Page 51 of No Headlines Please

Plus, I would need to set up a new bank account – unless I wanted those automatic deposits to become easy withdrawals, courtesy of Mom.

With a self-conscious laugh, I told Maddox, "Trust me, you've already heard the highlights. Or in my case, the lowlights."

But Maddox wasn't laughing. "A question. Why do you call the money borrowed?"

For a long moment, I didn't know how to answer. It suddenly struck me that this was the first time I'd ever stopped to analyze it. "Well, what would you call it?"

"You know what I'd call it." His gaze locked on mine. "Tell me this. Are you expecting to be paid back?"

I almost didn't want to say. "Not really."

"So it's not borrowing."

I took another sip of my latte before admitting, "Maybe not technically."

And yet, that's what Mom always called it – even that time she'd helped herself to my graduation money because, in her words, I didn't yet need it.

The money had been all cash, tucked into greeting cards from friends and family at my extravagant graduation party – a party my parents had paid for, complete with catering and personalized party favors.

The whole thing had been Mom's idea, not mine, and the party itself had cost several times more than the cash tucked into those envelopes.

Looking back, it was utterly ridiculous. But then again, this was exactly the kind of logic my family excelled at.

Afterward, when the guests were long-gone, I spent the rest of the night stewing over the "borrowed" cash – feeling stupidly ungrateful even as I grumbled that I would never see that money again.

That time, I'd been wrong.

A few weeks later, I was paid back. Not by Mom. By Dad. He'd given me the money in secret, telling me that a big family argument wasn't worth the trouble.

He'd made a point to pay in cash, which left no paper trail. And just like always, I'd deposited the money straight into my longstanding bank account, half-forgetting that I wasn't the only one with access.

Probably my mom had forgotten, too. Otherwise, she almost certainly would've tapped that account long before now.

Why, oh why, hadn't I seen this coming?

Or better yet, why hadn't I simply changed banks?

If I had a million dollars, I knew exactly what I'd do. I'd bet every single cent that Tessa had moved her account ages ago – not that Mom would ever "borrow" from her.

I was still lost in the memories when Maddox said, "The point is, why call it borrowing if it's not getting paid back?"

Good question. "Because…well…that's what my mom would call it."

"Yeah, and I can call myself a saint. That doesn't make it true."

I tried for a joke. "So, you're what? A sinner?" As I said it, I could definitely imagine a sin or two that a girl might really enjoy, especially with a guy like him.

But then, he ruined it by saying, "We're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

I sighed. "Be honest. You think I'm stupid."

He shook his head. "No. I don't."

"Well, I'm at least a little stupid."

"How so?"

He was being way too nice. "Oh, come on. I'm twenty-five years old."