Chapter 49 #2
"By the way," Kathryn suddenly proposes, "why don't you stay for dinner? As my thank you for taking care of Jace's car," she says, picking up the bouquet of roses on the cake container and examining closely.
Kathryn's mouth presses into a thin line, her gaze flitting to her son, to me, then back to the roses.
Finally, it clicks.
I turn to Jace and he blushes so hard his face turns as red as the bell peppers Kathryn has chosen for the dinner menu.
So that's why they left me alone for so long.
"Sure. I'd like that."
"WHAT WERE YOU TWO PLOTTING?"
We're alone now. After Kathryn forcibly pushed me out of the kitchen, I'd no choice but to find something else to do since my initial plan backfired.
Those two were talking about me while I went to grab the bags from her car.
It's the only explanation for why they'd leave a guest alone for so long.
Once I figured that out, and that Jace must've told his mother about the real nature of our relationship which prompted the dinner invite, I'd made up my mind to win her over.
I'd hoped she'd let me stick around. Maybe allow me to help with preparing dinner as a show of good faith that this thing between me and Jace is genuine.
Since he is my mate, it's important that I get along with his parents.
It's important that they accept me because I don't want to be the reason Jace has a falling out with his parents.
"Ha! You wish," Jace replies. I can't help but notice how comfortable and adorable he looks, curled up at the center of his bed, a pillow pulled onto his lap.
He's wearing all-white today – a white sweater replacing the jersey he'd been wearing earlier, my guess to cover up the hickey on his neck, and white cargo shorts.
The hood of the sweater is pulled over his head, blonde hair ruffled underneath.
On one hand, he looks the picture of soft and innocent. Like something meant to be cherished and protected. On the other, there's a streak of mischief about him that fuels my urge to grab him and kiss him until he's properly ruined.
"Don't look at me like that," he snaps suddenly, scowling lightly, cheeks flaming red. He tugs at the collar of the sweater, pulling it closer to his chin.
"Like what?"
"You know."
I feign ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Cocky bastard," he mutters, making me laugh as I turn to the wall opposite his bed. It's comprised of shelves upon shelves, most of them filled with books. He has a far more impressive collection than I do, though it's not surprising. I don't read as often.
"What did you tell her?" My fingers brush along book spines as I glimpse the titles which include multiple complete series: Harry Potter, Percy Jackson – and every related series, The Hunger Games, The Naturals, Maze Runner, the entire Alex Rider series, Confessions series,
and there are also a bunch of horror novels.
I choose a particular title I recognize, one that has been adapted to film and remains one of the scariest horror films in cinema history. I tilt the cover to him.
"You've read The Exorcist?"
He shrugs, wearing a bashful smile. "It's a good book. Couldn't sleep for a week, but it was enjoyable. Dark. Unsettling."
"You enjoy being scared?"
"From time to time. Only when it comes to the books I read, though, so don't get any ideas." He wags an accusatory finger at me, eyes narrowing.
I place a hand over my heart. "I would never. I'm offended you think so lowly of me."
"I don't believe you."
Laughing quietly, I return the book to its place on the shelf and sit beside him. "So, what did you tell your mom about us? I assume that's why you both left me alone for a while."
He nods, clutching the pillow closer to his chest, tugging once more at the collar of his sweater. The habit is ridiculously endearing. Coupled with him in all white, it is projecting all sorts of sinful images into my head.
But I'm not going to touch him tonight. After a weekend apart following a disastrous Friday evening in no short thanks to my special brand of stupidity, being in his presence is enough.
He doesn't need to talk to me. Just being near him is worthwhile.
It's what I should do when he's been so understanding and forgiving.
"They know."
I sit up straighter, turning to look at him. "They...know?"
"We haven't been as discreet as we were hoping." He reaches under the hood of his sweater, smoothing a few strands of hair between his fingers. "Friday morning kind of solidified their suspicions."
Right. That makes perfect sense. If I'm honest, there is a part of me that believes David Conner didn't buy the excuse I'd given about hanging out with Jace but falling asleep instead of leaving.
After all, I did show up after they'd gone to bed and proceeded to climb through the window of their son's bedroom.
I can see how that looks.
"And they're fine with..." I gesture between the two of us, "this?"
His nose scrunches – Goddess, I love it when he does that!
Slowly, he nods, twisting his lips. "Surprisingly, yes. Well, my mom is, anyway. She says that Dad's also accepted it, but you know...I bet he'll want to talk to you and all. He's protective like that."
"Should I be worried? He's not going to whip out an AR-15 or a Ruger or something?"
He laughs, reaching out to brush his fingers along my forehead, sweeping away the hair that falls over it. His touch dips lower, thumb brushing over my eyes. Lower still, he presses his finger to my cheekbone, swiping it beneath my eye. His brows furrow with concern.
"No, you'll be fine. Dad's not the gunslinger around here."
I raise an eyebrow, and his laughter deepens, unsettling me ever so slightly.
"Considering my mom likes you, she won't introduce you to Aunty Dessie."
"Aunty Dessie?"
"Her Desert Eagle," he supplies. "You know, she taught me how to use it, too."
"She did?" I prod, half impressed and half turned on because the image of Jace donning tactical gear, wielding a Desert Eagle, face etched with focused determination isn't one I can dismiss.
And suddenly, I have an idea.
I nudge his thigh. "How about you show me for our date?"
His cheeks flush a delicious shade of red. I swear, if he doesn't stop, I might end up breaking that self-imposed promise about not touching him.
"You want me to teach you how to shoot for our first date?"
"I didn't say teach. I want to see how you handle a gun."
He chuckles softly. "That's not how I imagined our first date might go."
"Why? Are you scared, Conner? Afraid I'll challenge you and be better at it?"
He scowls, tossing the pillow at me. "Not in your wildest dreams, Daniels. Fine. I accept."
Good. At least this way, I'll be assured that he can protect himself when I'm not around.