Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)(52)

I looked at him, feeling suddenly very awkward with all eyes on me, and he winked.

“She’s also the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” he added, and this time, the frivolity was gone from his voice, and his expression had become serious as he looked over at me.

I blushed as Jean and Roger smiled fondly. “That she is,” Roger said, and I wished I could do a disappearing act under the table.

His response was well chosen, though, as it held real meaning to my adoptive parents. I could see that it instantly warmed them toward him. They were obviously thinking I’d told him a bit about my past, and what I’d been through, though I had personally never thought to describe myself as brave. I’d simply survived.

“Well!” Roger said, clapping his hands together. “We can certainly tell you’ve got charisma, Navan.”

Jean smiled, and was it my imagination or was that smile bordering on coy? “I understand now why you might have wanted to go out and have a little summer fling.”

I pasted a smile onto my face in an attempt to hide my mortification.

“What about you, Riley?” Roger asked. “Navan says you’re the bravest woman he’s ever met—and I don’t think I’d dispute him there—but what do you like so much about him?”

“Um . . .” Was this really happening right now? Had it been a huge mistake to come here? I knew Roger and Jean would be scrutinizing Navan, but I didn’t think they’d be asking questions like this. Navan leaned back in his chair, barely able to contain the smile on his face. They were all looking at me, waiting.

“I’m not really sure what to say,” I said slowly, “other than he just . . . swept me off my feet.”

Navan could barely contain his chuckle, while Roger nodded approvingly, and Jean sighed.

“Young love,” she said. “Such a wonderful thing.”

We spent the rest of the conversation on mostly small talk, and I could see from my parents’ perspective that was intentional. They really just wanted to observe this new guy I’d suddenly developed the hots for, so they could feel comfortable about me spending time with him. By the end of our brunch, Navan had certainly accomplished that—in fact, he’d pulled this whole thing off more beautifully than I’d thought possible. It was hard to fake genuine friendliness and respect, and I knew Jean and Roger well enough to tell when they were putting on a front.

It was difficult to imagine this was the same man who, barely a day ago, had decapitated someone with his bare hands.

Never trust a first impression, I thought wryly.

As the hour drew to a close, I set my cup down. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer; we’ve got to meet Navan’s brother after this. He lives in New York and has room in his apartment for us, so we were planning to spend a little time there before returning to Texas.”

“Back to Texas?” Jean asked, finishing her own cup of tea. “How will you get back there?”

“Uh, we’re not sure yet. I’ll let you know once we’ve thought about it.” I was about to say, you can always call my phone, too, when I remembered I didn’t even have it with me. So far, my parents hadn’t commented on the fact that I’d entered without a handbag, nor pulled out my phone once, so hopefully I’d be able to slip out without having to touch on that particular detail. “We should probably get going,” I added, brushing off invisible crumbs from my knees as I stood up.

I moved over to Jean and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then did the same with Roger. When they moved to shake hands with Navan, I winced slightly, thinking about his warmth. Thanks to the formula he was on, his touch wouldn’t be nauseatingly hot, but he was still warmer than the average human. Luckily, they didn’t notice—or if they did, they didn’t comment and chalked it up to him just being… a hot guy.

I led the way out of the living room and back down the hallway toward the front door, bending down to say goodbye to Sally as I went. But before I could reach the door, the bell rang.

I opened it and then jerked back, practically choking on my tongue as I stared at the two people standing in the doorway.

My parents. My real parents.

My stomach twisted into knots at the sight of them, and a wave of sickness surged up in my throat. I took a step back, bumping into Navan and Jean who were right behind me, and I felt Jean’s hand squeeze my shoulder, her guard immediately up when she realized who it was.

“Sasha, George. Can…Can I help you?” she asked.

Their eyes flickered over Navan with some confusion and they barely even looked at Jean, before their eyes zoned in on me.

My mother wore a white and blue floral summer dress which clung to her bony frame in a most unflattering way. Her blue eyes looked bloodshot, her face pale and sagging, and her wispy gray hair was tied up in a limp ponytail. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her in a dress, and the irregularity disturbed me, as I realized this was probably her way of dressing up to see me. My father wore his usual attire—a pair of jeans one size too big for him, and a loose, crinkled shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in the heat. His mustached face was as ragged as my mother’s, his hair balding at the crown of his head.

Why were they here? How did they know to come?

“We wanted to check in to see that Riley was definitely okay,” my mother said, her voice like nails grating against cement.