Page 7 of Never Date A Player
Chapter Two
“Genevieve, your stepfather and I are planning our visit. You’d think you could spare me a call.”
You’d think my mom would have learned by now that I’m asleep at nine in the morning. Even if I didn’t work late shifts, I’m not exactly alert at this hour under normal conditions.
“Mom,” I croak into the receiver. “Can we talk later? And I don’t have a stepfather.”
My mother calls her latest boyfriend my stepfather, though they’re not married. It’s weird.
“He will be, darling. Fred’s got a contract in East Asia he’s wrapping up, then we’re making it official. He’s the one, honey.”
I roll my eyes, but even I have to admit Fred is different from my mom’s past conquests. She’s been with him for two years. For Chantell, that’s the equivalent of a silver anniversary.
“Where exactly are you staying in Tahoe?”
“Fred booked us a suite at the Timber Lodge. We’ll golf and shop, and of course visit the casino to see you in your outfit.” She squeals, and I hold the phone from my ear.
Of course she wants to see my uniform. I’ve tried to get my mom to tone down the cleavage and miniskirts, while she’s been trying to get me to show off my curves—since I was twelve.
“I can’t wait,” I deadpan.
Thinking back, I wonder, was twelve the age my mom’s corruption of me came in earnest? Nope, that’s just when she no longer saw me as a little girl. In her mind, I had breasts and a period, therefore, I was a woman and should desire male attention. Only, I hate the kind of attention my mom attracts and avoid it at all cost.
“The Timber Lodge is a nice place, Mom.” I stifle a yawn. “Call me when you’re in town.”
“Genevieve, you sound like a frog. Get some coffee, darling. You don’t have a man next to you, do you?”
“Mom!”
“No? Too bad. It’s been months since the last one. I figured you’d be ready to move on. That boy didn’t deserve you. He was—what’s that expression when someone is uptight?”
“Anal?”
“That’s it. He had no sex appeal. He walked like he had a rod up his?—”
“Mother!”
“Was he gay?”
“What? No. He—he had a girlfriend. At home.” My voice trails off. I sort of wanted to keep that tidbit to close friends only. My mom is not someone I confide in.
The other side of the phone line is silent for a couple of beats before I hear her sigh. “I can only guide the cow to water, I can’t make it drink.”
What the eff? “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve tried. Lord knows, I’ve tried to get you to reveal your inner beauty?—”
“Through my outfits?”
“But did you listen?”
“Jesus, Mom. Some people would consider your form of parenting child abuse. Look, I picked a smart guy with average looks who didn’t party. I thought he was safe. It turns out he wasn’t. End of story. Everyone makes poor choices now and then.”
I’d waited three months to have sex with my ex, wanting to be absolutely certain he was a good guy before we took it to the next level. I’d learned in high school not to jump into relationships. At sixteen, the first boyfriend I slept with bragged about it to the entire swim team. My next experience wasn’t an improvement. Then came the A-hole. I look at sex as a downward spiral—it’s gotten worse with time.
Maybe I’m being too hard on myself; maybe the way I’ve chosen guys is all wrong. Whatever the problem, I’m over it. I can’t think about men right now.
An image of Lewis’s scarred mouth and dark eyes flashes in my mind.
