Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(99)

“Strip clubs with Carol?”

“No, I have a date.”

“Stan, Stan the Hairy Man getting a second chance?”

“No, that’s over. He sent me a picture of his junk, and if you thought his back was hairy—”

“Hail Mary, full of grace—”

“Oh, stop.”

“You stop. Please. I beg you to stop.”

“Fine.” Her mother looked at her watch. “I do have a date, and you must have plans with that Lucas. Are you getting married, you two?”

“We’re in a purely physical relationship right now.”

Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

Colleen shrugged, looking away. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m not looking too far down the road.”

“Carpe diem and all that?” Mom asked.

“Exactly. Don’t eat tuna.”

Mom gave a faint smile. “Well, off with you. Time to go. Get out. Bye, honey. Don’t forget your dog.” She walked Colleen to the front door. “You never come over anymore.”

“It’s hard to feel welcome when you’re about to hurl me down your front steps—” The doorbell rang. “Could this be the mystery man?” Colleen exclaimed. She opened the front door. “Hi, I’m the daughter.” Her smile froze, then dropped. “But I guess you already knew that.”

Her father stood on the stoop, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Colleen said.

* * *

IT WAS UNEXPECTED, her parents told her. Early days yet. Just testing the waters. But obviously they had a history.

“I know you have a history!” Colleen snapped. “I am your history!”

It was so frickin’ weird to have them both in the newly renovated yoga studio/artist garrett/greenroom/whatever the heck Lucas had built. The last time they’d been there all together was when Dad had stonily informed them about the Tail and her pregnancy, Mom sobbing hysterically, Connor white-faced.

Connor, at least, was at the bar. Lucky bastard.

“I thought you’d be happy about this,” Dad said.

Colleen eyed him, started to speak, then stopped. “I don’t know how to feel,” she said. “You can’t just undo everything, Dad. You have Savannah now. Ten years have passed. And are you and Mom together? Or are you just jealous because she started dating?”

He looked at Mom, whose expression didn’t betray much. “I’ve always loved your mother.”

Colleen snorted.

“It’s true.”

“Loved her enough to cheat on her. Loved her enough to make her a laughingstock while you and your disgustingly young wife moved to a bigger house in the same town because you didn’t even have the decency to move ten miles away, enough to—”

“Okay, Colleen, we know where you stand,” Mom said. “I appreciate your concern and understand you have to express your emotions, but maybe you could do this in a more positive and healthy way.”

“You need to stop buying those self-help books.”

“I’ve found that kickboxing works well.”

Colleen sighed. “I have to go see Gramp. Your father, Dad, in case you forgot. Come on, Rufus.”

It would be nice, she thought as she drove to her shift at Rushing Creek, to have a normal family. Like Faith—the three siblings, the perfect father, the lovely stepmother, a niece, a nephew. Instead, she had her whackadoo parents, a stepmother who wore clothes in the style of Child Prostitute and a mute grandfather whose poor body just wouldn’t give out. She had Savannah, at least, and Connor.

And maybe she had Lucas, too.

But that was a dangerous thought. For ten years, she’d done pretty well not getting her heart broken, and not breaking anyone’s. And not heartbroken...not ruined...that was a whole lot better than the alternative.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A FEW NIGHTS later, Colleen twisted her hair up, pulled down a few wisps and put on her Swarovski crystal earrings that Con had given her for their birthday in a rare fit of thoughtful metrosexuality. Tonight, she wore a long red dress (because you know what they say about women in red dresses), high in front and low in back, the fabric falling in a silky rush to her toes. It was a halter top secured at the back of her neck, so hopefully Lucas could give one tug later on, when they were alone, and remove said dress in a hurry. Or a not-hurry. Nice and slow. His mouth could follow the fabric...and hopefully, he hadn’t shaved today, because she quite loved the scrape of his beard against her skin, the contrast of his smooth, full mouth, the hot, wet slide—

“You almost ready?” Connor bellowed up the laundry chute, which served as a magical portal between their apartments.

“I’ve been ready for twenty minutes,” she lied. “Are you ready? Are we picking up your date? You may as well tell me who she is.”

“She’s not coming.”

“Connor! I hate you.”

“I hate you more,” he said, grinning up the chute. “Get in the car.”

She dropped her wet towel on his head, closed the chute door. “Bye, pal,” she said to Rufus, who was mournfully chewing his plastic bone. “I love you more than Connor. A lot more.” With that, she went downstairs, the heels of her strappilicious sandals tapping away.