Page 27 of Can't Take Moore
My knuckles turned white as I clenched the steering wheel, wondering if Vienna had said something to make him think she and I weren’t together. “What gave you the impression that there wasn't anything serious going on with Vienna and me?”
“You were never one to let the grass grow under your feet when you wanted something. So I figured since your date was on Wednesday, and that was almost a whole week ago, it had to have gone badly for you not to take her out again,” he explained.
A red haze clouded my vision, and if Jack had been nearby, I wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain I would’ve been able to stop myself from punching him. “You know what they say when you assume.”
“Shit, I was afraid you were gonna say something like that. My bad, man.”
“I guess the grapevine isn't as efficient as you thought,” I muttered, my teeth clenched so hard I could barely get the words out. “It missed a whole fuck of a lot between Vienna and me over the past week. She's definitely off-limits.”
“That explains her reaction. I didn't want you to take it the wrong way if she brought it up, even though I know you're not the kind to overreact when it comes to a woman.”
Some of my tension drained away at the confirmation that Vienna wasn’t under the same misconception as Jack. “I hate to repeat myself, but you know what they say when you assume.”
After a moment of silence on the line, Jack said, “I hear what you're saying. Message received. If Vienna still wants to do the power skating session, I promise not to make it awkward for her again. Please let her know I didn't mean anything bad by my invitation.”
“Will do.” I jammed my finger against my phone screen to end the call without bothering to say goodbye. The jealousy I was feeling was a new experience for me, so in the logical part of my brain, I knew where Jack had been coming from when he said he hadn't thought I would be bothered to hear that he had asked Vienna out for coffee. But he'd been dead wrong. And lucky that he’d called me instead of stopping by to see me in person.
But for now, I needed to calm my shit because my mom had just flung open the front door and was staring at me from their porch. Jack’s timing couldn’t have been worse. When I told her I was coming for dinner, I knew I would be in for the third degree about Vienna. Now it would be doubly so since she would want to know what was wrong.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of the car and pasted a smile on my face. Then I rounded the back of the car and stopped at the passenger side to grab the lemon meringue pie I’d bought from the diner in town. Hopefully, it would distract my mom from my bad mood.
I was a grown-ass man, but walking toward the house, I felt as though I was about to be grounded. Her eyes narrowed, and she made a tsk-ing sound as I climbed the steps of my childhood home.
“Hey. Mom.” I wiggled the box in front of me. “I stopped at the diner to grab a pie before I came over.”
“Don’t think for a second that bringing me my favorite dessert is going to earn you enough brownie points for me not to ask about the girl you’re seeing,” she warned as she went up on her toes to give me a peck on the cheek. “If I was that easy, I never would’ve survived raising you boys.”
Being careful not to squish the pie box, I gave her a hug and a kiss. “C’mon, Mom. We weren’t that bad.”
“I don’t know how you can say that with a straight face,” she muttered, walking into the house ahead of me as I held the door. Pausing to turn toward me, she pointed at her hair. “If it weren’t for my fabulous hairdresser, this would all be gray. And I have the three of you to blame for needing to get my roots touched up every four weeks. I’m only fifty-six, for goodness’ sake.”
Well used to hearing how my brothers and I were responsible for a myriad of changes to our mother’s body—none for the good—I knew better than to argue. “Sorry, Mom.”
She quirked a brow, her lips curving into a pleased smile. “Sorry enough to tell me everything about the girl you’re seeing?”
“I should’ve known you were angling for information.” I laughed as I followed her into the kitchen.
“What’d you do? Go out there and drag the boy into the house?” my dad asked, shaking his head as he walked over to clap me on the back.
“You should’ve seen him out there, Mike. He looked like he was about to rip out his steering wheel and beat the windshield with it,” she complained with a sigh.
“Now, Beth. I told you to leave the boy alone.” My dad went over to the stove and lifted the lid off a frying pan. “He’d come in sooner or later, once the scent of your mom’s famous breaded tenderloin and bacon fried green beans wafted outside.”
My stomach let out a loud growl. “He’s got you there, Mom. I never could resist your tenderloin sandwiches.”
“I know.” She beamed a soft smile at me. “That’s why I made them for dinner tonight, sweetie.”
“Thank you.”
She tilted her head to the side, a questioning gleam in her eyes. “Hopefully, they’ll soften your mood so your poor car doesn’t bear the brunt of whatever’s bothering you.”
Tapping my chin, I pretended to consider it. “I don’t know. Did you make homemade rolls for the sandwiches?”
Planting her fists on her hips, she asked, “Am I your mother?”
I nodded. “Definitely.”
“Then you already know the answer to your silly question.”
