“Easy, lady.” I nudge her bottle of water toward her, and she takes a sip. “His name is Maverick, and he’s four.” I skip over her question about his dad. “And no, we don’t have anywhere to stay.”
My cheeks burn with shame at my admission, but I also feel lighter, simply for getting it off my chest.
“Y’all could live with me.”
I choke on air. “I’m sorry, what?”
She shrugs. “I’m just saying. There’s plenty of space.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Sure, you do. Sort of.” She slides her phone out of her pocket, unlocks the screen, and then pins me with a meaningful look. “Rooming with me is better than living on the streets.”
I focus my gaze on my half-eaten pizza, half-tempted to take her up on her offer. Because truly, if I don’t find somewhere pronto, I’ll either end up blowing my savings on a motel or calling Phoenix for help.
“Just come see it. It’s in a really safe area, close to campus, and the landlord is actually my roommate’s boyfriend. He lives next door and—”
“Won’t your roommate have something to say about you inviting a stranger to live with y’all? What about Maverick? Kids are loud and messy and—”
“She’s actually planning on moving in with her boyfriend, hence the open room.” Stella’s lips quirk up into a smile. “He’s been asking her to move in for forever, but she won’t give in until I find someone to take over her portion of the rent. So, really, you’d be doing me a huge favor.”
“Oh.” What’s that saying about if it sounds too good to be true? Because this definitely sounds like a dream. “Well…”
“Just come see it, Frankie. Please? I promise you won’t regret it. And if it’s not right for you, then no harm. I’ll even help you find somewhere else, okay?”
God, please don’t let me regret this, I send up a silent prayer and then nod. “Yeah, okay.”
“Let’s go now!”
“Now?” My eyes bug out; this is all moving so quickly. In fact, this entire day is moving at such lightning pace that it will be next week before I process it.
“Yeah, now. Your next class isn’t for another hour and a half.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and then push away from the table. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ORION
“Orion?” Mom’s voice trickles through my closed bedroom door. “Your dad and I are going to watch a movie, and I was wondering if maybe you’d want to join us?” She pauses. “You know, like old times.”
I suck in a deep breath and exhale a long sigh as I push up from my double-sized bed. The thing was too small when I was sixteen, and it’s damn sure too small now that I’m twenty-six. “Sure, Mom.”
“Oh, good!” The excitement in her voice sends a prick of guilt through me, because while she’s chomping at the bit to reminisce, I’m daydreaming about hitting up ATF. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my favorite Bluebird’s hips sway. “I’ll go start the popcorn.”
“Be right down,” I call back, resigned to spend the night either reliving my childhood or dodging setup attempts. God love my mother, but the woman’s tried setting me up so many times in the last few years that I’ve lost count.
I set my phone on the charging dock before heading downstairs to join my parents.
Predictably, they’re both on the loveseat, with a crocheted blanket draped over their laps. There’s a bowl of popcorn balanced between them and another on the coffee table, alongside three glass bottles of Coke.
“I was thinking we could watch the new Spiderman. You loved him growing up, and it has that Zendaya in it—she’s a looker, don’t you think?”
Oh, good. Tonight’s going to be a two-fer. We’re taking a walk down memory lane and trying to diagnose my love life. Fucking lovely.
“Yeah, Mom,” I murmur, grabbing my bowl of popcorn—it has peanut butter M&Ms mixed in—and planting myself in the recliner. “She’s pretty.”
“Pretty enough to date?” she asks, resting her head on my dad’s shoulder.
“Mom—”
“What?” She waves me off. “How can I find you a girlfriend if I don’t narrow down your type?”
“Lizzie,” Dad grumbles, trying to rein her in.
“I’m just saying.” She sits up, grabs her Coke, and takes a sip. “At this rate, I’ll never have grandbabies.”
“I’m only twenty-six.”
“Prime baby-making age,” she counters, with her nose in the air.
“You’ll be more likely to get grandkids from Stella and Samson than you are me. You know that, right?”
“This conversation is over,” Dad growls, grabbing the remote and hitting play.
Mission accomplished. It’s all I can do not to laugh; my dad might love Samson like a son, but even he has his limits when it comes to his daughter.
I toss a handful of popcorn into my mouth and settle in as the opening credits begin to roll.
The movie itself is pretty good, but Mom’s running commentary on how I used to pretend to shoot webs out of my fingers when I was little, and whether I think Aunt May or MJ is more attractive quickly grows tiresome.