase—just enough clothes to get me through the week. I figured a little distance might help. Bree and I had always been intense; maybe space was exactly what we needed to cool off and reset.
I paused outside her bedroom door before I left.
“I’m going to stay at a hotel near work for a few days,” I said through the wood. “Just… so we both have some space.”

The music inside her room grew louder in response.

No reply.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, picked up my suitcase, and left.
The hotel was modern and clean, all glass and soft grey tones, but it definitely wasn’t luxurious. It was affordable, comfortable, and—most importantly—five minutes from the office. Practical. Right now, practical felt safe.

I unpacked quickly, hung up my clothes, and changed into something comfortable before heading downstairs to the restaurant. I was halfway across the lobby when I stumbled slightly, my heel catching on the edge of a rug.
I would’ve gone flat on my face if I hadn’t looked up at that exact moment.

Greg Groves.

He was seated at a small table by the bar, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, nursing a drink. When our eyes met, his face lit up.

“Well,” he said as he stood, walking toward me, “at this point I think we need to get you a helmet.”

I laughed despite myself. “I swear I’m usually more coordinated than this.”

“So you say,” he replied, smiling. “What brings you here?”

“I’m fighting with my roommate,” I admitted. “Thought a few nights apart might help.”

He nodded knowingly. “That makes sense. I’m here for a while myself—my place is being redecorated. Apparently, luxury renovations take an eternity.”

“A whole month?” I asked.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “Hotel living loses its charm fast.”

He hesitated for just a second, then added, “Would you like to join me for dinner? That way neither of us has to eat alone.”

I considered it, then smiled. “Only if you let me pay this time.”
He laughed, genuinely amu
sed. “Deal.”
Dinner was easy. Comfortable. We talked about work—the meeting, the relief afterward, how close the pitch had come to disaster. We talked about the charity ball, laughing over shared observations and mutual awkward moments.
There was no pressure. No edge. Just good conversation and quiet understanding.

At one point, he shifted slightly in his chair, clearly debating something. “Can I ask you a personal question?” he said carefully.

“Sure.”

“Do you… have a partner?”

I could tell it hadn’t been easy for him to ask. That alone made me soften.

“I’m single,” I said honestly. Then, after a beat, I added, “I think.”

He laughed, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

We lingered over dessert longer than necessary, neither of us quite ready to end the evening. As we stood to leave, I realized something surprising.
For the first time all day, I felt calm.
And for now, that was enough.

......

I was curled up on the hotel bed in my comfiest sweats, hair piled on top of my head, half-watching Love Is Blind while scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. The irony of watching strangers commit to marriage through a wall while my own life felt like emotional soup wasn’t lost on me.
My phone buzzed.
Mom.
I groaned softly but answered anyway. Avoiding her only made things worse.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Taylor,” she said warmly. “What are you doing?”
“Uh… watching TV. Relaxing.”
“Mmm,” she hummed. “You sound settled. Are you alone?”
That was never a neutral question.
“Yes,” I said carefully.
“Well,” she continued, clearly gearing up, “I was having lunch with Marjorie today—you remember her, from the club—and her nephew just made junior partner at his law firm. Very handsome. Very driven. I immediately thought of you.”
Here we go.
“That’s nice,” I said. “But I’m really not interested.”
“Why not?” she asked. “You’re young, he’s young, and he’s a lawyer. You always said you liked ambition.”
“I like sleep too,” I replied dryly. “And I don’t want to date right now.”
There was a pause on the line. A dangerous one.
“Are you dating?” she asked.
I hesitated.
Just a second too long.
“Taylor,” she said sharply. “Are. You. Dating?”
“Not exactly.”
Silence.
Then—“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Are you in one of those… arrangements?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “What arrangements?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said. “Friends with benefits. Casual. No commitment. No future. No respect for your heart.”
“Mom—”
She ploughed on. “Those never end well. Someone always gets hurt, and it’s usually the woman. You deserve romance, intention, someone who wants to build a life with you—not someone who just texts you at midnight.”
“I’m not being texted at midnight,” I muttered.
“And even if you were,” she continued, “you’re not built for casual. You feel deeply. You always have. Remember when you cried because your goldfish died?”
“That was traumatic,” I protested.
She ignored me. “I just don’t want you settling for less than you deserve. You should be dating with purpose.”
“I’m not settling,” I said gently. “I’m just… figuring things out.”
She sighed, her tone softening. “I know. I just worry. It’s my job.”
“I know,” I said, meaning it.
“Well,” she added, brightening slightly, “if you change your mind about the lawyer—”
“I won’t,” I said quickly.
She laughed. “Alright, darling. Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That you’re being safe. And kind to your heart.”
I smiled despite myself. “I promise.”
After we hung up, I tossed my phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Friends with benefits.
Casual.
Not exactly.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing—but I knew one thing for certain.
My mother would absolutely lose her mind if she ever found out the full truth.

Mom would not approve of my bad boy lover