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I snickered. “You are old, Mom.”
She pointed her finger at me. “Take that back!”
I bit my lip as laughter welled inside of me.
“Mom,” I said teasingly. “You’re a spring chicken. You’re not old. In fact, everyone at the hospital thinks you’re hot.”
Dad’s eyes flared at that, causing my mom to narrow her eyes at me.
She knew what I was doing—which was changing the subject again.
I did not, under any circumstances, want to talk about that man in front of my father. Why? Because my father was extremely overprotective.
Over the last year or so, some of the Free kids had started to find their happily ever afters. Dad had watched from the sidelines as first Janie, our cousin, had met someone. That had been quite hard on him because Janie had been a baby when my parents had met. Dad felt like it was only a matter of time until we started following in their footsteps.
Sure, there’d been a boyfriend here and there for the three Mackenzie girls, but none of them had been serious, and none of them had the balls to stand up to our father.
I had a feeling that Hoax not only had the balls, but he had the desire, too.
“What’s she talking about?” my father asked.
“She’s making shit up so we don’t focus on the fact that she met a man that she liked,” my mother turned the tables. “Wouldn’t you like to know why she’s changing the subject, dear heart?”
Dad turned his eyes to me, and I hastily stole a cookie off the plate that my mother had finished divvying them up on and shoved it in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to answer.
Then I groaned at the taste of chocolatey goodness that burst like a flavorful explosion in my mouth. “Ohhh, these are good today, Dad.”
My father had perfected his cookie recipes years ago for my mother to satisfy her sweet tooth, which had then turned into the Mackenzie girls’ sweet tooth. Nowadays, since his girls no longer lived with him, he didn’t make them as much. Which was one of the downsides of moving out.
An upside, though, was that I was able to go out on a date or bring a man to my house, without worrying that the men of Free were going to take him to the back room and give him their own special brand of interrogation. The kind where waterboarding wasn’t off the table.
My father grunted. “So, who is the man that they’re talking about?”
I sighed and licked my lips, taking a sip of my milk before I turned and rested my ass against the counter so I could see him better.
“I met him today. He asked me out on a date. I said no. That’s all I know about him,” I answered honestly.
“Huh,” Dad said. “Why’d you say no?”
I rolled my eyes. “Because he’s military, and you know how I dislike those military men. They’re all players.”
My dad snorted at my comment. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Dad, I was cheated on twice by a military man.” I felt it prudent to point out. “That seems like enough of a reason not to date one, don’t you think?”
“I never cheated on your mom,” he said. “And none of the men on this compound did, either.”
I smiled at him sweetly. “That’s because y’all are a different breed of man. Men these days don’t have the same ideals that y’all did and do.”
“She thought he was cute,” Phoebe interjected. “And he looked like he wasn’t the type to give up easily. I’ll bet he comes back.”
“He’s not going to come back,” I denied, picking up another cookie. “Besides, even if he does, I’ll just tell him no then, too.”
All three of them looked at me like they didn’t believe me.Chapter 4You really don’t get smarter when you get older. You just run out of stupid shit to do since you’ve already done it all.
-Hoax’s secret thoughts
Hoax
I didn’t mean to find her. Really, I didn’t. I was going to respect her wishes and stay the hell away from her…then I saw her across the street from Bayou, and I caved.
It was the flash of blonde hair that had me nearly crashing my bike into the mailbox.
I was so surprised to see her that I didn’t pay attention to where I was going.
It was when my tire rubbed the curb that I turned sharply and corrected the bike before I could come face to face with Bayou’s brick monstrosity of a mailbox.
Heart pounding—and not because I nearly needed facial reconstruction—I leaned the kickstand down on the bike and shut it off. Moments later I pocketed my keys and swung my leg over to come to a stand beside my bike, staring at the woman working in her yard.
She was wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a really old t-shirt that had cracks in the vinyl declaring her a Kilgore Bulldog, and a pair of motorcycle boots.
