“Rescued her, obviously. And if everything worked out between us, maybe we’d go back to Maui for our own ceremony.” I leave it at that, drink the wine and smile. Let the parents put their own rosy ending to it.
Skittles’ knuckles turn white. Her glare stabs my face like an ice pick. Guess she’s mad because I’m not disavowing everything and acting like there’s nothing between us. But what the hell did she think I’d say? Hey, I screwed your daughter for fun, but don’t expect anything else. The best part of her is what’s between her legs. The rest I can take or leave.
I have no desire to be skinned alive. Besides, doesn’t she want to keep her parents out of jail? Murder is a serious matter. “That motherfucker screwed my daughter” is not a valid legal defense.
And based on the happy, glowing smile on her dad’s face, he is definitely not upset about the Hollywood ending I described.
Steve notes my half-empty glass. “Have some more wine.”
“No, thank you. I’m driving.”
Esther nods with approval. Steve looks at me like there’s a halo around my head.
“Responsible and sensible. You’re a surprising young man,” he says.
“Well,” I say, trying for some false modesty. This trick never gets old. Tony taught it to me when I first entered school. He said if I behaved like an angel for a week, I could get away with murder for the rest of the year. Apparently teachers always create their long-lasting impressions of each student based on how they behave during the first week.
Skittles’ parents are a bit trickier because of the whole twin thing, but now they think I’m a perfect man for their precious daughter. I can see it in their eyes.
And if Steve thinks that, surely he won’t get in the way of Skittles’ promotion.
Her mouth tight, Skittles looks like she wants to cut more than the meat on her plate with her knife. The she mutters in Klingon, “Men. I should’ve been a nun.”
Laughter bubbles in my chest. She’s peeved because she’s been proven wrong. Smart people can’t stand it when they’re wrong. I’m almost tempted to respond with something clever, but I get distracted when Esther pushes the bowl of mashed potatoes in my direction.
“I baked a pie for dessert.” She beams at me. “If that isn’t enough, we have seven different flavors of ice cream.”
Chapter Sixteen
Pascal
Court is either incapable of reading people’s expressions or being deliberately obtuse for the sole purpose of driving me crazy. Did I not make myself clear in Maui? Should I have sprinkled his food with rat poison—not enough to kill him, of course, but enough to make him spend all his time in the bathroom?
No, probably not a good idea. With Dad being so weird lately, he might ask me to nurse Court back to health. As payment for what he ostensibly did for me in Hawaii.
This relationship of ours… Actually, it can’t even be called a relationship. We spent a night together. But he’s acting like it was some kind of grand romance that got interrupted.
Damn those fifty dollars. I should’ve ignored my principles. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have shown up in Maui to ask me what the money meant. Better yet, I should’ve never gone clubbing. This is what happens when you deviate from your usual routine and have too much fun.
But you like fun!
Yes. But the aftermath sucks, I tell the voice in my head.
After the dessert, I paste on a fake smile. “Mom, Dad? Do you mind if I take Court out for a short walk? Kind of need some help digesting the food.”
Mom glances at Court. “He might want to have some coffee, or tea—”
“It’s all right,” he says, patting his belly. “A walk sounds perfect. I’m actually pretty full.”
So he’s not totally oblivious.
Mom looks at him like he just handed her a winning lottery ticket. It’s positively nauseating. No guy I ever dated sucked up this hard. Or this well. Other than trying to kidnap Curie in Maui, he’s been killing it with my parents.
“Let’s go,” I say. I try to lead him out without holding his hand, but he’s too quick. He links his fingers with mine, and I can’t pull away without making a scene.
Shooting me a smug smile, he squeezes. Our palms press tighter, and I swear I can feel his pulse. And mine throbs and matches his rhythm.
This kind of connection is ridiculous. I’ve never felt anything remotely like it before. And why now?