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The thought was a bit unnerving.
So none of what Rhys and I pretended to be or not to be mattered in the end, right?
This wasn’t “meeting the parents” in a traditional sense. Just because I’d admitted to wanting the man didn’t mean I’d actually get him. Hell, it didn’t mean anything long-term. Still, I had this weird need to attempt to make his mom like me.
I made a mental note to get my brain and my emotions on the same page, because everything from my thoughts to my body was in a constant state of contradictory motion that I didn’t know how to sort out.
“Hey.” Rhys coaxed my gaze back to his because mine was once again on the house, staring it down with my stomach in knots as if I was about to go tapping on the gates of hell. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can go.”
“No.” This would not be another weak moment for me. I was already having way too many of those. “No, she’s your mom, you’re in town, you should see her. Right?”
That was the traditional thing for kids to do when they had parents who actually wanted them. At least I was pretty certain it was.
He nodded. “Do you not get along with your parents?”
I laughed a little. “I’ve never met either of them, so I couldn’t tell you.” He searched my face and I placed my hand over his and gently pulled away. “I’m fine. I don’t know what my problem is.”
“You’re out of your element,” he said simply, as if that was totally understandable and I wasn’t being completely ridiculous for having a mini panic attack just from looking at a house. He took my hand and we walked toward the front door. “Thank you for coming with me.”
As we walked through the door and he called out for his mom, a small smile spread across my face. He seemed to want me there. How bad could it be?
~
“And this one here,” Gwen said, sitting next to me on the couch and tapping the massive photo book that was spread over my lap. “This was when Rhys won his first football game in peewee.”
I smiled at the little boy version of Rhys. Even as a kid he was built tough and badass looking.
“I think the brisket is going to burn, Mom,” Rhys said, beer in hand, leaning against the entry to the kitchen.
“Oh, hush, it’s fine. You just don’t want me showing you off.” She leaned in and nudged my shoulder with hers. “He’s always been a little shy.”
I looked up at him and raised my brows. “Shy, huh?”
He exhaled deeply and shook his head, clearly not enjoying this, but being a good sport.
“Oh, here is the junior prom.”
My eyes landed on the photo. Rhys looked great in a black tux. He stood behind Sara and her frilly taffeta frock and fancy updo. Even at sixteen, they looked kind of perfect together.
“And here is his Marine photo,” Gwen said slowly as she turned the page and an eight-by-ten of Rhys at eighteen with a buzz cut and a serious expression came into view.
“You with short hair?” I looked up at him and he ran his hand through the longer tresses he had now. “I like it long.” I smiled. “But you look pretty hot here too.”
His mother chuckled a little and oh my God, I think, yep, the big bad Rhys just blushed!
“Seriously, can we eat? I already set the table.”
She patted my knee and rose. “All right, I’m done embarrassing you.” She walked past Rhys and into the kitchen. “Why don’t you show Emma around while I get this all finished up.”
“You sure you don’t want help?”
“I’ve got it honey, you go on.”
He looked at me and raised a brow. “Want the grand tour?”
I glanced around the living room, which looked every bit the part of wholesome home. Piano in the corner with a fireplace on the far wall, and small television above it. It smelled like home-cooked meals and stability.
An uneasy tremor rolled down my spine. It was shocking how something as simple as a home made me nervous. Maybe because this was an actual home. The one that shaped a man like Rhys.
“Sure. I’ll take a tour,” I said, a little nervously.
Following him up the stairs, I tried really hard not to stare at his perfect ass, but it was useless, the thing was meant to be stared at. Down the short hallway to the right he opened the wooden door.
“This was my room,” he said.
I stepped in and looked around. “Yikes.”
Taking in the light blue walls and perfectly made bed was one thing. But the two shelves near the windows littered with trophies and ribbons was another.
“This isn’t a room, this is a shrine,” I told him.
“Yeah . . .” He swayed on his feet and glanced away, that pink color returning to his face and neck. “I’ve tried a few times to get my mom to pack this up and turn this into a crafting room or something for her, but she won’t.”
“So this is what it looked like for a teenage Rhys?”
He nodded. I walked in further, checking things out. There were so many trophies, in sports ranging from swimming to track to football. I didn’t have anything like this.
It wasn’t the plaques and medals that were overwhelming, it was the experiences that came with them. Rhys must have been well-liked. Popular, probably. A good guy. I didn’t stay in school long enough to really have friends. Rhys went to dances, functions and had a mother who loved and praised him. I had a GED, a self-proclaimed brother and, only recently, a couple friends.
“First team all-state?” I asked, reading one of the certificates on the wall and trying to turn my mind off and get things back to a flirty casual tone. “If I open the closet, I’m going to see a letterman jacket next to your dress uniform, aren’t I?”
“Don’t forget the Boy Scouts uniform,” he teased. Though a part of me thought he was serious.
I slid the door open and just as I suspected.
“Gotta admit, I’ve got a thing for a guy in uniform.”
“That right?” He stepped toward me.
I nodded.
“So, are you done avoiding the conversation now?”
I glanced around the room, returning my attention to the trophies and reading the various inscriptions. “What conversation?”
“The one that usually comes after having a sexual encounter with someone. The kind of conversation you never want to have.”
“Maybe because after sexual encounters,” I drawled on the last two words, “you don’t always have to sit around and talk about shit. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not that kind of girl.”
