I may not judge, but no way in hell was my daughter going anywhere near a motorcycle.
She screwed up her nose. “I’m still mad at you for that. Who let’s their own flesh and blood, a defenseless baby, get a mullet?”
I shrugged my shoulders, peeking a glance at the hot guys over my coffee cup. “It wasn’t my fault. Blame the hairdresser,” I answered on a white lie. I had wanted to see if a baby would look cute with a mullet. I reasoned my baby could. I was wrong. I was also eighteen and slightly dumb. What can you do?
Lexie stared at me in what I was sure was disbelief and started to get up. “Come on, I like to eat, therefore I need you to get to work so you can bring home the bacon.”
“Don’t you mean tofu?”
Lexie shriveled up her nose. “You know I don’t eat tofu, Mom.”
I raised my eyebrow. “You’re one step away. Lettuce is a gateway food. Before you know it, you’ll be drinking kale smoothies and having tofu instead of steak. Then I’ll have to disown you.”
I left cash plus a generous tip on the table. This was going to be our new haunt, I couldn’t under tip the people that held my life/morning coffee in their hands. We gathered our things and I gave a warm smile and a wave to Shelly. She smiled back and the gesture made the men she was talking to glance over in our direction. I gulped as three pairs of male eyes settled on my daughter and I. It wasn’t menacing or leering, just curious.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to get you a muffin or some form of solid food to constitute a proper breakfast?” I asked her, deciding to try and ignore the hot guys, even though our current trajectory had us heading straight past them. There was nothing for it; they were right by the exit.
Lexie rolled her eyes at me. “I’m sure, Mother.” She seemed more cool and calm at the prospect of coming so close to such male specimens. I glared at her for not being more teenagey and awkward. It totally made me look weird.
We walked past the counter where there were various pastries and delicious goods displayed. I held out my hand. “Come on, last chance. Sugary, bleached flour perfection going once, going twice….”
Lexie just stared at me.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Your loss. Although how you are going to sit through classes like math and English Lit without a sugar high is beyond me,” I said seriously as we walked out the door, surviving the brush with the world’s hottest men. My ovaries didn’t explode or anything.
Lexie shook her water bottle, which had pieces of lemon and cucumber floating around in it. “Don’t worry, this is vodka,” she deadpanned.
I put my hand on chest in mock relief. “Thank goddess. You are my daughter.”
I thought I heard a bark of male laughter as we closed the door. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see all of the hot guys staring at my daughter and me with smirks on their faces. Well, not all. The intense, hot one was staring at me with a stiff look on his chiseled face, his eyes glaring like I was responsible for the Beatles breaking up. I quickly glanced back around, slinging my arm around Lexie’s shoulder. I had other stuff to worry about, primarily my only child. Hot bikers did not factor into the equation. Well, not until I got my vibrator out later on that night.
“Right, let’s get you to your necromancer-infested high school,” I declared, shaking such thoughts away.
I glanced into the red brick building. “You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” I asked.
“Mom, I’m sure. I’ll be fine,” Lexie told me firmly, shuffling things around in her backpack.
I chewed my lip, looking at the various students filtering in the doors. They looked innocent now, but I knew how nasty kids could be. Especially girls. Especially when a new, beautiful, funny, and confident girl like my daughter came into such a small school. I narrowed my eyes at a crowd of them, hating them on sight.
“I could come in and establish myself as a crazy mom who has connections to the mob, so if anyone messes with you they’ll be sleeping with the fishes,” I suggested in an Italian accent.
Lexie stared at me.
“Or I could let you go in on your own and stop with the crazy mom thing,” I conceded.
“Thank you. Much appreciated. I’m assuming the mob thing will still be on the table if I choose to accept it at a later date?” she deadpanned.
I nodded. “Of course. The mob thing will always be on the table,” I told her reassuringly.
She grinned. I didn’t even know why I was worried. My kid was independent, confident, and comfortable in her own skin. How she was like that at sixteen I didn’t know. She was an old soul. She was content with her own company, whether she was reading a book or playing a guitar. She didn’t have a heap of close friends back in DC, but she didn’t need them. She was unique, an original. She knew her own mind. She had her own style down pat already; she was always decked out somewhere between Stevie Nix and Carrie Bradshaw. Today she was wearing a floral dress, which hit her mid leg. It had huge bell sleeves and nipped in at the waist. She was wearing knee high, tan leather high heeled boots and had multiple necklaces slung around her neck. Her ringlets were piled on her head in a messy bun.
Another thought popped into my mind.
I glanced back at the kids filtering into the building. My eyes zeroed in on a boy apart from the rest, leaning against a motorcycle in the parking lot. He was smoking and had aviators on. He was also a mini hot guy. The teenage version of what those men in the café were to me. In other words, trouble.