“I know,” Ivy was saying, a wheedling quality to her voice. “I’ll come back. Promise. Just not now. It’s not . . . it’s not safe, okay . . . ? No. I’m not living with you and Elana. Ever . . . What? . . . C’mon, Dad, you know why. For God’s sake, she thinks I stole Larissa’s phone. I mean really? When I have my own. Geez, I was just showing the kid some apps, but would Elana believe me? Hell no! She thinks I’m a damned thief! . . . What? . . . Okay, but face it, Dad, she hates me and really, the feeling’s mutual.... No, I’m not kidding. Of course I mean it! . . . Oh, for crap’s sake, just forget it. I’m not coming to live with you. It’s never happening! Just leave me the hell alone. You’re good at that!”
Feet suddenly hit the floor overhead as Ivy, obviously off the phone, stalked out of her room and into the upper hallway. “Yeah, right, old man,” she muttered, probably thinking no one could hear her. “In your fucking dreams.”
So Ivy had daddy issues, too.
Now, Bianca and her cousin had something in common. Maybe they could have a contest: whose dad was the worst.
Bianca would win. Even if Ivy’s dad had abandoned her, Bianca was willing to bet he hadn’t set her up in a bizarre kidnapping scheme and almost gotten her killed.
At the reminder of Lucky Pescoli, Bianca scowled. Her bad mood resurfaced. Even the welcoming scents of garlic and sausage emanating from the kitchen didn’t help as she walked past the stairway.
Her mother was working at the table, phone to her ear, papers strewn around her. Tucker was on the floor of the family room in his little gym with its dangling mirrors and baby animals. Pescoli looked up. “Hey! How was school?”
“Boring,” she said. She decided she wouldn’t mention that Luke had been waiting for her. It would only set Mom off. Though she tried to pretend she was cool with her ex, she never had been. She hadn’t liked it when he’d married Michelle, who was only a few years older than Bianca, and she didn’t like it now that Luke and Michelle were separated. “What smells so good?”
“Santana discovered the crock-pot. He’s making . . . something . . . I’m not really sure what.”
She dropped her backpack onto a bar stool and walked into the family room to play with the baby, something she never thought she’d want to do.
The back door swung open and she glanced up to spy Jeremy stride in. “Hey,” he greeted them both. He shook the snow from the dark strands of his hair and it was obvious he hadn’t shaved for a few days, his jaw sprinkled with stubble. He was tall, whip-thin, with broad shoulders, deep-set eyes and, Bianca’s friends told her, “hot.” She didn’t see it. He was just such a . . . dweeb for lack of a better word.
“I wondered when you’d show up.” Mom looked up from her laptop, closed the screen, then scooted all of her papers into a pile and slid them along with the small computer into her case.
“Been busy.” He made a beeline to the crock-pot on the counter. “What’ve you got?”
“Something Santana’s making.”
Without a thought Jeremy opened a drawer, found a serving spoon, then after lifting the lid of the pot, dipped out a healthy portion of some red sauce.
“It’s not ready.”
“Sure it is.” He blew on the spoon, then slid it into his mouth.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” Mom demanded, obviously irritated despite her joke. “Don’t. Okay. This is Santana’s thing.”
“He won’t mind.” Jeremy shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.
“Enough!” Now Mom was mad.
“Geez, you don’t have to go all bat-shit crazy on me.” Jeremy replaced the lid.
“I’m not going crazy, just pointing out that you could be more polite.”
“So what’s got into you? Suddenly you’re Miss Manners?”
Mom hesitated, her lips tight. Something was going on, but before she could respond, footsteps from the hallway could be heard and a few seconds later Ivy walked into the room. She didn’t look the way Bianca remembered her. She was a lot older and her hair was darker than it had been, now lying in short, uneven layers. Her makeup was light, but maybe she hadn’t taken the time to apply it, because Bianca was pretty sure she’d worn a lot, the last time she’d seen her.
But the big thing she noticed was that Ivy was wearing a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt that belonged to Bianca.
She was about to say something, to protest, when she got a swift knowing look from her mother. The silent message: go with it.
Jeremy’s head nearly swiveled off his neck. His eyes narrowed and he visibly straightened. A slow, interested smile crawled from o
ne side of his jaw to the other.
He found her attractive?
Of course.