Page 37 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
“Because I hate organized sports and everyone who plays organized sports and would rather burn my eyes out with acid than be forced to watch or read anything to do with organized sports.”
My father thinks for a moment. “Yes, I recall when your sister was on the volleyball and swim teams in high school, you refused to go to any of her meets.”
Right. Because inevitably I’d be stared at by people comparing me to my beautiful, popular, overachieving sibling and be forced to spend hours suffering through whispered comments behind hands such as, That can’t really be Jacqueline’s sister! Was she adopted?
Pushing away the vile memory, I beg, “Please tell me he’s not more famous than Michael Jordan.”
My father laughs. “He’s way more famous than Michael Jordan! He’s basically the most famous athlete on the planet.”
Mr. Bingley jumps up onto the chair Cam vacated and looks around wistfully, and I need another glass of wine.
Then my father is gone, and my mother is yammering in my ear like a mental patient without even drawing a breath.
“Holy cow Joellen how could you not tell me Cameron McGregor was living in your building that is crazy and you have him in your apartment oh my goodness wait till I tell Cindy she’ll die.”
“You’re forbidden from telling anyone, Mom, especially that blabbermouth Cindy! It’ll be all over Twitter within half an hour!”
She ignores me because her postmenopausal hormones are resurrecting themselves from the dead. “Is he as gorgeous in person as he is in photos? Is he really as muscular as he looks on TV? What about his hair? Does he have good ha—”
“Mother. Focus. He’s a person, not a sex object.”
The sound of the receiver being tapped against a wall comes over the line, followed by my mother’s sarcastic voice. “I’m sorry, we seem to have a bad connection. I thought I just heard my daughter say that Cameron McGregor, the sex object to end all sex objects, is not a sex object.”
For some bizarre reason, I feel a little defensive of the Mountain. “He’s actually pretty smart, if you want the truth. He’s very intuitive, and he’s got an amazing vocabulary.”
Her silence is thundering. I sigh and relent. “Okay, fine. Yes, he’s muscular. And he has good hair. Satisfied?”
“No, I’m not satisfied! Details, sweetie, det
ails!”
“I never thought I’d hear myself speak these words, Mother, but I think you’re overdue for some sexy times with Dad.”
Her voice drops, and she starts talking to me in that “we’re best girlfriends” tone that drives me up a wall. “I’ll tell you what, sweetie, your father is in for some big fun tonight, because Mama’s hot tamale is en fuego at the thought of Cameron McGregor in the flesh!”
“I have to go now. My mental breakdown is calling.”
“My God, that Scottish brogue.” Her shiver of delight is audible. “And a sense of humor, too!”
“What did he say that was funny?”
“That you two were in love!”
“Oh, that. Yeah, he’s a real laugh a minute,” I say drily, shaking my head. Then something strikes me. “Why was that funny?”
My mother laughs. “Oh, honey! As if a man like that could fall in love with you!”
That hurts so much it leaves me breathless. When I’m silent too long, my mother realizes her mistake.
“I didn’t mean it like that, sweetie—”
“I know exactly how you meant it.”
Her voice turns firm. “Joellen, don’t do that.”
“Do what? Feel insulted when someone insults me?”
“Turn a harmless comment into one of your personal pity parties!”
