Our turkey is already thawing, so Mom decided she’d cook it tomorrow anyway and give me a meat-coma-care-package to take back with me since my case is now empty of all the beer I hauled across state lines.
Once the boys get a whiff of my luggage, it won’t last long. I’ll make her team-famous Thanksgiving leftover hotdish. Mom always makes sure she sends enough food to feed an army—or a college hockey team—plus a second mud pie for me to bring with me, too.
She makes the best mud pie in the freakin’ state. For real. It won first place at the state fair two years in a row, beating out her baking nemesis Matilda-Mae Bolt. Who—Mom thinks—uses a box mix for her brownies, which is unforgivable in the Ashe household.
I tug off my sweatshirt and leave it over the back of a dining room chair as I get to work. I’m shredding a block of cheese for the mac and cheese—Mom says it tastes better than the pre-shredded stuff—when she bumps me with her hip.
“So.”
Here it comes.
“Savannah Bowen, huh?” She waggles her brows at me like she knows things. “I’m guessing she’s the reason you agreed to break tradition from leaving your ass-print on my couch for Thanksgiving.”
Moms always know. There’s no point in denying it, so I keep grating and nod. Maybe if I stay silent it’ll pass quickly. Like a kidney stone.
An indecipherable squeal bursts from her and she gives me a squeeze. “I knew it. She grew up nice, didn’t she? I see pictures on her mom’s social media sometimes, but she’s turned into a stunning young woman”
Yes, she did. She really fucking did.
Mom frowns as I pop the grater off the plastic tub below and clip on the lid.
“I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t seem to return your affection.”
When my brows twitch, she taps the side of her nose. “It looked like Abby had asked her to go get a colonic instead of sharing her Thanksgiving meal with us. But I know you can win her over.” She pinches my face like I’m still her plump-cheeked toddler. Some days I wonder if that’s how she sees me when she looks at me. “There’s no way she doesn’t fall head over heels for my boy.”
Despite her conviction, I’m not so sure she’s right that I can win Savannah over. But I’m going to give it my best shot. One thing’s for certain, though. If my face happens to end up in the vicinity of those luscious lips of hers, I won’t stop myself this time.
* * *
I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Savannah, and my dick twitched to life. I spent all night with a raging boner for a girl who tried to kill me with her eyes.
I jerked off in the shower this morning—twice—but it didn’t help. My dick knows it’s not her hands, or her mouth, or her pussy wrapped around it. No matter how much I imagine, or want it to be.
Since Abby suggested we go to her house for Thanksgiving lunch, I guess they have evening plans. That, or she and Mom want to spend all day getting reacquainted. It wouldn’t surprise me. Mom was so excited to have bumped into her at the airport.
They can catch up while the rest of us watch football on TV. And Savannah… I dunno what she’ll do.
Either way, I’m now looking at the crappy selection of clothes I brought home with me, wholly unprepared for a winning-the-girl type of situation.
Mom comes into my room and laughs, probably at my surly face at the outfit choices I’ve lain out on my bed. She offers me the bag she’s carrying. “Here. Wear this.”
Savannah isn’t going to care what I’m wearing, so for a moment I consider choosing the tatty, old UCR Raccoons tee that’s crumpled under my pillow to wear to bed.
Inside the bag Mom handed to me is a Raccoons-green polo shirt and a soft navy sweater with new dark-wash jeans.
“It was supposed to be part of your Christmas gift, but I feel like you could do with wearing something…eh…nice today.” She winks.
I want to groan but I’m grateful and pull the tags off the new clothes. “Thanks, Mom. You’re a lifesaver.” Grabbing the back of the shirt I’m wearing, I haul it over my head before I realize she’s still standing in the doorway, nibbling on the inside of her cheek, a frown pinching between her eyes.
I’ve seen that look before. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to meddle. Or gossip.”
I slide my new polo on and fasten two of the buttons, leaving the top one open. “But?”
“Abby said something at the airport while we were waiting for you guys to arrive.”
“Okay?”
