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“Becca, you know I started working nights so I could be home during the day.” The refrigerator door swung closed, and her mother came to lean on the cooking island, a stern expression on her face. Becca couldn’t remember seeing gray hair threaded along her mother’s temples before, but it was sure there now.
She wondered if her mom knew her father had called. Twice.
“Look, Mom, I know—”
But her mom was already off and running with the lecture. Becca resisted the impulse to keep glancing at the clock.
When it seemed like she was winding down, Becca sighed and played the guilt card and glanced up at her through her lashes. “Mom, it’s really about Quinn,” she said in a hushed voice. “I think she wants to get away from parents for a while.”
That was probably true. Quinn was more than likely sitting in her living room, staring out the front picture window, desperate for Becca to pick her up.
So they could drive to Drew McKay’s house.
Maybe a movie with Mom wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Her mom studied her. “Just you and Quinn?”
Becca averted her eyes and downed the last of her milk. “Yeah, Mom, who else?”
“Well, you look very pretty.”
“It’s just an old pullover.” Thank god the house had been chilly. Otherwise her mom might have seen her in that silk top that exposed half an inch of midriff and made it look like she had a chest to write home about.
Monica can kiss my ass.
“I meant your hair. The makeup.”
That had taken forty-five minutes. She’d actually had to hunt for the curling iron.
Becca started to put her glass in the sink, then thought better of it and rinsed it for the dishwasher since her mom was standing right there. “It’s a Friday night. You know.”
“I know.” Her mom was leaning against the refrigerator now.
Becca bit the inside of her cheek, sure she was blushing.
“Wow,” she said, looking in the general direction of the clock, though her brain was too addled to register the time. She grabbed her bag and her car keys. “I’d better get going if we’re going to get popcorn and stuff.”
Her mom was still watching her just a little too carefully. “Be careful, Bex. Not too late, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.” She’d almost made it to the front door.
“I’ll be up when you get home.”
Can’t wait.
Then Becca was out the door and into her car, well aware her mom watched her pull down the driveway, roll down the street, and waited at the window until she made the turn toward Quinn’s house.
Quinn wore a beaded tank, Capri pants, and strappy sandals, an outfit that demanded nicer weather. Her blond hair hung straight and shiny down her back, swinging when she jumped into the car.
Quinn was fishing through the glove box for gum. “Why didn’t you let Hunter pick you up?”
Because that meant it was a date. This wasn’t a date. This was a dare. Becca started to bite at her cuticles, then told herself to knock it off. “I wanted a getaway car.”
Quinn laughed—but when Becca didn’t join her, she stared. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“What do you think Drew’s going to do, throw you down and rape you right in front of the soccer team?”
