Chapter 180 PACKAGE

Chapter 180 PACKAGE
Bohdi's Pov

Was I having a fucking heart attack?

My father was sitting outside my door. My father was outside my door!

I had fucking jinxed myself. And I was standing right beside the one person that he didn't want me to right now. Maybe he wouldn't recognize him, after all, he hadn't seen him before now—

“Hello Bodhi,” he said, uncrossing his legs and standing up like we were in his living room, “Hello Maverick.”

Fuck!

Oh no.

Could he tell? Could he tell we had just fucked? Could he smell it on me? That was ridiculous, we had taken baths.

Maverick looked as startled as I felt at my father saying his name but he covered it up quickly. He put on a small smile and reached out to shake my father's hand. “Hello sir, it's nice to meet you.”

My father didn't give Maverick's outstretched hand a second glance and I swallowed. That wasn't a good sign, not at all. But just how bad was it? What did he suspect to make him camp outside of my room like that? How long had he been out here?

“Open the door.”

I swallowed, shaky fingers reaching into the pocket of my coat as Maverick's hand dropped to his side. I clicked the door open and he walked in, Maverick and I exchanging glances. I was sure he saw my anxiety on my face, because I knew I wasn't doing too good a job hiding it.

“Um, whose chair is this Father? So I can return it.” And give myself some time to think.

“It's yours. I had to buy it after standing outside for half an hour after you weren't picking up your phone.”

Fuck. This was getting worse and worse by the minute.

“Sorry, sir,” I said, gripping the chair. It was heavy, fully wooden with a soft-looking grey cushion. “Were you waiting long?”

“Yes.”

Fucked. I was fucked.

“Well, I'll see you later then, Bodhi,” Maverick said, and I nodded frantically, a part of me hoping it would be that simple.

But when my father spoke, stopping him, I wasn't shocked, just more aware of the deepening hole I had found myself in. “No, Maverick, stay. There was a reason you’re here, at my son's dorm when you aren't supposed to be right?”

I could feel Maverick glance at me as I set the cushion down as gently as I could so it wouldn't make a sound. “Books, father. Your people packed some of his books worth mine and he came to get them when I moved.”

“Well then give them to him.”

I nodded and shakily went over to my desk. I picked them up, three of them, and walked over to him, careful for our hands not to touch as I handed them over as if that would somehow help in this shit show.

“I see why they could have made the mistake. Those look like your books,” my father drawled from my bed.

They had been. I liked only a few types of books, their texture and more importantly how they sounded when the pens I liked glided over them so it wasn't a surprise that he could recognize them.

“He was my study partner. If he needs a book when we study them I'll give one to him, Father,” I said softly.

Father hummed and I stepped away from Maverick, having been unable to meet his eyes.

“I really should be going,” Maverick said, rolling the books and clutching them tightly.

“Of course,” my father said in that way that made me brave for his next words, "After spending the day together, you need some breathing room from each other isn't it?”

My heart dropped to my feet and I resisted the urge to wipe my forehead. Was that a statement? Or was it speculation? If he didn't know we had been at a hotel maybe all hope wasn't lost.

“Studying Father. We were studying. I have exams every day this week, and Maverick's four out of five.”

Somehow I had a feeling that didn't do any good, that it had in fact made it worse. Father nodded, reaching for his phone.

“Come closer, both of you. I want to show you something. Shut the door, Maverick.”

Again, I could feel Maverick glancing at me. I almost told him to just run, bolt though the door and never look back but that would not help our case. The only thing I could try to sell here was that we were food friends and great study partners and running out to my dorm room would not give that impression.

Maverick shut the door, the sound like a judge’s gavel not in my favour.

Together, we meandered up to him, stopping in front of him like children about to be chastised. My father tapped the screen of his phone for a few seconds then turned it around, resting the hands that held the phone on his lap.

It was a video.

“Press play.”