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She scoffed and gave me a lewd once-over. “The type who sneaks into high school janitor’s closets with boys like you. She’s not that type.”

Wow.

It was on the tip of my tongue to agree, claiming Waverly was more the type to sneak into a college psych professor’s quiet room with guys like me. But I had a feeling that wouldn’t win me a lot of brownie points.

Frowning over just how judgy Ms. Breeker was turning out to be, I realized, “You’re not going to tell her I’m here, are you?”

“No.” Ms. Breeker crossed her arms over her chest, resolute. “I’m not.”

“Hmm.” Keeping eye contact with her, I pulled my phone from my pocket and only briefly glanced down to dial Waverly’s number before I pressed it to my ear.

Lifting my gaze right back to her mother, I said, “Then I’m really sorry about having to go over your head like this, but…” I shrugged, not sorry at all.

Waverly’s mom opened her mouth to say something else that would probably just piss me off more, so I held up a finger to pause her because her daughter’s voice entered my ear.

“Hello?” She sounded half-asleep and confused as to why I was calling.

“Hey,” I said, softening my voice and feeling all the antsy nerves inside me calm to an idle, contented simmer. “Did I wake you?”

In front of me, her mother narrowed her eyes hatefully.

While on the phone, Waverly cleared her throat. “No. I—I’m up.” But she didn’t sound okay.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Xander said something happened at the library? So I came over to see you, but?—”

“Wait, what?” she cut in, clearly having no idea what I was talking about. “You came where to see me? The library?”

“No. To your house. I’m at your front door right now. Except your mom won’t let me see you.”

“You’re what ?”

A clatter of sound came from the second level of her house; I peered through the opened door, past Ms. B’s shoulder, and up the main staircase just in time to see Waverly appear on the top landing.

She jarred to a halt as she gaped back at me over the railing.

Relief flooded my veins until I noticed a cut on her brow that bisected her eyebrow.

Gut knotting with horror, I muttered, “Son of a bitch, you did get hurt. What the hell happened?”

I tried to step over the threshold toward her, but Ms. Breeker shifted into my path, physically barring my way.

I stopped and sent her a scorching glare for keeping me from what was mine.

Waverly jogged down the steps, disconnecting her phone as she went. “What’re you doing here?”

“I heard Xander’s side of her call with you.

And as soon as she told me something had happened at the library, I came.

” Sucking in a sympathetic breath, I stepped forward again without thinking and reached for her bangs, hoping to shift them aside so I could see the full extent of the cut.

It was already red and was definitely going to bruise.

But Ms. Breeker cleared her throat, stopping me in my tracks. Hardening my jaw, I dropped my hand and remained outside the house as I sent Waverly’s guard dog a hard glance.

She scowled right back, her glower telling me it’d be a cold day in hell before she let me lay a hand on her baby.

Too late for that, Mama Bear, my gloating expression crowed.

In unison, we both turned to Waverly.

She gulped audibly and appeared to be frozen with total trepidation.

When her gaze shifted to me, I tipped my head and looked pointedly at the porch floor, silently asking her to join me out here since I obviously wasn’t welcome inside.

Her eyes flared, and she stepped forward, except her mom shifted into her path and touched her arm. “You really need your rest, dear. You’ve had a trying day.”

Waverly met her gaze, obviously hearing her, but when she stepped outside anyway, my heart pounded hard in my chest. She was coming to me, against her mother’s wishes. I don’t know why that felt like such a win for me, but I had a feeling she didn’t often defy her mother.

Ms. Breeker confirmed it by dropping her jaw as she gaped after Waverly.

Saluting her with a triumphant little smirk, I reached for the handle and began to draw the door shut, only for Waverly’s mom to leap forward and catch it.

“She has a curfew,” she blurted.

“Well aware,” I bit out.

“You don’t have time to go anywhere and come back before?—”

“Oh my fucking God,” I blew, throwing up my hands in disgust. “She’s twenty fucking years old. Cut the cord already.”

Lifting a condemning finger, Ms. Breeker fumed. “Don’t you dare presume to tell me?—”

But a deep voice from the back hall called, “What in the world? Katherine?” as a man shuffled into the hall, wearing slippers, sleep pants, and an old, threadbare T-shirt. “What’s going on out here?”

Glancing at Waverly, I asked, “Dad?” under my breath.

She nodded without saying a word, but relief glittered in her expression, letting me know her father wasn’t quite as much of a hard-ass as her mother.

“Robert!” His wife whirled around desperately. “I need this young man thrown off our property.”

Mr. Frank—Mr. Breeker? Whatever the fuck his last name was—jarred to a halt and blinked at me in confusion through the still-open doorway.

“Hey!” I smiled engagingly and waved, hoping to at least make it into his good graces. “Nice to meet you.”

He lifted one eyebrow and glanced at his wife. “Who is he?”

I stuck out my hand, still smiling big. “Keene Dugger, sir,” I introduced before motioning my head toward Waves. “I’m Waverly’s boyfriend.”

Ms. Breeker choked on the term, and Waverly started coughing as if warning me to abort the mission.

