Paying Her Dues

CHAPTER4

Jess

My parents bring me to Mike’s, and the approach to the house feels a lot like being dropped off at school or orchestra practice. Mom telling me that celery really is the best choice for a snack. Dad asking if I have all my chargers and my computer.

As we near the front door, Mike steps out. He’s wearing worn cargo pants, low around his waist, a well-worn Tar Heels tee-shirt, and a perfectly fitting EAT LOCAL hipster trucker’s hat from the farmer’s market that makes him look just…

I cough and try desperately to stop myself from doubling over into the rippling arousal deep in my center. “Celery, check. Chargers, check.”

My dad shoots me a sympathetic glance in the rearview mirror. “You’re sure this is okay, sweetheart?”

My heart thaws a little. I do love my dad, henpecked and all. “It’s perfect. I’ll be fine.” I hold up the Hunger Games sign to him, in our secret code from when I was younger. It was one of the few things that was just ours. Sam and I went with Mike and Dad. It was awesome and it totally became our thing. Mom refused to watch it—"too violent, too crazy!” But that was okay. Because no matter how insane my mom gets, the odds are ever in our favor.

Dad smiles, giving me Katniss’ signal back. “You call if you need us, okay?”

“I will,” I answer on a smile, and slip out the door.

But my mom won’t let me go that easily. She pops out of the passenger’s side, fussing and checking and babbling to Mike. “You’re sure this is no trouble, Mike?” she asks like letting me stay is such a dreadful imposition. “She can be a real handful.”

Now even he looks a little annoyed. The cool-as-a-cucumber and sexy-as-sin vibe wavers just a little. His eyes slide over to me under the bill of his hat, like he’s sick of her shit.

I blink at him. Tell me about it.

“No worries about anything, Janet. I’ve got her. No problem.”

I distract myself from the sudden pulsing between my legs by grabbing my stuff out of the trunk. Mike takes my bag from me but lets me hang onto my violin. It’s a little thing, but I appreciate it. It shows trust. And it’s so different from my mom who acts like at any minute I could toss it in front of a bus by accident.

I lean in to give my mom a kiss on the cheek but she stops me, putting her finger in her mouth and rubbing hard on something on my cheek.

“Mother, gross and it’s a freckle. I have hundreds you should recognize them by now.”

“It is?” Her finger is hot and unpleasant on my skin.

“It is. It’s a freckle. Mom. Leave it.” I swat her hand away.

She squints thenI hear Mike add in allow mutter so only I can hear, “Two-hundred and six to be exact. That one is named Lily.”

“You’re sure you remembered everything? Claritin? Nighttime retainer? Antacids? Your acne cream?” She leans forward and puts the cherry on top, “Your girl-time products?”

I swear I feel Mike chuckle next to me, but I don’t turn to look because I’m so stinking embarrassed. “Mom.”

“Nose strip in case you snore?”

Oh, for crying out loud.

I wrap my arms around her and give her a squeeze more to stop her from speaking than to impart any affection. Though, she does drive me bananas, I still love her. She’s still my mom. “Have fun. Relax. Don’t worry about me.”

She is rigid through the hug, but I do get a kiss on the cheek. I let go and turn to walk toward the front door. Mike is walking beside me, and I let my eyes fall on the massive muscles that line his forearms. Those snaking veins. That scent of man and sex.

If I knew what sex smelled like but I’m sure it’s part of his natural make-up.

“Thank you again, Mike,” Mom says from behind us. “And apologies in advance. She’s been very willful the last few days.”

I spin around with on hand on my hip. “Willful? What am I? A Jack Russell terrier?”

Now Mike really does chuckle. “Have a good time, Janet. See you when you get back.” Mike tips his head toward my parent’s car and raises the Hunger Games signal himself. My dad acknowledges it with a friendly beep of the horn.

I love Mike’s house. It’s so different than my parent’s house which is a complete McMansion with no soul or originality or design. Mike designed this place himself. It’s what I’d call mid-century modern meets arts and crafts. It’s warm with sleek lines and tons of glass but rich with comfort and utility.