Page 76 of Sweet Talking Man


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Birdie was dressed in her standard uniform of skinny jeans and vintage rock band T-shirt under a dark hoodie. Her hair was pulled into a messy pony tail and heavy black eyeliner rimmed her eyes. She had a look going. A little grunge, a little metal, a lot of angst. He liked it on her-the perfect combination of vulnerability and tough rocker chick.

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you…if you have a sec."

"Okay."

"Can I come in?"

"Probably be better if we talk outside."

"Whatever," she said, sinking onto his steps since he had no furniture on the porch. Not bothering with shoes, he closed the door and joined Birdie.

"You okay?" he asked after a few seconds of the girl's silence. She seemed to be struggling with how to start the conversation.

"Yeah. Uh, are you really dating my mom?"

Okay. How to handle this? "Uh, we've been hanging out and getting to know one another. We roasted hot dogs on the fire pit out back."

"But that's more like a date, right?"

"I guess. We like each other."

"Why?"

"Because we do."

"But my mom's older than you."

"Not by much. Maybe five years or so. Age doesn't matter as much when you're an adult, Brigitte. Besides we enjoy each other's company." He kicked aside the thought of him and Abigail naked, enjoying each other's company in a very adult way. "You have a problem with that?"

Birdie shrugged. "It's weird. Y'all don't go together. You're, like, cool. And she's my mom. You know. Kinda old and, like, not very cool."

"Well, you don't see her the way I do."

"Obviously."Birdie sounded pissed.

Man, twelve year-old girls were hard to understand. "So because your mom is a mother, l shouldn't see her?"

"I guess I can't tell you what to do."

"Bingo."

"I just don't get why you're intoher. It makes no sense. She’s nothing like that woman who threw cake on you. Mom isn’t your type.” Her voice was firm as though she could convince him her opinion was valid.

"You know my type? Presumptuous of you.”

"I call 'em like I see 'em," Birdie said, her delicate face a study in belligerence. "I'm not stupid, Leif."

"Since when did you stop calling me Mr. Lively?”

"Since you told me to at art class weeks ago... and since you started 'hanging out'- " she made quotation marks with her fingers "-with my mom."

They both fell silent, staring into the darkening evening. A porch light across the street switched on and a few houses down, old lady McCray dragged her fluffy white dog out to poop on her neighbor's pristine Saint Augustine lawn.

"It's just that my dad is back, you know."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Guess it doesn't, but I think he's hoping to, you know, make things better with my mom."

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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