Comfort Zone (Awkward Love 4)

“Oh, I’m totally fucked, but not in a good way.” I groan and rub the bridge of my nose. “This is all your fault. You and your stupid games.”

“What happened?” she asks. “What’s going on?”

“Did you know the IMs sent through the internal system are monitored?” I accuse her. Then I cringe again. I want the world to swallow me up every time I think about it. “Every fucking message we’ve sent in that room, he’s read.”

“Of course I knew,” she giggles. “I thought you knew and you just didn’t care. That’s why I keep messaging you, because you’re so much fun.”

“Didn’t care?” I repeat, glaring at her. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I care?”

The more I think about it, in all the times we’d exchanged messages, Amy had never said anything remotely incriminating. I, on the other hand, had said plenty. I sigh and force myself to calm down, knowing it’s myself I need to be annoyed at. Not Amy.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, dismissing my concerns like she always does. “You’re stressing over nothing. By Monday he’ll have forgotten about it. Trust me.”

I’m not so sure, but there isn’t much I can do about it now anyway.

“I better go. I’ve got to get ready for the bachelor party.”

“Okay. Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes?” she asks. “At least this party will take your mind off it,” she adds.

I nod, my mood lifting a tiny bit. She’s right about one thing, at least.

Jake’s party will be the perfect distraction.“For God’s sake, Becca, would you stop honking that damn horn.”

Mom glares at me as she throws herself into the passenger seat of my car. I wait until she’s closed the door, and then slam my foot down on the accelerator while she locks her seatbelt in.

“What? We’re running late,” I say, defending myself.

I told her I’d be home at six to pick her up. I even gave her until six fifteen before I started getting testy. I glance at her again, this time noticing what she’s wearing—her short, navy blue dress that shows more skin than mine—but I have to admit, she looks good. With her blond hair twisted into a bun and her makeup on, you’d never guess she’s in her sixties.

“Did Dad see you leave in that dress?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Why do you think I was running so late?” She winks at me and I shudder.

Yes. My sixty-seven-year-old mother, loyal member of the gardening club and regular churchgoer, just insinuated that she was late because she was having sex. I should be used to it by now, but the older I get it, seems the worse they get.

My parents lead a very relaxed lifestyle, which was both good and bad when I was growing up. Having the freedom as a teenager to explore myself was fantastic, but bringing a guy home to discover your parents naked in the living room, experimenting with another couple? Not so fantastic. I was mortified. Actually, that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

That incident took me years to get over. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the next day, the entire school referred to me as Chandelier because my parents liked swinging. That name stuck like glue right through until graduation.

“You didn’t have to come tonight. Remember?” I say, gritting my teeth.

“Jake’s like the son I never had.” She looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Why would I miss his bachelor party?”

Um, because you weren’t invited?

I bite back on that comment, deciding it’s not worth the trouble. I don’t even know how she ended up inviting herself along. One minute Jake and I were arguing about my choice of venue, and the next, Mom was accepting an invitation that he never actually gave her. While we’re on it, if Jake is the son she never had, then it’s probably a good thing I don’t have a brother, because she really doesn’t know Jake all that well. Our friendship started in high school when Jake changed schools. Back then, my parents respected my privacy a little too much. Where other parents would want to know the ins and outs of where their child was going, mine just went with the flow. At the time of graduation, Mom had met Jake twice. Then we were both away at college, and after that, I had my own place. It was only recently, being back at home, that my parents and Jake had begun to cross paths more.

Even before I finished high school, I knew I wanted to work with animals, but my grades were nowhere near good enough to get me into veterinary science. Still, I lucked out and got my dream job, handling animals on set for a production company. Thanks to a very well-endowed admissions officer named Barry Pumpfist, who was moonlighting as a porn star, I got an interview and a glowing recommendation for mature-age entry into a bridging course at UCLA. I kicked ass in that course and managed to score myself a scholarship into veterinary science.