Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(39)

Some of her bravado slipped. “I don’t like it when you hurt because of me.”

“I can take it.” He took a deep breath and smiled through the agony. “Besides, I know you’re just trying to stall on meeting my mother. Nice try.”

“Caught me,” she mumbled, pushing off the wall.

Connor forced himself to watch his feet as they continued to the twelfth floor. They exited into the hallway and came to a stop in front of his mother’s door. Erin’s cheeks were red, but he didn’t think it was exertion. More like nerves. Hell, he didn’t blame her. It was early in the game to be introducing her to his mother, but then again, they hadn’t exactly been following the new couple guidelines, had they? They already lived together, for Chrissake.

“The first time I was in Dade, the television got stuck on one channel for an entire day. Some girl had swallowed the batteries for the remote, so she could get transported to the hospital.” She shifted on her feet. “We watched a marathon of Boy Meets World. Have you seen that show?”

Connor nodded. “Once or twice.”

“I’m just going to pretend I’m Topanga. Cory’s parents loved her.”

He started to say to hell with Topanga, but his mother threw open the door. “My son, I thought that was your voice.” She patted the sunflower-patterned scarf on her head and gave Erin a friendly once-over. “You bring home a girl and I get no warning. Were you raised by wolves? I could have baked.”

Connor ignored her tongue clucking. “Can we come in, Mom?”

“You’ve never been one for warm greetings, but I am not even trying to hear that noise. Give your mother a hug.”

Unable to keep his smile hidden, Connor enveloped his mother with his arms, wishing Erin could experience the same thing without feeling debilitating anxiety. Cheeks flushed with pleasure, Joanna stepped back to let them in. Connor took the opportunity to step between his mother and Erin. Joanna might be perceptive, but he hadn’t had a chance to tell her about Erin’s aversion to touch yet. A simple handshake could spell disaster.

He guided Erin to the opposite side of the room without touching her. She followed, but her gaze was darting around the apartment, looking for exits. When she finally noticed the fire escape attached to the living room window, her shoulders sagged.

“Mom, this is Erin. Erin—”

“Call me Joanna, please.” She clicked across the floor in her heels, pausing on the threshold to the kitchen. “I have lemonade and tap water. Yes, I’m a shitty host.”

Erin fidgeted. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“You’ll have lemonade,” Joanna decided. “You need something to do with your hands.”

When his mother disappeared into the kitchen, Connor turned to Erin, surprised to find her studying him. “This is what they offered you, isn’t it? A place for your mother.”

He nodded once and glanced away, taking in the renovated apartment, so unlike the shabby house in which he’d spent his youth. “Cancer treatment.”

Her eyes softened. Before he could ready himself, she curled her fingers in his collar and tugged him down for a soft kiss. “I’m sorry I tried to blow you in the stairwell,” she whispered against his lips.

“Jesus.” A pained laugh escaped him. “Please don’t apologize for something like that ever again.”

“Okay.”

They shared a smile. He couldn’t seem to break eye contact with her. She seemed just as content to search his face. For what, he didn’t know. In his peripheral vision, he noticed that his mother had reentered the room. How long had she been standing there? Reluctantly, he straightened, turning his attention to his mother, who had a strange expression on her face.

She visibly shook herself and came forward to hand them their lemonade. Erin cupped the bottom of the glass to avoid their fingers brushing and murmured her thanks.

“So, do youse two work together?” Joanna asked, her familiar Bronx accent in full effect. “Let me guess, Erin is the queen in your deck of wild cards.”

Erin’s brow wrinkled. “Your what?”

“That’s what I’ve been calling it,” Connor explained while tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Since we’re all…”

“Cuckoo bananas?”

“Different from one another,” he amended. “Yeah, Mom, we work together.”

Joanna took a sip from her own lemonade and Connor could see the wheels turning in her head. If Erin worked with him, she had to be a criminal. He could sense Erin’s discomfort and knew she’d picked up on the subtext behind her mother’s question. God, maybe he’d overstepped by bringing her here. She’d had a hard enough day without this criminal version of Meet the Parents.

Before he could deflect any more questions in her direction, Erin squared her shoulders. “It’s okay to ask me what I did. I can’t even say I paid for my crimes, because I didn’t. I got out of prison faster than a whore in a convent.” She drained her lemonade. “I’m sorry. I’m not Topanga. Your son deserves a Topanga.”

His mother arched a meticulously plucked eyebrow at him. “Who the hell is Topanga?”

“It’s not important,” he said firmly. Christ, this conversation had gotten away from him. “Neither is what Erin did. She’s important. That’s it.”