Page 35 of Not That Into You

“I take it she’s not the warm, fuzzy type.”

“That would be an understatement.”

She stops halfway up the stairs, and I pause, giving her a questioning look.

“What’s this really about, Cameron?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why am I here?”

I furrow my brow. “You’re here to be my girlfriend.”

As she studies my face, I resist the urge to fidget.

“Your mom has already written me off, so I’m not sure what this weekend will accomplish.”

“My mother hasn’t written you off.”

She lifts a brow.

“Look.” I grab her hand. “My mother isn’t warm or welcoming to anyone. It’s not personal. It’s just who she is. She’ll accept you’re my girlfriend, and everything will be fine.”

I hold my breath, willing Monica to accept my explanation and hoping I’m right. I’m not certain how this weekend will go or whether my mother will accept Monica, but I’ll do everything in my power to shield her from my family’s bullshit.

“Come on. Let me show you to my room. I’ve never had any complaints from the girls I brought there in the past.”

I inwardly sigh in relief when her shoulders relax as she shakes her head. “Girls? Not women?”

I smile. “Nah, I stopped bringing women around my family by the time I was in college.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” she mutters as I pull her the rest of the way up the stairs.

After we enter my bedroom, I head to the closet, intent on changing out of my shorts and into slacks. If I were alone, I’d head straight to the patio for a much-needed drink, taking no small pleasure in irritating my mother with my refusal to “freshen up.” But Monica’s with me and antagonizing my mother will only make things more difficult for her.

At a knock on the bedroom door, I exit the closet to greet Rick, who acknowledges me with a nod as he drops our luggage by the bed. I thank him, and as he leaves, I notice Monica hasn’t moved from the center of the room. She’s staring at the bed with her arms folded across her chest.

“Monica?”

“Hm?” She looks up but seems lost in thought.

“Your luggage is here. Did you want to change?” Her brow furrows. “Not that you have to change. What you’re wearing is fine.”

She snorts before bending to pick up her bag. “Not according to your mother.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’s never happy with anything.”

Shrugging, she puts her bag on the bed and starts rifling through it before pulling out a dress. “I guess I should hang this up.”

I inhale sharply.

“What?”

I take a deep breath. “Nothing.” She probably doesn’t own a garment bag and doesn’t realize the dress is a Missoni that cost over $2,000. “I’ll just take that and hang it up.” And make sure it gets steamed.

After hanging up the dress, I come back out and find Monica holding up the ocher jumpsuit I bought for her.

“I was going to wear this...”

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