Smiling sheepishly, he reaches out and returns the favor, slowly buttoning my flannel top. “While I would love to come up with some clever quip about why I kept these, anything I come up with only makes me sound completely head over heels for the girl that ruined them.”
I inhale a shuddering breath; I want to kiss him again, but the hushed voices of my parents in the other room keeps me from doing so. “Juliette?” my mother’s voice calls out from the foyer. “Would Greyston like to join us for lunch?”
I look up at him, and his eyes widen. “I’ll find out,” I tell her. “Well, would you?”
He looks terribly uncertain. “You do realize that your father has guns, right?”
I laugh and back toward the doorway. “I do. But there’s only a forty percent chance he’s carrying. Besides, it’s my mother you should be afraid of.” He still hasn’t given me an answer one way or the other. “You’re going to have to face them sooner or later, you know. You can either do it with me, or wait until my dad shows up here one day while I’m in class.”
He tries to say something—probably that my dad would never do that—but then thinks better of it, and nods. “All right, I’ll tag along.”
Smiling, I back out of the room. “Great. I’ll let them know on my way upstairs to change.”
Chapter 16
“So,” Mom says, turning around in the passenger seat of her SUV to look at Greyston and me. This conversation can go one of several ways, and I really hope it’s headed in the direction of food.
“Where did you want to go for lunch?”
I breathe a sigh of relief and smile. “Um, IHOP?” Mom gives me a very knowing smile; there’s no hiding a hangover from her. Not ever.
We’ve just pulled off our street, and no one says a thing. Greyston is sitting behind my mom, and I’m behind my dad, both of us sitting as close to our doors as possible to avoid any accidental—or on purpose—touching that could get any one of Greyston’s appendages ripped off. I’ve only just begun to sample what he’s got to offer, so there’s no way I can risk anything bad happening now…or ever, really.
I’m about ninety-eight percent sure Greyston is safe from bullets because there were no noticeable protuberances in Dad’s civilian clothes when we walked out to the car. I would have asked to frisk him, but, well that would have made an already awkward situation about five million times worse.
Every once in a while, I’ll look toward the front of the vehicle and catch my dad’s reflection in the mirror. Sometimes he’s looking at me, other times he’s looking at Greyston. While he’s not angry, I can tell he’s not exactly pleased—which is ridiculous if you keep in mind just how many times I’ve walked in on them doing way more than Greyston and me.
Okay, so not too much more, but it was still more. I begin to wonder if Greyston played the football ticket-card too soon.
We arrive at the restaurant and exit the vehicle. My fingers twitch to reach out and take Greyston’s hand since we’re walking with less than a foot between us, but with Dad right behind us, it’s probably not wise. Or safe. So, to control the urge, I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets and carry on.
I know Dad can’t be too angry with us, but I know he and Mom are going to start questioning us at some point. Things like the nature of our relationship are bound to come up, as well as how long we’ve been together. Mom’s always been pretty open-minded about a lot of things, but if Dad hears that Greyston and I hadn’t even discussed becoming a couple and yet were caught getting down and dirty in the kitchen…suffice it to say he probably won’t be too thrilled.
Our hostess seats us in a booth, Mom and I slide in on opposite sides of each other, and I look up at Greyston, who I fully expect to join me. However, before he can, Dad slips in next to me, forcing Greyston next to my mother.
So much for some stolen moments of hand-holding, finger-grazing, and maybe footsie under the table. Though, I suppose footsie isn’t entirely out of the question, but with Greyston sitting diagonally from me, I’d probably wind up touching my mom’s foot, who would think it was my dad. It would open up a whole new can of awkward that I’m not prepared to wrap my head around.
As I pick up my menu to look it over—even though I’m pretty sure I already know what I’m getting—Dad nudges me with his elbow. “Looking a little green around the gills there, Jules.”
“Am I?” I look across the table at Greyston, who shakes his head subtly and offers me a reassuring smile. While I’m sure he’s just placating me, it does make me feel better.