Ace of Hearts (FU High 1)

She inspects me carefully. “No. Nothing.”

I raise my chin and glare at the boy. Stop staring, I mentally yell in his direction.

Of course, the jerk only smiles back. If it weren’t for Carolyn and the two moms, I’d have flipped him off.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Mom asks, noticing my frown.

Yeah, a penis keeps looking at me and it’s pissing me off, I think. “Nah. I think I just got a bad french fry.”

Across the way, the boy gets to his feet and salutes me.

What a jerk.

He picks up his tray and walks over to the garbage. His jeans are slim and tight, showing off a tight ass and powerful thighs. My sex clenches.

Fuck. He’s a sexy jerk.

Those are the worst kind. The very worst kind.

2

Owen

Mom’s in the kitchen layering the wide lasagna noodles in a pan when I arrive home.

“You’re whistling. You must be in a good mood,” she notes as I lean down to give her a peck on the cheek.

“You’re making my favorite meal for dinner,” I say and spin away to grab a milk carton out of the fridge.

“No, this is more like a ‘wonderful thing happened in my life’ whistle rather than a ‘thanks for the tasty meal’ whistle.”

I drain half the carton before replying. “I didn’t realize my whistles gave so much away.”

“You can’t hide anything from your momma,” she teases with a swat of her wooden spoon against my hip. “And stop drinking milk from the carton. We have glasses, you know.”

“I know, but you don’t drink milk so what’s the point?” I shove the carton back in the fridge.

“Someday you’ll have a girlfriend and she’s not going to like it if you drink straight from the carton.” Mom finishes sprinkling cheese on the top and wraps the whole thing in foil. “Plus, I don’t want anyone thinking I raised you in a barn.”

“I got you.” I swoop in and grab the container so she doesn’t have to lift the heavy pan into the refrigerator. She has a point. The girl from the mall enjoyed her shakes. “I’ll do better.”

“I know you will.” Mom wipes her hands off and then pins me with a hard stare. “So what is the good news?”

For a split second, I debate not telling Mom anything. I don’t know the girl’s name or where she goes to school, but that shit’s not important. What’s important is I got to see her heart and it’s made of solid gold and that’s the sexiest thing in the world. I shrug. I might as well share with my mom. She needs time to prepare herself.

“I met the girl I’m going to marry.”

Mom’s mouth drops open. I tap her chin playfully. “Better close this or you’ll catch some flies.”

I grab an apple and toss it up in the air before strolling out of the kitchen and down the hall toward my bedroom. I swing into my room and leave the door open because I don’t want her to have a meltdown. I take a seat in front of my computer and wait for the inevitable explosion.

“You met who?” She screeches loud enough that even though I’m two rooms away, the sound rings in my ears. I shake my ear and then open my laptop. Time to do some investigating.

“You met who?” A breathless Mom sweeps into my room as I’m pecking out #FUHigh into the search bar.

“Girl I’m going to marry,” I repeat. The hashtag populates hundreds of photos. I scroll through them, searching for a glimpse of my girl.

“You’re eighteen, Owen. You can’t get married. How—why are you even thinking like this? This isn’t like you. You’ve got a whole future in front of you. I thought I taught you better!” Mom throws herself on my mattress in real distress.

Absently, I reach over and squeeze her knee. “I know, Mom. I’m still on the same path. I’m going to get that football scholarship. I’m going to go pro. I’ll just have someone beside me the entire time. Someone besides you,” I add. It’s been Mom and me since before I was born. My biological father gave my mom a grand and told her to use it any way she saw fit which, to her, was putting it toward prenatal care and not the abortion that the dude probably wanted. “Damn,” I mutter under my breath. There’s not a hint of the girl in this hashtag. I type in the other high school but again draw a big fat zero.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asks, suddenly sitting up.

I glance over affectionately. She went from upset to concerned in a nanosecond. She really is the best and I know she’s going to love my girl—as soon as I can find her.

“My detective skills are failing me.”

“You have no detective skills.”

I lace my fingers together and flex them outward. “Mom, you’re supposed to have more faith in me.”