Page 29 of Claiming Her Cougar (Shifting Pines #2)

MALLORY

Why do things keep going wrong for us? Just once, okay, at least once, I’d like to have sex with Liam and be able to bask in the afterglow.

Or at least not have someone a few feet away, waiting for a break in the action to talk to me.

I thought it was embarrassing with Ashley in Vegas.

It’s a billion times worse with my mother in my house.

Ashley never changed my diaper, and we won’t wear matching pajamas on Christmas morning.

I’m making a cup of full-strength black tea. May as well add some caffeine to the situation. My phone dings to indicate a text, and I pick it up, hoping it’s Liam. It’s not.

Mom: Leaving the tree farm now.

Me: Okay. Want me to start anything for dinner?

Mom: Raided the concession stand. Supposed to rain tomorrow.

It is? That will kill the plan to hang out there tomorrow night. I hope Mom’s wrong. I’m excited about tomorrow now, looking forward to wandering the farm with Liam in the moonlight.

I wonder if he has plans for New Year’s. He’s probably going to a club or a casino. Hanging out in the woods around a fire, getting drunk among the unsold Christmas trees couldn’t compete.

Me: Sounds good.

Mom: I snagged enough for your…friend.

Groaning, I tilt my head back and gaze up at the ceiling. She’s not going to ignore this. I didn’t really expect her to, but it is the season for miracles and everything.

Me: Hope you’re hungry because it’s just me.

Mom: Oh. See you soon.

A few minutes later, the headlights of my parents’ SUV bounce down the driveway.

I wish they would’ve let me know they were coming earlier so I could have made sure everything was just right.

It’s only me living here full-time, and I’m neat, but Mom can be so particular about things.

She likes the glasses lined up just so in the cabinet and the condiments in a certain order in the refrigerator door.

I guess it’s the engineer part of her brain that likes perfect order. I’m not an engineer.

“There’s my Mallomar!” Dad calls out as he and Mom enter the house carrying bags of treats. I can smell the greasy goodness of chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, and French fries. I pull out the ingredients for a basic salad in hopes of counteracting all the cholesterol we’re about to ingest.

Dad sniffs the air as he enters the kitchen. “Why does it smell like a wet cat in here?”

My parents laugh when they see my expression. I don’t know exactly how I look, but I’m assuming it’s a combination of wide eyes, slack jaw and either pale from blood draining or bright red from blushing. I may be cycling between the two for all I know.

“Just kidding. Your mother told me. Where is he?”

“He left. We are not in a ‘meet the parents’ kind of relationship. It’s just casual.

” I hate having to say that to my parents.

Not that I have any reason to be ashamed of being a sexually active grown woman.

But just like I don’t want to know about their sex life, I don’t want them knowing about mine.

I dump the salad mix in a bowl with a sliced onion, cherry tomatoes, and jalapeno slices.

It’s basic, but it’s not fried, so that’s a win.

While Mom unpacks all the food, Dad grabs dishes, glasses, and silverware.

I dish up salad for each of us and grab the bottle of Italian dressing out of the fridge.

We sit in companionable silence, eating for a few minutes.

I enjoy it while it lasts because I know the interrogation is coming.

Three…two…one.

“So, Mallory, tell us about your friend,” Mom says.

“No,” I answer.

Mom sighs the sigh mothers are gifted after going through the pain of labor. I guess it’s like compensation.

I can feel myself weakening. Be strong, Mallory. There’s no reason for them to know about any of this. There’s no relationship, and there’s no future.

“There’s nothing to tell. It’s casual.” I finish my chicken finger and get up to rinse my plate and put it in the dishwasher.

I grab my glass of Diet Pepsi from dinner and nod to my parents.

“Welcome home. I’m going upstairs to read.

See you tomorrow.” I turn before they can say anything else.

Or before I cry. It’s no longer as easy to say there’s nothing between me and Liam, that it’s only casual. It’s starting to feel like a lie.