The Kiss Quotient(40)
Janie hurried into the kitchen. “What just happened? Why is Mom crying?”
No one answered, but seven sets of eyes accused her. It was worse than all the noise from before, far, far worse.
She’d made Michael’s mom cry.
Stella’s face flamed with embarrassment and guilt, and she jumped to her feet. “I’m so sorry. I need to go.”
Ducking her head, she gathered her purse and fled.
* * *
? ? ?
Michael stared at the doorway Stella had rushed through, feeling like he’d watched a car accident in slow motion. A mix of unholy emotion coursed through his veins. Anger, horror, shame, disbelief, shock. What the fuck had just happened? What did he do now? His instincts urged him to chase after her.
“You better go check on Mom,” Janie said.
That was right. His practice girlfriend had just put his mom in tears. What a great son he was. He went to look for her without a word. With heavy feet and a heavier chest, he climbed the stairs, walked down the carpeted hall, and paused outside his mom’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and he peered around the edge, finding his mom sitting on her bed. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was crying. It was written in her slumped posture and the way her head hung.
The sight destroyed him. No one got to hurt his mom. Not his dad and not his past girlfriends. Not even Stella. “M??”
She didn’t acknowledge him as he entered the room and padded to her bedside.
“I’m sorry about all the things she said.” He tried to keep his voice low, but it came out unnaturally loud. “The piano, the food, Dad . . .”
He didn’t know how Stella had managed it, but in just a few minutes, she’d found every sensitive spot his family possessed—their tight financial situation, his mom’s lack of education, and his fucked-up dad—and poked right at them. Accidentally. That was clear as day.
Holy shit, she was bad with people. He’d had no idea how bad until tonight. When it was just the two of them, it wasn’t like this.
His mom grabbed his hand. “Do you think your dad is okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” His lips twisted as he imagined his old man lounging on a yacht in the Caribbean next to his latest wife.
“Can you email him for M??”
“No.” He was never talking to his dad again.
His mom took a ragged breath and covered her face. “Your Stella was right. He could be hurt. He’s so evil no one would care to help him, certainly not his new woman. She’s only with him as long as the money lasts.”
He fisted his hands as a familiar rage threaded through his muscles. “That amount of money should last a long time.”
“Not the way he spends. He thinks he’s a big shot. Nothing was ever good enough for him, remember?”
Not this again.
Michael clenched his jaw as his mom launched into another retelling of a story he’d heard a thousand times. He sat down next to her and listened with half an ear so he could make the appropriate sounds when she paused.
Words like uses women and bad person and liar stuck out, and he couldn’t help noticing how well they applied to himself. Look at all the lies he told. Look at what he did to pay the bills. Look at him taking money from Stella for doing what any other guy would do for—
Cold horror soaked into him. This was why it had felt so wrong to accept Stella’s proposal. It was wrong. He was taking advantage of her. What kind of man accepted money from a na?ve woman to teach her things she could learn for free?
He’d finally taken the last steps and become his dad. That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t him. He was better.
Their arrangement had to end right now. Where was she? Fuck, was she waiting for him outside?
He shot to his feet before his mom’s story was half finished. “I have to go, M?. I’m sorry about . . . tonight, about everything.”
“There’s no need for sorry. If you love her, we’ll learn to love her, too.”
At the mere mention of that word, sweat broke out over his brow. “I don’t.” That made his actions worse, didn’t it?
His mom waved his protest away. “Bring her back another day. M? won’t microwave the plastic when she’s here.”
“You shouldn’t microwave it any time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She said the words in such a manner that he knew she would continue doing things her way regardless of what she’d been told, and Michael swore to himself he’d throw all her plastic away and replace it with something safe. Right after he spoke to Stella.
“Good night, M?.”
“Drive careful.”
He escaped the house in record time, but he came up short as he stepped outside.
She was gone.
He gripped one of the porch’s wooden support pillars and dragged in deep breaths as his heart rate slowed and his mind cleared. Cool air, the buzzing of bugs, and the distant whir of a car’s motor.
Maybe it was best that she wasn’t here. He needed time to compose a decent parting speech. Something short but nice. It was him, not her, and—
No matter what he said, she was going to cry. The thought twisted his guts into knots. She’d think it was her fault. Because of how awkward she was in bed and out. Because of the unintentional debacle tonight.