“Dad,” I started before my mother could take the reins on introductions. “This is Will Cummings. Will, this is my dad, Bill.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Marco,” Will greeted and shook my dad’s hand.
“You like KISS?”
Will’s brows scrunched together. “Kiss?”
“The band?”
“Oh!” he responded in relief. “Yeah, I like KISS. No one can pull off stage makeup and spitting fire while simultaneously belting out some of the best lyrics in rock history like Gene Simmons.”
The hint of a smile crested my dad’s lips. “What about Black Sabbath?”
“Ozzy Osbourne. Enough said,” Will responded. “There’s never been anyone like him.”
“Never will be either.”
“Probably not. He’s rock royalty. One of a kind.”
“Oh, yeah,” I chimed in. “One of a kind for sure. Pretty sure there’s never been another human being that could consume as many drugs as Ozzy did and still live to talk about it.”
Bill flashed an annoyed look in my direction, but he quickly returned his focus to Will. He slapped him on the back and grinned proudly. “I like this one, Mel. I think you should keep him around.”
Will winked at me, and I wanted to roll my eyes. If I weren’t careful, Will would end up spending more time with my parents than me. Fishing dates with Janet and concert tours with my dad. Yippee.
“All right,” I said and wrapped my hand around Will’s arm. “Consider the rock history lesson done for the evening. We’re going to head out before we miss our reservation.”
Will glanced down at me in confusion, and I whispered, “Just go with it.”
There was no reservation—at least, I didn’t think. But I sure as fuck didn’t want to stand around chatting about drug-addicted heavy metal bands with my father. Someone had to put the brakes on it before he got out the vinyl records and started playing air guitar in his underwear.
“Take good care of my Melly,” my father said as he opened the door for us.
Will smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry, I will.”
“Have a nice evening, you two,” my mother added with a smile as she wrapped her arms around my dad’s waist.
Go. Go. Go! My brain shouted. Go before someone says something inappropriate.
My parents were notorious for saying the most off-the-wall shit. Honestly, I think they were avid acid users back in the day. I mean, how else could anyone stand listening to Black Sabbath in concert that many times?
“It was really nice meeting both of you,” Will said, and I was half tempted to strangle him. He needed to move his ass and not leave any more time for my parents to show their true, weirdo colors.
“Melody, please send me a text message if you decide to stay at Will’s tonight,” my mother said and then lowered her voice, “you know, for the sex.”
There it was. And here I’d na?vely thought we had a chance to get out unscathed.
“Wow,” I muttered. “Yeah. We’re leaving now.”
“If you two end up doing the sex, be safe,” my father added, and I wanted to melt into the hardwood floor. “Do you have condoms, Will?”
Scratch that, I wanted to teleport my body to somewhere else. Hell, I wanted to time travel to a different time period and switch families entirely.
Will, though, looked like this might be the best time he’d ever had in his life. “I strive hard to make sure all of my patients are well-educated on safe sex, Mr. Marco. It is priority one for me.”
My dad stood proud and tall like a peacock at his response. “Good man,” he stated with a grin.
“Bye!” I all but shouted as I shuffled Will out of the door before my parents could add anything else to the conversation.
The instant the elevator doors closed in front of us, I sagged against the wall. “I’m so sorry about that,” I apologized. “My parents are kind of weird. Some days I think they’re still on an acid trip from the seventies.”
“Believe me, you have nothing to apologize for. Just wait until you meet my mom and dad. Dick and Savannah take the cake on crazy,” he said. “I must say, it’s way more fun from the outside.”
Just wait until you meet my mom and dad.
Oh boy. Was Will really picturing me meeting his parents some day?
Maybe this date really wasn’t about fixing his reputation.
“Come on!” I yelled, pulling her to a run as the double-decker bus slowed to a stop up ahead. “We’re going to miss it!”
The city was in full motion, the energy of Tuesday night in Manhattan alive and well, and I’d already bumped into approximately one million people loitering in my way since leaving Melody’s parents’ apartment. Tuesday wasn’t a typical party night, but some kind of sugar rush had obviously descended on the city this week.
On active nights like this, there was really no other choice than to use your body as a human battering ram if you wanted to make it anywhere in a timely fashion.
Melody hadn’t told me she lived with her parents, and the surprise of her mother answering the door honestly threw me for a loop. The weird part was that the more it played out, the more uncomfortable she seemed about the whole thing, the more it started to feel like a good loop—like one on an extreme roller coaster I’d been waiting in line for thirty-four years to ride.
“Miss what? Why are we running?” she yelled as she tried to keep up from behind. “I have to warn you that on a sliding scale of enjoyment from one to ten, the fact that you’ve already got me engaged in exercise has this date starting at a negative two.” I smiled as I slowed my steps and swung her up and into my arms to carry her.
“Ahh,” she shrieked. The people around us jumped out of the way to avoid her flailing feet while she scrambled to make sure all of her parts were covered. I very nearly made a joke about it being nothing I hadn’t seen before, but I realized how terrible of an idea that was before it ever even got off the ground, thank God.
“What the hell are you doing, Will?” Melody questioned with a slap to my chest.
I crossed the street, avoiding cabs and cars as I did instead of answering, and I didn’t put her on her feet until we made it to the bus. Only then did I set her down to pull out our tickets and hand them to the driver as I ushered her on board.
“What the hell? What are we doing?” she repeated, tired of no answers. But this wasn’t really the kind of thing you could explain without visual aids. If I popped my cork too early, it’d be disappointing for both of us.
The cork.
The.
Not my.
Though, really, popping my cork early would be pretty fucking disappointing too.
Again, I ignored her line of questioning—after briefly considering teasing her if she lost ninety-nine percent of her vocabulary when she stepped outside of the office—and motioned for her to precede me. “Let’s go upstairs. Much better view.”