Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(51)

Time stops. Forks go silent. Jaws drop open and dust settles.

“Jesus Christ,” I groan, stabbing a bite of chicken.

“Watch your mouth, son,” Dad says under his breath.

I glare at my sister. “You’re on a tear lately, Margot. Are you trying to push me out of this state?”

“Well, what do I have to lose?” she asks. “You’re running out of willing sexual partners in Southern California. Unless you just cycle through them again and forget their na—”

I cut her off with a low “Margot.”

“Luker?” Mom asks me, ignoring this. “You have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Margot answers for me. “There’s a girl who refuses him, but he loooooves her.”

“Are you twelve?” I ask.

My sister winks at me.

“Bubbles?” Mom addresses me again and the delicate hope in her voice makes something between my ribs grow tight.

“You guys,” I say, putting down my fork. “Can we all agree it isn’t healthy that you’re all so invested in me settling down? I’m twenty-three. I graduated last summer.”

“You were just so happy with Mia,” Dad explains.

“Of course he was happy!” Grams crows. “He was seventeen and having premarital sex!” She cackles and slaps the table loudly.

“Mom,” Dad says more forcefully this time. “This isn’t helping.”

“Can we just stop talking about my love life for once?” I ask.

“We,” Margot says, gesturing around the table, “have literally never talked about your love life.” When I don’t argue, she continues: “At least not with you in the room. I just thought everyone might want to know that you’ve got your eye on someone. And, given that you’ve lost your sea legs, so to speak, maybe you could use some advice. After all, Mom and Dad have been married for twenty-seven years. And Grams was married to Papa for fifty.”

“Fifty-two,” Grams corrects her.

“See?” Margot says, smiling at me victoriously. “Fifty-two. I’m sure they would love to give you some pointers.”

Mom’s hopeful smile is back in place. “You want some advice, Bubbles?”

I smile at my sister through clenched teeth and nod. “Sure, Mom.”

Dad pats his napkin against his mouth and sets it down beside his plate before leaning back in his chair and studying me. Oh boy.

“Be straightforward,” he says, lacing his hands behind his head.

“Straightforward,” Mom agrees with a decisive nod.

“My best advice,” Dad says, “is don’t beat around the bush.”

Margot snorts. “I agree. Luke tends to beat around the bush way too much.”

Dad opens his mouth and then closes it, sliding Margot a disapproving look. “If you like her,” he continues with emphasis, slowly looking back to me, “then ask her out.”

“But this isn’t the one who he asked out and she lied about working, is it?” Mom asks Margot.

“It isn’t really that simple,” I say before Margot can answer for me, and for a heartbeat I can’t believe I’m actually engaging in this. But as both of my parents lean in, encouraged, I realize it’s too late. “We went out a couple of times.” I glare at Margot when she lifts a finger to correct the inaccuracy, and she drops it, looking—for once—like she’s going to lay off. “But I’ve been . . . playing the field a bit,” I say, delicately. “And I don’t think she likes that about me.”

“Well, of course she doesn’t, honey,” Mom tells me sweetly. “Girls want to feel special.”

“Take her to a dance,” Grams suggests with a wide smile.

I break it to her gently: “We don’t really do that anymore, Grams.”

“Well, then take her somewhere she likes,” she says. “Does this gal like the movies?”

Dragging a hand through my hair, I admit, “I have no idea if she likes the movies. She’s a bartender at night and surfs all day.”

Mom’s hand drifts in for a trembling landing on her throat. “She went to college, though?”

“She graduated with my class at UCSD,” I reassure her. Mom visibly relaxes. “I think she’s just figuring out what she wants out of life.”

“Well, there you go,” Dad says with a firm palm to the table. “You’re directed and driven. Maybe you can help her find her way in her career, and she can help you get your head on straight about how to get back in the saddle.”

This time my sister’s snort is so loud I’m worried a sinus broke off.

“I can’t believe you actually said ‘back in the saddle,’?” I tell him.

He nods, wincing apologetically. “I . . .” He reaches for the wine and pours another glass.

I’m practically vibrating inside, needing to escape the scrutiny. As if spring-loaded, my legs push me to stand and I kiss my mom’s forehead, kiss Grams’s dust-soft cheek, pat Dad’s shoulder, and smack Margot on the back of the head. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. The chicken and penises were delicious. Love you guys.”

I grab my sweatshirt from the back of the couch on the way out, feeling like my heart is going to punch its way out of my body. I’ve given Margot more trouble in her lifetime than I can ever hope she’ll repay, but I do like London. I like her a lot, and having it all reduced to a joke, or an amusing conversation over the dinner table, is starting to wear on me.