Page 47 of Betting on the Bad Boy

Faith

I stoodand walked to the front of the room. As usual, a small crowd swarmed around my mother, everyone eager to get an autograph, a picture, or even just catch a few words. Claire’s lecture had gone better than I expected. I’d stumbled through the introduction, but after she took her place at the podium, she’d held everyone captive for the rest of the hour. My mother had picked up a few traits from Clem and knew how to work a room. I stood at the edge of the fray, waiting for the crowd to disperse.

“So, she’s your mom, huh?” Murph walked up beside me and gestured to where Claire stood, posing for yet another picture with one of my students.

“Yep.” I held my notebook across my chest, my arms crossed over it, and rocked back and forth on my heels.

“You did a nice job of keeping that info to yourself.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? “Thanks.”

Murph edged closer to me. “You did a nice job on the intro, too.”

“Thanks again.”

“That must be, uh, interesting having Claire Kepner as your mother.”

I didn’t know what he was after, but I refused to give him any more info about my private life. He’d already seen enough. “It has its ups and downs.”

At that moment, Claire broke through the few remaining stragglers and walked over to us.

“That was fun. I always forget what a thrill it is to be up in front of a group.” Her face glowed. The aftermath of being in front of a cluster of admirers was clearly good for her complexion. “Who’s your friend?”

“Mom, this is Patrick Murphy. He teaches in the English Department with me.”

Claire offered her hand. Murph grasped it in his and leaned down to kiss it.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Kepner.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer?” Claire winked at him.

Murph let go of her hand and stood up straighter, the smile on his face showing his pleasure at the compliment.

“Hey, Mom, did you want to go grab something to eat?”

“Yes. Let’s get you a real meal. Patrick, would you like to join us?”

I cringed. I’d been looking forward to having my mother all to myself.

“Sure, Mrs. Kepner, I’d really enjoy that.” He grinned at me. “Unless you wanted to invite a certain illustrious bartender instead?”

My eyes bugged.

“What was that?” Claire asked.

I pasted on a smile. “Nothing. He’s just trying to be funny. Let’s go. You coming, Murph?”

Murph smirked. “I’d love to.”

“Wonderful. Although you need to call me Claire. Mrs. Kepner is what I would have called my mother-in-law had I ever had the chance to meet her.”

“Claire it is. Ladies, shall we?” He gestured toward the door.

My mom sidled up to me and whispered, “Just a friend? He seems like a keeper.”

I shook my head slightly as we walked out of the room. Murph trotted along behind us like a pleased puppy.

Dinner went well enough. Over medium-rare Kansas City strips, Murph talked about his career aspirations. He wanted to finish the year, then take some time to teach English overseas before settling into a PhD program. His ultimate goal was to teach college English at a prestigious university somewhere on the east coast and work on his great American novel. Him and every other person in the program.