My father is pissed. He walks away from the crowd, heading further into the stadium, and I follow without a word. I knew asking Bex to watch the game from the box was a risk, but I expected to have a chance to explain everything first. I don’t blame her for kissing me—that’s the deal, after all, we act like a couple, especially in front of Darryl—but that doesn’t mean the timing doesn’t suck. When we’re alone, he turns around, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “When were you going to mention the fact you’re screwing your tutor?”
