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“Exactly.” Bianca looked over her shoulder, then quickly shut the door. “Do you think Dad and Michelle know something and aren’t telling us?”
“Like what?”
“Like, I don’t know, she’s hurt, got shot on the job, or had a wreck or . . . something really bad?”
“They’d have to tell us,” he said, frowning. Bianca gave up on her hair for the moment, let the unruly curls fall to her shoulders. “They’re always trying to ‘protect’ us.” She made air quotes to emphasize her point. “Mom’s detective partner wouldn’t have come out here unless it was really serious.”
“I guess.”
Jeremy scowled just as Bianca’s phone dinged, indicating she’d received a text message. She clicked a button and found a picture of Chris on the screen. Chris and two of his friends, all wearing Santa hats and making goofy faces. She grinned
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and for a second, she wasn’t worried about her mother. “Just take care of the dog,” she ordered, hurrying from the room.
Jeremy, his video game ruined, watched her go. She didn’t bother shutting the door, which really bugged him. But then everything and everyone was bugging him. Even Heidi Brewster, who kept texting him and trying to get together. He wanted to. Man, he wanted to. Heidi was hotter than hot and her mouth . . . holy crap, what she could do with that. He got hard just thinking about it. But she was trouble, and right now he didn’t need any more of that. So he didn’t respond to her texts and was probably really ticking her off.
Too bad.
Ever since he’d gotten busted for Minor in Possession of Alcohol with Heidi, he’d been in a bad mood. Mom had grounded him, Heidi’s jerk of a father had warned Jeremy to never see his daughter again, and now they were stuck here with Michelle and Dad, which wasn’t all that great.
In fact, he was getting sick of them. Lucky was either trying to buddy up to him or tell him what to do. Like he was his real dad or something. It was just stupid. Then there was Michelle. Jesus, she was hot, too. Always running around in high heels and tight jeans and tops that showed off her boobs. He’d even caught a glimpse of her coming out of the shower, her hair wet, no makeup, big breasts with tiny pink nipples standing at attention from the cold. He’d noticed, though, that she wasn’t a natural blonde. The worst part was, he was pretty sure she’d seen him. Their eyes had met through the steam of the bathroom where the door was opened far enough to give him an eyeful. Since then he’d pretty 118
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much holed up in his room, and he was certain that when Michelle talked to him, she was thinking the same thing he was. There was something in her eyes, and the way her tongue was visible against her shiny lips, that told him she knew he’d seen her naked. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d set him up, if maybe, she wanted him to make a pass at her. She’s your freakin’ stepmom, butthead. Don’t think like that!
Rolling off the bed, he grabbed his boots. It was time to go and get his car, call a friend, and find out what the hell had happened to his mother. He didn’t want to tell Bianca that he was worried, too, but in this case, she was right. Something was wrong. Mom would never have just let Lucky tell her he wanted custody. No way would she have rolled over on that. She would have fought him tooth and nail. Jeremy had figured it was a good deal. He’d decided that Mom would have been so petrified of losing Bianca and him that she would have done anything to keep them happy and this whole stupid grounding thing would disappear. Afraid of losing custody altogether, she would have let Jeremy do whatever he wanted. Oh, come on, who are you kidding? Mom would never allow that. She’ll ride your ass until the day she dies.
“Crap,” he said under his breath, then texted his friend to come and get him. He needed to go home and look for himself, try to figure out where she was, then grab his truck so he had wheels, a way to get out of this overdecorated house with its gooeylooking pink Christmas tree and his stepfather’s hottie wife.
Throwing on his oversized camo jacket, Jeremy jammed a stocking cap onto his head before walk-
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ing into the kitchen. He found a bag of kiblets for Cisco, who had tagged after him and was so excited he was barking and making tight little circles near his dish.
“About time you woke up,” Michelle drawled. Dressed in jeans, high-heeled boots, and a tight turtleneck sweater, she strolled into the kitchen. Today, her makeup was in place, her platinum hair framing her face.
Cisco wolfed down his food as Michelle snapped on the radio. Some Christmas carol started playing through the suddenly too-small kitchen. “Want some breakfast?” Was her voice breathy? Oh, God. She gave him that look again, the one that said I-know-what-you-saw, as she snagged an apron from a hook on the pantry and slid it over her head. It was a Mrs. Santa apron. Short, red, trimmed in fake white fur. She tied it around her slim waist and he couldn’t help but imagine what she would look like without the jeans and sweater, just the apron and tall black boots.
“No breakfast,” he managed as the dog finished. He
automatically let Cisco outside, a breath of cold air racing into the stifling kitchen.
“You sure? I could make pancakes.” She turned and faced him, one hand holding a spatula up, and for a second he caught an image of her spanking him with it. Or him spanking her. Lying across his lap, her rounded butt red as she squealed in pleasure/pain. Oh, shit.
“No,” Jeremy croaked out. “Tyler’s on his way over to pick me up.”
“You’re leaving?” Now she was pouting.
“Uh-huh.” He had to get out of here and fast. Cisco returned, bounding into the room, snow 120
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