Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(90)

He grins when my mom gasps, like he’s proud of the bomb he dropped. He tucks his hands in his pockets and starts whistling as he crosses the parking lot, disappearing around the side of the arena. I’m sure he parked his car in another lot on purpose. This feels orchestrated, like he’s been waiting to pull this shit.

My dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. You need to get in the truck.”





Thirty-One





The Verbal Diarrhea Match





Maverick





Tonight, more than any other night, I wish I hadn’t driven in with Kody and Quinn, because then I’d have an escape route that isn’t sitting in my dad’s truck, fielding twenty questions. I try to climb into the back seat, but my mom elbows me out of the way.

“Oh, hell no. You’re sitting up front with the human time bomb.” She gives me a look and holds out her hand. I give her mine, and she hoists herself into the back seat, shimmying over until she’s in the middle of the bench while I climb into the front passenger seat.

“Are you trying to sleep your way to a degree?” she asks.

“No, Mom. And most of my professors are old dudes. There’s no way I would sleep with any of them.”

“Are you an escort, then? Is that what’s going on? Are you pimping yourself out like . . . like . . . one of those pool boys?”

“What?”

“Kids do it all the time in college. They get a sugar daddy, or mommy, who pays for all their things in college! Tuition, clothes, boob jobs, which obviously you don’t need because you don’t have boobs—but that’s not the point! We have literally millions of dollars. You do not need to sell your body for money!”

“How do you know that’s what girls do in college?” Dad asks.

I give my dad a look. “Leave it to you to get all territorial about Mom thirty years after the fact. You didn’t even know Mom back then. So what if she had a sugar daddy?” If I can defend my mom, I might get her to calm down.

She makes a gagging sound. “I never had a sugar daddy in college! As if I wanted to sleep with guys with saggy balls before I had the saggy boobs to match! But I had friends who did it.”

“Friends, huh?” Dad arches a brow and glances at her in the rearview mirror.

“Focus, Alex! We’re talking about our son and what happened in that parking lot.” She points at me.

“I’m not an escort, Mom. I don’t have time to fake-date people.”

“She’s a professor! How old is she?”

“She’s not even thirty. It’s not a big deal.”

“What does that mean? She’s twenty-nine? Professors aren’t that young.”

“She is.”

She slaps the center console. “You are twenty-one years old, Maverick Alexander Waters. You are supposed to be dating nineteen-year-old girls!” My mom’s voice is shrill. Her head is right beside mine, and she’s basically shouting in my ear.

“According to what freaking handbook?” I shift in my seat so I’m looking right at her. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’ve never dated a girl my own age, or younger. In high school, I dated girls who were at least the year above me, until I became a senior, and then I didn’t have a lot of options. Having a dick that’s like a third freaking arm scares the fuck out of high school girls, FYI.”

“He has a point, Vi,” Dad mutters.

“Why are you showing your dick to high school girls? That’s illegal!”

The shrillness isn’t abating.

I hold up a hand. “Calm down. I’m not showing my dick to high school girls. I’m just saying, when I was in high school, there was no way I was going to lose my virginity with someone who had zero dick experience. Like I wanted to scar some poor sophomore for life with this thing.” I point to my crotch.

I wish I could shut the fuck up about this, because it isn’t a conversation I want to have with my parents, but my mouth keeps moving, spouting nonsense. Thanks, Mom.

“You were having sex at fifteen?” My mother looks horrified.

“I was almost sixteen. And I’m a dude. I was basically a walking hormone from the time I got my first boner until . . . well, I still am. The point is, college girls are not my jam. They’re work and drama, and I don’t have time for that shit.”

“Your sister is a college girl, and she’s not drama,” Mom says pointedly.

“Really? Because if I’m remembering correctly, there was a viral picture of Lav on social media last semester wearing a white thong bikini in our backyard, and right before it was taken, she was flirting with the biggest dirtbag on the school hockey team. It’s a wonder she didn’t get an STI from standing next to him, he’s so dirty.”

My mom looks scandalized. “Why was Lavender talking to him? And why didn’t you or your brother or your cousins, who I know for a fact are always at your place, do something about it?”

“Since when does Lavender have thong bikinis?” Dad interjects. “And why are you inviting dirtbags to your house when your sister is around? You’re the one who insisted she live with you in the first place!”

I close my eyes a moment. I probably should have left the dirtbag part out. “A few guys from the team were over, and the dirtbag invited himself. We were all keeping an eye on Lavender.” I turn back to Mom. “And we didn’t do anything because she was trying to piss Kody off, and it worked since he was the one who turned into a caveman and carried her inside. Now everything is fucking sunshine and rainbows with those two, so you’re welcome for that.”