But her dad merely gaped at me as if I’d lost my mind before glancing at his wife and then his daughter. He came back to me, saying, “I…wasn’t aware she had a boyfriend.” And he actually reached through the open doorway to take my hand for a shake. “Robert Frank.”

“A pleasure.” After gripping his fingers, I motioned to Waverly and shrugged ruefully. “It’s a fairly new development. Still feels weird to say out loud, actually. But…” I glanced at my girl and smiled. “Still true.”

Squinting at me, Mr. Frank scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Keene Dugger,” he murmured to himself. “Keene Dugger. Why do I know that name?”

He glanced at his wife, and she frowned back icily. “Probably because I complained about him nightly when he was a student at Northside,” she reminded him, only to glance at me and scowl. “He has to be the most obnoxious young man to ever grace my office.”

Turning to Waverly, I blinked. “Did she really complain about me?”

When she nodded, my jaw dropped. “So you always knew she was my school counselor?”

Waverly nodded again, and I gasped out an incredulous sound. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Well, thanks for warning me that you were just going to show up out of the blue some night at nearly midnight to introduce yourself to my parents,” she shot back, spreading out a hand to display them in the darkened foyer, still wearing their pajamas.

I winced. “Okay, so this might not be my brightest moment,” I admitted, sending Waverly an adorable cringe that demanded she forgive me. “But I heard you might be hurt, and I couldn’t stay away.”

“Hurt?” Mr. Frank echoed in surprise and whirled to look at Waverly.

When he noticed the bruising cut on her brow, he stepped forward, lifting his hand.

“My word. What happened here?” He stopped himself before getting too close to her, though, and he dropped his arm as if touching his daughter were forbidden.

Ms. Breeker huffed irritably. “She had a little ordeal at the library. It was nothing.”

Mr. Frank looked as if he had more questions.

I leaned his way. “Don’t worry, I have no idea what the fuck happened either, man. And your wife won’t even let me sit out here on the front porch with Waverly for a few minutes to find out.”

When Waverly’s dad lifted his eyebrows to send his wife a questioning look, she crossed her arms over her chest moodily and muttered, “It’s past eleven o’clock.”

“But she’s a legal adult,” I shot back, lifting my hands in dismay. “Besides, her curfew’s twelve. She still has time to do whatever she wants.”

“I don’t want her going anywhere with him. I don’t like him,” she told Mr. Frank.

Ouch. I stepped back, never having heard her say that before. And here, deep down, I thought she’d liked me back, and her stern, you’re-so-naughty demeanor had been more of a joke than her true, honest feelings.

Her husband obviously wasn’t used to hearing his wife’s candor either.

He turned back to eye me curiously.

I shrugged, admitting, “I don’t know why. I’m a hell of a likable guy.”

“He’s a mouthy, philandering lecher who preys on young women, going through them like tissue paper,” Ms. Breeker snapped irritably. “And now, he’s apparently got our daughter in his sights. So please excuse me if I don’t feel like standing aside and just letting him hurt Waverly next.”

“Hurt?” I cried in insult. “Hold the fuck up. Who did I ever hurt ?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I demanded, “Name one girl; I’ll wait.”

When she didn’t say anything within two seconds, I scoffed.

“You can’t, can you? Because I don’t hurt girls.

” Ticking up my index finger to start a list, I went on, “I never ruined anyone’s reputation.

I never left one in tears or heartbroken.

And I sure as hell never knocked any of them up or abandoned them.

Because I’m not that guy, contrary to what you think of me. ”

“You’re not doing anything alone with my daughter,” Ms. Breeker maintained with a glare.

“And that’s really not your decision to make,” I said, shaking my head, unable to believe this.

“Seriously, how in the hell are you the same woman who preached responsibility and independence to me all the way through high school? Now you’re standing there, trying to make decisions for a grown-ass woman? ”

“Waverly’s only?—”

“Twenty,” I snapped. “She’s twenty. Why the hell does she have a curfew at all? Why do you track her phone and every move she makes? Why can’t you just let her live her fucking life?”

“Keene,” Waverly warned in a quiet, worried voice.

I glanced at her and immediately felt like hell for making her look as afraid as she did.

Grabbing my head with both hands, I gushed, “Shit. Sorry.” But it still couldn’t shut me up.

“But this is bullshit,” I claimed, pissed off for her as I motioned toward her mother.

“It’s a parent’s job to raise their child so they’re able to go off one day and no longer need them.

And they’re not doing that. They’re stunting your social development. ”

Whirling back to Ms. Breeker, I demanded, “How is she supposed to engage with her peers with the kinds of restrictions you’re putting on her?

At this rate, she’s going to have no friends, no connections, no one to reach out to after you’re gone.

She’s going to fucking flounder and turn into a depressed mess who can’t function in society.

Believe it or not, her coming out here to sit on this porch with me right now—just to talk—is a healthy step in her development, and you need to let her make these kinds of decisions for herself. For her own good.”

While Waverly’s mom scowled at me, her father quietly murmured, “He’s right.”