The Mistake(87)

I shrug. “I’m cool with it.”

“Okay then. Brace yourself. She’s about to deafen us both with—”

A shriek of delight. The loudest frickin’ shriek on the planet.

Fortunately, her voice lowers to a manageable decibel when she speaks. “Sweetie! Yay! You answered!”

The video chat box fills the screen, revealing a very attractive blonde who seems way too young to be the mother of a nineteen-year-old. Seriously, Grace’s mother looks like she’s thirty. If that.

“Hey, Mom,” Grace says. “Do I even want to know why you’re awake at five-thirty in the morning?”

Her mother’s answering grin is downright devilish. “Who says I even went to bed?”

Grace told me that her mother is bubbly and impulsive and pretty much acts like a teenager, and I can see now that she hadn’t exaggerated.

My girlfriend groans. “Please tell me you stayed up painting and not…doing other things.”

“I take the Fifth.”

“Mom.”

“I’m forty-four years old, sweetie. Do you expect me to live like a monk?”

Forty-four? Wow. Totally doesn’t look it. Also, I can’t stop the snicker that pops out at her breezy response, which causes her brown eyes to narrow.

“Grace Elizabeth Ivers, is there a man sitting beside you? I thought that big lump was your blanket, but that’s someone’s shoulder!” Her mom gasps. “Identify yourself, sir.”

Grinning, I scoot closer so the camera can see my face. “Evening, Mrs. Ivers. Or morning, I guess.”

“Mrs. Ivers lives in Florida. Call me Josie.”

I swallow a laugh. “Josie. I’m Logan.”

Another gasp. “The Logan?”

“Yes, Mom. The Logan,” Grace confirms with a sigh.

Josie looks from me to Grace, then puts on a stern face. “Sweetie, I’d like a moment alone with Mr. Logan. Go take a walk or something.”

My alarmed gaze flies to Grace, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Hey, you said it was cool,” she murmurs. Then she plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve gotta pee, anyway. You two go nuts.”

Panic fills my gut as my girlfriend hops off the bed and literally abandons me. Leaving me at her mother’s mercy. Fucking hell. I should have hid when I had the chance.

The moment Grace leaves the room, Josie says, “Is she gone?”

“Yup.” I gulp.

“Good. Don’t worry, kid, I’ll be quick. And I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen carefully. Gracie told me she was giving you another chance, and I fully supported that decision.” Josie peers into the camera, her expression glittering with menace. “With that said, if you break my daughter’s heart, I will hop on the first plane out of here, show up at your door, and beat you to death with a pillowcase full of soap bars.”

Despite the terrified shiver evoked by the threat, I can’t stop the laugh that flies out of my throat. Jesus. That’s a very specific form of violence.

But when I answer, the humor is gone and my voice is gruff. “I won’t break her heart,” I promise.

“Good. Glad that’s settled.”

And I swear, this woman has multiple personalities, because in the blink of an eye she’s Suzie Sunshine again. “Now tell me all about yourself, Logan. What’s your major? When’s your birthday? What’s your favorite color?”

Swallowing another wave of laughter, I indulge her random questions, which she spits out in rapid fire. I don’t mind, though. Grace’s mother is hilarious, and it only takes a few seconds to figure out where Grace got her sense of humor and tendency to babble incoherently.

Three minutes into the chat, Josie’s phone rings. She says she needs to take it and promises she’ll ping us right back, and then the screen goes black. I’m about to put down the laptop, but when I hear footsteps nearing the door, I suddenly have an idea.

AKA the perfect payback for Grace’s desertion.

Just as the door opens, I look intently at the screen and act like I’m still chatting with her mother. “—And she stuck her finger in my ass when she was blowing me, which was f*cking incredible. I never thought I’d enjoy having anything up there, but—”

Grace screams in horror.

“Oh my God!” She dives onto the bed and grabs the laptop. “Mom, don’t listen to him! He’s just joking—” She stops abruptly, blinking at the screen before turning to glare at me. “You are such an *.”