Читать книгу Not Quite A Mom - Kirsten Sawyer - Страница 12

“Shit,” Buck says again, this time out loud. “What am I gonna do now?” he asks Wildcat, who is still asleep on the unmade king-size bed.

His first problem is the now homeless teenage girl asleep in his guest room. The second is explaining his repeat bungle to his father. Not to mention the fact that he, once again, screwed up with Lizzie Castle. While trying to think of ways to put a positive spin on this to both Tiffany and Larry S, he stands up and heads to the door of his bedroom. Much to Buck’s surprise (horror), Tiffany is standing in the hallway.

She jumps slightly at seeing him, and Buck can tell that her brain is trying to calculate if he has seen her or if she can duck back into the guest room. It’s obvious that she had been listening to his conversation.

“How’d you sleep?” Buck asks, deciding to pretend that the awkwardness that accompanied him into the hallway doesn’t exist.

Tiffany does not follow his lead. “She doesn’t want me, does she.”

It’s a question, but she says it like a statement. Unfortunately, it’s a statement Buck knows for certain to be true.

“That’s not true at all,” Buck lies, hoping Tiffany can’t see through him. “She’s so concerned about you and your well-being. She just needed the weekend to collect herself.”

“I thought she needed the evening to collect herself.” Tiffany counters.

This is why people hate teenagers, Buck thinks to himself. This is also why he shouldn’t lie. “The evening, the weekend…it’s like twenty-four hours’ difference. Let’s have some breakfast.” Buck quickly changes the subject and lumbers down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The house is small—too small for a wide receiver like Buck Platner, but technically big enough for one person—and since Buck couldn’t justify a bigger house for just himself, he squeezes himself in like Alice in the rabbit hole. Once inside the messy kitchen, Buck opens the old refrigerator in hopes that fresh food has magically appeared overnight. No such luck. Starting to live like a grown-up is constantly on Buck’s list of things to do…it just never gets done. Instead of containing breakfast staples like coffee and Nutri-Grain bars, Buck’s shopping cart always ends up with marshmallow cereal, which he often has to eat dry since it seems his milk is perpetually past its sell-by date. To say that this home needs a woman’s touch is the understatement of the year.

Buck peers into the fridge, easily looking through the sparse contents—beer, mustard, and leftover pizza—and finding himself face-to-face with the buzzing old light bulb. He looks sheepishly over his shoulder, hoping he is alone, but finds Tiffany standing behind him looking skeptical.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Buck quickly decides. “We’re going to go out for breakfast, go to your house and get your stuff, and then you’re going to spend the night here. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to drive down to L.A. and Lizzie is going to be thrilled to see you.” Buck says each step with such conviction that he even has himself believing in this plan.

“Where are we gonna go for breakfast?” Tiffany asks, and Buck breathes a sigh of relief that she is on board with the plan or at least not putting up a fight.

He quickly thinks about her question. His father always goes to Sunday breakfast at Denny’s in the next town over with his mother after church. “Mug’s,” Buck answers definitively.

Tiffany nods her head and walks out of the kitchen saying, “I’ll get my shoes,” as Buck breathes a sigh of relief that a plan is now in action.