There was a pause. I glanced up; Lexie seemed…nervous? Lexie never got nervous. Not with me. My stomach dropped and ran through all the possible bombshells a teenage girl could drop. Should not have done that.
“What’s up, sweetie?” I went for calm, trying not to pounce on her and search for the tattoo she was hiding.
“I was wondering,” she said slowly, fiddling with her hands. She quickly looked up. “Well, I’ve got a date,” she said in a rush.
I sat back in relief. “So no tattoo?” I clarified.
Lexie gaped at me. “Of course not! I’m only sixteen,” she told me.
“Thanks for reminding me. I would have forgotten otherwise,” I told her dryly.
“So, the date,” she probed. “It’s okay with you?”
“Of course it’s not okay with me. I’d rather you became a spinster and lived with me until you were old and wrinkly, but I knew it was a long shot,” I told her. “So I guess it’s okay. As long as you’re home by ten and he doesn’t get frisky,” I said seriously. We’d had the sex talk. Multiple times. Being a product of teenage pregnancy, I really didn’t want my daughter to repeat the cycle. I also didn’t want her hiding things from me. So we had agreed when she was ready, she’d tell me before anything happened. I personally hoped she wouldn’t be “ready” until she was thirty. But I knew that was also a pipe dream.
“So who’s the lucky guy?” I asked. My stomach dropped as soon as the question left my mouth. I had been so wrapped up with possible tattoos or cult joining I hadn’t even caught up with my own mind.
“Killian,” Lexie said, a small grin on her face. She even blushed slightly.
Crap. She liked him. And I knew by the way his intense troublesome eyes followed her that afternoon he listened to her play, he liked her back. And not in a teenage boy way. In a Cade, Brock, and even Zane type of way. It was intense. And dangerous.
I tried to stay calm. “He’s not taking you on a motorcycle, is he?” I asked with slight panic.
Lexie patted my hand. “No, Mom, he knows your rule. He’s got a car.”
I raised my eyebrows. “A car and a motorcycle? How does a teenage kid afford that?” I asked suspiciously.
“He didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re saying,” Lexie snapped defensively.
I held my hands up. “I didn’t say anything of the sort.” I had totally been thinking it though.
“That’s what you were thinking,” my telepathic daughter declared. “He built the car from the ground up with his dad, and Cade gave him the motorcycle to do up when it was a pile of junk,” she continued.
“You know a lot about the kid for someone who hasn’t been on a date,” I half teased.
Lexie furrowed her brows. “Yes, because we talked first. Had actual conversations. Became friends. Isn’t that what you taught me to do?”
Drat. I did teach her that. “Take a chill pill, dude, I was only teasing. Let’s move on to the most important question.”
Lexie eyed me. “What?” she asked with suspicion.
“What are you wearing?”
It was safe to say I wasn’t happy about Lexie’s date. I was far from it. But I couldn’t tell her whom she could and couldn’t date. Well, technically I could since I was her mother, but I knew what doing something like that would do. Not only distance me from her, but possibly rock the peaceful relationship I had with her and turn a good kid into a hellion. I’d seen it happen with girls I’d been to high school with. The stricter the parents, the more they rebelled. The only difference was the parents didn’t know a thing. I didn’t want Lexie to lie to me, so I knew I couldn’t stifle her with rules or else it would bite me in the ass. And she was a good kid. I trusted her. It was the little punk in the leather jacket I didn’t trust. So when he knocked on the door later that night, my stomach was swirling. Lexie came running into the kitchen.
“I’m not ready I’m not ready,” she chanted, hopping on one foot. “Answer the door, Mom. Stall him,” she ordered, racing back into her room.
I was glad for this turn of events. When I opened the door, Killian turned from staring over at Zane’s house to face me. He was clad in jeans, motorcycle boots, a Grateful Dead t-shirt and a leather jacket. It was hot as hell outside. Obviously hot guys and teenagers alike were impervious to frivolous things such as climate.
“Hey Mrs. Spencer,” he greeted respectfully.
“Killian, come in.” I gestured inside. “Lexie’s not ready yet.”
He walked through and followed me to the sofa. His demeanor was casual, relaxed; he didn’t seem like a nervous teenage boy before a date. Then again, he wasn’t dealing with a shotgun-toting father.
“Can I get you anything? Coke?” I offered, trying to swallow the dislike I had for him.
He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks, Mrs. Spencer.”
I moved to sit opposite him. “Call me Mia,” I said.