Page 19 of Loathe at First Sight

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I’m not sure which is worse—her out-loud anger or her silent treatment. At least when she’s yelling at me or telling me off, I know where she stands. Mystery Suzanne Lawson freaks me out.

But I guess I should be thankful that we aren’t going to have a knockdown-drag out right now. That was the whole reason I was avoiding her. Maybe she’s going to let me off easy.

But I should know that nothing is ever that easy with my mother.

“Eliza,” she says, stopping me before I can get too far.

“Yes?”

“While you’re there, I think you owe Jack an apology.”

“For what?” I ask. “For giving me a tow? He offered, and I did thank him.”

Kind of.

“No, for how you acted at the Quick Stop gas station.”

“How did you hear about that?” I ask.

“I work at a bar. I hear everything. You should apologize to Gina, but you can go ahead and say it to Jack too since you’ll be there.”

“Do you even want to hear my side of the story?”

She still hasn’t made eye contact with me. “No, I don’t. I think you should try to make nice especially since your brother works for Jack now.”

I whip my head around to look at Dylan who is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking like the cat who just ate the canary. “Why didn’t you say something?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I thought you knew. Figured someone would have told you.”

Who the hell would have told me?

“You work for that jerk?” I ask.

“He’s not a jerk, Lizzie. He’s actually really great…as a boss and as a person.”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “He called me a princess.”

Mom steps in. “Well, from what I hear, it sounds like you were acting like a spoiled princess.”

Not wanting to continue with this, I say, “Alright, whatever. I’ll see you back at home. Tell Dad to text me about lunch.”

I stomp out of the bar and to my mom’s car. She’s had this thing for as long as I can remember. She and my dad don’t know the meaning of buying a new vehicle. They don’t care what they drive. I was so excited when I had enough money to buy my sports car. It was one of the few things I got to keep when shit hit the fan.

But my car is in the shop, and I’m driving my parents’ old beaters. So, I guess the joke’s on me.

The entire drive to the auto shop, I’m fuming.

Jack’s such a great guy.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Look, I get that he helped me out. That, I understand. And it’s appreciated. However, what I don’t appreciate is being called a princess. I never have.

Growing up, I could always hear the whispers of people telling me that I only got to where I was going because of my looks. Sure, something like that may be true for prom queen but student body president or valedictorian? Not a chance. I worked my ass off.

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