Page 34 of Into the Woods

The door pushed open, and Mom appeared, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that made her look like my big sister, not my mom. Dressed in gray scrubs, she flashed me a tired smile. “Hey, sweetie.”

“I thought you were working late,” I said, wincing at my accusatory tone.

She sighed and came inside. “I know, I know. I asked you to come to Paris with me so we could spend more time together, but all I seem to do is work.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that,” I muttered, feeling guilty. My mom was a doctor. She saved lives for a living. It was kinda selfish for me to want her to go on mani-pedi dates instead of performing an emergency appendectomy on a ten-year-old.

That had been Step #3 of Betty Moreau’s New Life Plan.

Step #1 had been filing for divorce from my father.

Step #2 was leaving all the toxic energy of California.

Step #3 had been to devote her surgical skills to people who actually needed them instead of getting paid stupid amounts of money to be on retainer when one of her rich clients got a nasty case of tennis elbow.

Step #4 was going back to her maiden name. Part of me wanted to ask if I could switch, too. Rebecca Whittier had seen more shit than I cared to recount.

She sat down at my vanity, facing me. “I’m sorry, Bex. I promise I’m going to make more time for us. Between the new position at the hospital and helping Mémé plan her birthday celebration, I’ve absolutely been neglecting you.”

“Mom, I’m eighteen, not eight,” I reminded her, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I don’t need you to entertain me.”

She arched a brow. “Clearly not. You look pretty fancy for a Thursday night.”

“I have a date,” I admitted, a blush heating my face.

“Would this be a date with the same boy I’ve seen drop you off almost every night this week?” she teased.

My jaw dropped. “You know about that?”

She laughed. “Sweetie, I’m still your mom. Of course I know when things are going on with you.” She paused, smiling at me. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She stood. “Then I won’t hold you up. Have fun.” She winked. “Be safe.”

“Mom!” Humiliation burned through me.

“What?” she asked with a giggle. “I was young once.” Her smile slipped the way it always did when there was even a hint of Dad in the conversation.

Mom and I both apparently had a thing for guys who had the power to break our hearts. This was all the more reason for me to keep spending time with Eric.

Eric was exactly what I should need. Someone safe and reliable and predictable. Someone who treated me like I was an equal, instead of making life-altering, unilateral decisions for me.

Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my chin. I deserved a guy who wanted me for me.

And, just maybe, Eric was that man.

CHAPTER 11

COURT

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Douche Number Three said to the waitress, leaning over and not bothering to hide that he was checking out her butt as she walked away. The guy had been glued to his cell phone the whole time unless he was ogling the staff. “Fuck, look at that ass.”

Douche Number One leaned back and gave a long, loud groan of appreciation. “I’d split that open like a ripe apple. She’d feel me for days.”

The waitress, a tiny, curvy woman who barely looked over eighteen, hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller as their words hit her ears. Her cheeks turned red, and not for the first time since we’d started watching what Rook had dubbed the Dinner of Douches.

She and another waitress, also pretty, had been assigned the table by the manager of Aubergine, a trendy, upscale French restaurant that was damn near impossible to get into without a reservation made six months prior. The clientele was elite and catered to by the staff to a disturbing degree.

---