Page 8 of Boyfriend
“Your step-stepmother,” I say, recalling her text message.
“Right.” She leads me off the porch and down the walkway. “My car is just around the back. It won’t take us long to get there. You’ll be eating turkey dumplings in no time.”
“Sounds good. My body is, like, fifty percent wings and fries at this point. I’m sure you know that. I’m at your restaurant all the time.”
“Table number seventeen,” she says cheerfully. “The hockey table. Do you know that we prep a different portion of wings depending on whether you guys win or lose?”
“No, really? Why?”
“Because you eat more and get drunker on the nights you lose than on the nights you win.”
“Huh. That’s very scientific of you.”
She unlocks an elderly Honda Civic and opens the driver’s side door. “Last chance to back out.”
I wouldn’t dream of it. I have to remember how to be Mr. Smooth, though, and flirt properly with Abbi. Who knows? After a great meal, we could make this a night to remember. “I’m at your service,” I say, hoping it sounds a little sexy and not creepy. “Let’s get our turkey on.”
Huh. Mr. Smooth seems to be on vacation today.
I give myself a fifty-fifty shot at success. But I’ve faced worse odds. Game on.
Three
Are We Really Doing This?
Abbi
“So, set the scene for me,” Weston says as I drive toward Shelburne. “How much of an acting job do you need? I can be the new love of your life. Or I could be just one in a string of casual boyfriends. Or even just a friend from far away that you brought home to dinner out of pity. However you want to play this is fine with me. I just need to know ahead of time.”
“Right, okay.” I have to think fast, because I hadn’t actually planned this through. I honestly assumed he wouldn’t show up. “Nobody keeps very good tabs on me,” I say slowly. “So if I say that we’ve been dating about a month, it wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. And that seems plausible without being a big deal, either.”
“A month it is!” he says easily.
This isn’t nearly as awkward as it could be, thanks to Weston. He’s good company, which I already know since I’ve listened to a thousand hours of hockey smack talk. He has a fun outlook on life.
“Names, please,” he demands. “Who am I meeting?”
“Dr. Dalton Ritter is my stepfather. You can call him Dalton. The new Mrs. Ritter is Lila.”
“Lila and Dalton Ritter, MD,” he repeats. “I’m premed, so he and I could have plenty to talk about. One more question—can I ask why you felt the need for a date tonight? And are there any topics I’m supposed to avoid? Any conversations I’m supposed to interrupt?”
"Well…” I do have my reasons. But Weston doesn’t really need to know what they are. “We should avoid the obvious tricky subjects—like politics. But there’s no specific issue between Dalton and me.”
“Gotcha,” he says. “So I’m just here as a buffer? Is it a big gathering?”
“Nope, which is why I need a buffer. It will just be them and her son.”
“Your step-stepbrother?” Weston guesses.
“Yeah, and he’s a tool. You’ll see.”
“No problemo,” he says easily. “So you might as well tell me about you too.”
“Me? I’m just a student like you. I grew up here in Vermont. And I’m trying to finish my degree in three years plus the summer terms I’ve done.”
“Whoa! Major?” he asks.
“Business, with concentrations in finance and marketing.”
