Page 113 of The Stud

“With whoever you want to do it with.”

“Dad,” leaves me in an even more embarrassed nature.

At that, the blond male beside me crosses over and extends an open palm towards him. “I’m-”

“Frosky,” Dad states in a short, clipped tone during their shaking. “Drafted by Florida. Round two. Thirty-five. Traded to Camelot. Then Michigan. Then Texas as part of the rebuild. You lead the team in points, are about a dozen away from breaking the franchise record, and seven from being the highest scorer this season across the entire league.”

Their hands fall as Tanner stammers, “You’re uh…You’re a fan.”

“No.”

My mom and I flash matching mirth-filled cringes.

“However, I make it my business to know who had their tongue in my daughter’s mouth at midnight.”

“What?!” leaves us in unison.

Dad motions his head at Mom who turns the phone around to show the picture. “Someone captured these two-”

“Peck and his Slayer,” I inform in a mumble, arms folding protectively across my chest.

“-andyou twojust so happen to be cut off here in the background.” She places the device down on the table beside the grocery bags. “And the only reason I had any idea it wasyouis because of the meltdown text message your sister sent this morning – in response to ‘Happy Birthday’ – asking for confirmation that thatwasn’t you,” Mom gestures to me, “kissingyou,” she points to him, “because you would be sure to lose your job if it was.”

Is it just me or does that sound more like a threat than a concern?

“I – of course – took the appropriate PR approach of distract rather than deny, which seemed to appease her enough to get to the small birthday spa and brunch she was hosting.”

That fits the playbook.

She gets to celly with being pampered.

I get to celly by being scarred.

Ah, to be twins.

“I’m Charlotte, by the way,” Mom warmly introduces, hand extended for the taking. “And that’s Amedeo.”

“Pleasure,” he greets in return and offers Dad a polite nod. “Sir.”

Dad grunts, grabs another apple, and feeds it to my dog whose tail I don’t think has stopped wagging since we walked in.

I do my best to regain my composure. “As much fun as this awkward prom moment is-”

“You didn’t go to prom,” Dad interrupts.

“You didn’t go to prom?” Tanner croaks in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I naturally brush off.

“It’s a prettyhugebloody deal.”

“Maybe if we were closer tosixteeninstead ofthirty.”

“It’s a pretty monumental moment in adolescence.”

“And you are a pretty monumental pain in the ass of adulthood.”

“Like prom, I am a memory maker.”

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