“I’m good, Ethan, don’t be worrying about me.” She plasters a fake smile across her face that doesn’t meet her eyes, but if that’s the way she wants to play it I’ll go along.
“So you and Blair must be getting serious?” she asks, taking another sip of her drink.
“Could say that.” I’m not quite sure what other answer to give her.
“So…tell me about her then. I don’t know anything about the girl that’s captured my son’s heart.”
I almost choke on my water and lift my eyes to meet hers. I think about the question and realize that even though we’ve been dating a while now I don’t actually know much about her that would make for suitable dinner conversation. I need to fix that; it’s awkward when someone asks you about your girlfriend and all you can give them is her name and the fact that she doesn’t like meatball pizza and has eclectic taste in music.
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know—where did you guys meet? What are her parents like? Anything?”
I inwardly smile; at least I can answer these.
“She’s my math tutor,” I grin and continue, “that’s how we met. As for her parents, she lives with her mom, Susan. She’s nice. I’ve only met her a couple of times. Her dad died a few years back of a heart attack and as far as I’m aware, there’s no stepdad or potential stepdad in the picture.”
Mom smiles and nods, contemplating my answers.
The doorbell breaks the silence and I jog over to go let her in.
“Hey you,” I say, bending and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She always smells of strawberries.
“Are you sniffing my hair, creeper?”
I laugh and step aside, taking her jacket.
“You shouldn’t smell so good," I say tapping her ass and she jolts forward in surprise. “We were just talking about you.”
Her eyes widen and she stops walking. “All good, I hope?”
“Of course. Now come on into the kitchen and let me feed you.”
She brings her hand above her eye in a mock salute and bumps her arm against mine.
“Dork”
“Whatever, creeper,” she chuckles as we head to the kitchen.
“Blair honey, how are you?” my mom says, enveloping her in a hug then pushing her back and holding onto her arms as if inspecting her. I kind of feel bad for her. I know she’ll be feeling awkward as hell. My mom’s definitely the touchy-feely type.
“I’m great, thank you Mrs. Jami-oh, I mean Moira. Thank you for having me over. I realize I’ve kind of hijacked your dinner. You really didn’t have to feed me tonight.”
“Hush your mouth, you can come any time you like. It's only pasta; I hope that’s okay?” she says while directing Blair around the table to take a seat. I hope she’s prepared herself for the billion questions my mom’s gonna unleash on her ass. Her sweet little ass…man, I’m a pervert.
“Okay, so your mom’s kind of intense,” she tells me as she’s lounging on my bed, propped up on her elbows and tapping away at the keyboard on my laptop.
“Yeah, sorry about the twenty questions. She’s doesn’t get out much.” I look over my shoulder as I rifle through the papers on my desk.
“What are you looking for?”
“I printed out some places we could visit. I can’t find them, though. I put them on here, I’m sure of it.” I tell her, still leafing through all the crap.
“Relax, I’ll just check your history,” she says, and like a fucking moron I agree. It takes my brain a couple of seconds to catch up with my mouth before I realize that I’ve just given her the green light to go through my Internet history. FUCK!
She raises her head above the laptop screen and narrows her eyes at me. “Baby?”
Oh my fucking god she’s seen it. “Yeah?” I’m trying for nonchalance but failing miserably.
“Um…why are you searching Google for tips to avoid premature ejaculation?” I can tell that she’s trying her damnedest not to laugh but the corners of her mouth are twitching and she’s biting her bottom lip so hard it's going white from the pressure.
I’d searched it the other night after almost losing it while we were making out. This girl does something to me and I swear it’s not normal. I’m an eighteen-year-old not a thirteen-year-old, but apparently my raging hormones haven’t gotten the memo.
I’m not okay with lying to her but on this occasion I’ll let it slide, “What? No way, let me see?”
She raises her eyebrows and smirks, spinning the laptop around. I look at the history for a second, willing myself to come up with a half decent explanation. “Ah, look.” I point at the screen. “Must have been Jackson, he was here yesterday and borrowed the laptop.” I’m feeling pretty smug that I’ve come up with an excuse.
“Jackson came here, borrowed your laptop, and then searched about premature ejaculation?” She knows I’m full of shit but I started this and now I kind of feel like I need to run with it.
“Yup.”