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Approaching the door on light feet, I hope and pray it’s just an ex-fuck who I can send on their way with relative ease, rather than my partner who might be a little trickier.
I peek through the looking hole.
And gasp the second I cop a load of my visitor.
What?
It definitely isn’t Sal and it definitely isn’t an ex-fuck, but who is actually banging at my door makes that more of a regret than a relief. I stand back, wondering what to do.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Tyler.” My mother’s shriek stabs at my eardrums painfully. The little sneak. “Tyler, open up.”
I grab the handle and yank the door open, my lips straight and pissed off. Her hand is in midair, ready to beat my door again. “I’m not home,” I say tightly.
She gives me an impish grin, peeking past me. “Thought I’d collect the dishes.”
“No, you thought you’d be nosey.” I remain where I am, filling the doorway.
My mum gasps. It’s so fake. I know her game. “Not true,” she argues, pushing her way in.
And, of course, I let her because . . . Mum. I look to the heavens for some resistance. I want to strangle her. “Mum, please.”
“I’ll get the dishes and get out of your hair,” she says, scuttling to the kitchen. I follow her and watch as she comes to an abrupt stop at the doorway, her whole being noticeably deflating. She was hoping to find a woman at my table. “Oh . . .” she breathes. “She left already?”
I smile to myself, passing her and starting to collect her dirty dishes up from the table. “Yes. I haven’t had a chance to wash them yet.”
“No matter.” She waves a hand flippantly. It’s a terrible job of hiding her disappointment that she hasn’t stumbled across a female. I’m just super glad I got Lainey in my bedroom before Mum unexpectedly showed up, the crafty minx. “How was your evening?” she asks, taking the hessian bag from the side and holding it open for me to slip her crockery in.
“Pleasant,” I answer offhandedly, wandering away from her, laughing to myself when she huffs her annoyance at not getting more than that.
“Well, did she like the stroganoff?”
I rest my arse on the worktop and fold my arms over my chest. “Everyone loves your stroganoff, Mother.”
“Actually, you’re wrong,” she says, making me frown. On a roll of her eyes, she starts toward the kitchen door. “Ted wasn’t so keen.”
I throw a filthy look at Mum’s back. “I knew he was an arsehole.”
Mum stops at the door, and I wait for her to turn and scold me for being so rude, but, instead, she grabs the doorframe, as if needing something to steady herself.
“Mum?” I question, worried, as I hurry over. “Mum, you okay?”
She lets out a squeak as she lowers the bag to the floor. Oh no. That’s a happy squeak. “Oh my . . .”
“Hello.” Lainey’s voice creeps into the kitchen as I make it to Mum’s back. “You must be Mrs. Christianson.” She’s standing by the couch, fully dressed, thank God, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She looks fucking gorgeous. I grin, because something tells me she was expecting to find an ex-screw, and was perhaps here to mark her territory, but instead she’s now facing my overbearing mother.
“Yes.” Mum’s gone like a shot, heading for Lainey, whose eyes are getting rapidly wider as my mother steams toward her. “I’m Tyler’s mother, Ivy.” Lainey is seized and pulled in for an over-friendly hug. “How lovely to meet you . . . ?”
Lainey looks at me over my mum’s shoulder, a little bewildered. I shrug. I have nothing. My mother is a conniving sod. Besides, it serves Lainey right for being nosey. Or . . . jealous again? The thought thrills me. “Lainey,” she replies. “My name’s Lainey.”
“Oh, Lainey, what a pretty name.”
“Mum,” I sigh tiredly, rolling my eyes. “Let her go.”
“Oh, yes.” She drops Lainey and steps back, flashing me a delighted grin. “I was just dropping by to see how my boy is. I didn’t realize he had company.” Mum chuckles, smiling brightly at Lainey. She’s a fucking case. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your dinner.”
No, she interrupted something far better than dinner, even better than her stroganoff. I toss Mum a half-hearted scowl when she grins at me, and Lainey laughs softly, giving me wild, sparkling eyes. Dear Lord, she shouldn’t look at me like that when my mother’s present. My body is reacting way too inappropriately. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I prompt as I collect her bag of dishes from the floor, my way of saying it’s time to go.
“Yes.” Mum turns to Lainey and takes her hands. “We should do dinner. How about tomorrow?”
Lainey looks at me for help, and I rush over to claim my mum before she scares her off. If she hasn’t already. This is the last thing I need, especially after Lainey’s sobering words before I moved things quickly to the fun element of our fling. Having dinner with your latest fuck’s mother is definitely bordering relationship territory. And . . . and what? “We’ll see,” I say, attempting to pacify her while walking her to the door.
