Misunderstandings (Woodfalls Girls 2)

I grimaced at her words as everyone else laughed at my expense.

“Are you ready, or was there something else you’d like to drop?” Justin joked before opening the door and guiding me out.

“I should kill you for that,” I complained as we made our way back to his jeep.

“Who are you trying to kid? I saw the way you were smiling. You enjoyed yourself. Admit it,” Justin chided me as he opened the door to the jeep. He and Travis had reinstalled the roof and doors after dinner. His mom had chastised him about trying to freeze me out. I tried to reassure her it wasn’t all that bad, but she’d played the mother card and gave the guys no choice in the matter. The nighttime drop in temperature made me silently thankful for her insight. I would have frozen my butt off.

“Fine. It wasn’t as bad as getting the skin on my face melted off,” I declared, buckling my seat belt. “Though I could have done without the dish disaster.”

“Well, I would hope not.”

“They were cool,” I admitted, trying to keep things in perspective.

“They thought you were ‘cool’ too,” he said dryly, seeing through my nonchalant façade.

“So, you don’t live on campus?” I asked as he cranked the engine.

“No. I moved back home when my dad decided to make an example out of Travis. He moved out and I moved in.”

“What do you mean ‘make an example out of Travis’?” I couldn’t picture anyone having a problem with the sweet, lovable teenager I had just met.

“My dad didn’t take too kindly to Travis coming out. He put Travis through the wall in our dining room when he found out,” Justin bit out as he clenched the steering wheel tightly in his hands.

“Seriously? No offense, but how could he not have known?” I asked. After having a simple conversation with Travis, I was able to figure it out. Not because he wore it like a badge or anything, but his mannerisms and soft-spoken nature had been a dead giveaway.

“Yeah, well, my dad is famous for ignoring what’s right in front of his face. He doesn’t like it when things stray from the path he’s set. God forbid his little soldiers have a mind of their own or move to a different beat.”

“So, what beat do you move to?” I asked, sensing so much more to his story.

“Just put it this way: My dad is in the frame of mind that art is for pansies. He had some crazy notion that I would grow up to be a lawyer or some crazy shit like that. When he found out I was majoring in art, he gave me an ultimatum. Pick a real major or get out. I got out. Of course, I made it hard for him to ignore my art,” Justin said.

Suddenly, his words from a couple of weeks ago clicked through my head. “Your tattoos are your designs,” I stated as understanding dawned on me. “You got them so your father would have to face it,” I said with awe, wondering where that kind of belief and strength came from. It made me think about my relationship with my own mom. It wasn’t until I turned fifteen that her notorious busybody ways really began to bother me. I wanted to tell her but could never think of a way to do it without hurting her feelings. Instead, I made it my goal to hold my secrets close and away from her eagle eyes. It was that desire that had prompted me to apply to a school as far from home as I could get.

“Yeah, I got my first tattoo when I moved out. The second and third followed quickly after that.”

“Did it work?” I asked, wondering if his father was finally accepting his dreams.

“Silent treatment for two months,” Justin answered proudly.

“Mature much?” I said sarcastically.

Justin’s laugh had a bit of an edge to it. “Two months is nothing. He hasn’t spoken to Travis in like a year.”

“What a dick,” I said, not caring that I was talking about his parent.

“That about sums it up,” Justin said, shooting me a real grin this time. “Let’s talk about something else. We’ve wasted enough of our one and only date talking about him.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. You might be able to score another date if you play your cards right,” I answered in my most blasé tone.

“I knew the ole meet-the-family trick would seal the deal,” he said triumphantly, slapping the steering wheel with enthusiasm.

“Are you telling me you played me?” I asked with mock indignation.

“Hell yeah, I did.”

“Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

“Not going to happen. Admit it. You were wrong about me,” he said, placing his hand on my knee.