Charming the Firefighter. Beth Andrews
you talk like a normal person instead of a librarian? Curious. Anxious. And no one says declarative. Or inquiry.” He frowned and scratched his cheek. “Except for judges and lawyers and stuff.”
“Thank you for that.” She picked up her wineglass only to discover it was empty. Well, that would just not do. She leaned forward, the edge of the table digging into her sternum, the tips of her fingers grazing the bottle of chardonnay. Grunting softly, she stretched and snagged the bottle by its neck. Dragged it toward her, then waved it in her son’s general direction. “It is so enjoyable to be critiqued on my vocabulary by a child who calls everyone dude—including his mother—and uses the word duh as an answer to most questions, as well as a pithy response to any conversation someone beyond the age of twenty might attempt to have with him. Next you can educate me on the finer points of eye-rolling, sarcastic comebacks and a general disrespect for authority. It’ll be such a good time.”
He went still. Studied her. “You’re acting weird,” he finally said. “I mean, you know, more than usual.”
Lovely.
She started to roll her eyes, but then realized she couldn’t very well lecture him on the disrespectful gesture if she did it herself, so she pretended to find the ceiling extremely fascinating.
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling no desire to assure him when, in all honesty, he didn’t sound worried, but more...put out. Then again, when was he ever concerned about her feelings?
She poured wine into her glass, the bottle significantly lighter than when she’d opened it not thirty minutes ago. How had that happened? She’d only had a glass...or had it been two? She gave an inner shrug. And took a healthy sip.
Having lost her appetite knowing she’d be dining alone, she’d opted to catch up on some of the work she’d brought home. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to concentrate, not with her out-of-control emotions clouding her thoughts. Wine was a surprisingly effective remedy for what ailed her.
Even if the numbers on the laptop screen were now a bit blurry.
It was an interesting discovery, and one she could have made years earlier had she ever allowed herself to have more than one glass of the wonderful stuff.
“Mom!”
She jumped and, horror of horrors, had wine sloshing over the edge of the glass and onto her hand. She sucked it from her fingers. “Why are you yelling?”
Andrew gaped at her as if she were the one who’d lost her ever-loving mind. “Because I’ve asked you the same question twice and you haven’t answered me.”
She blinked at him. Why was he so upset? Teenagers. Lord only knew what got into their heads sometimes. “I already told you, I’m fine.”
Better than fine. She actually felt...good. Light and floaty and sort of free. As if all her worries had simply drifted away. Although oddly enough, for all her floaty feelings, her eyelids were becoming heavy. It was increasingly difficult to keep them open.
Andrew’s narrow gaze flicked from her, to the glass, to the bottle. “Are you...are you drunk?”
She whipped her head around and leaped to her feet, but had to grab the table so she didn’t topple over. Just a rush of dizziness from standing too quickly, she assured herself. “Of course not. I do not get drunk. I have never been drunk. Not once in my life.”
And why she was speaking so slowly and carefully, she had no idea.
Andrew smirked—oh, how she hated it when the boy smirked. “Whatever.”
She bristled and straightened, lifting her hands from the table as if to prove to both of them she was not only capable of maintaining her balance, but sober enough to do so. “Andrew, you know how I feel about drinking to excess.”
“I know how you feel about everything. Every. Damn. Thing.”
What was wrong with that? She made her expectations clear, let him know her thoughts, views and opinions on the matters that were important. Her views on drinking—especially underage drinking—smoking, drug use and sex may be conservative, but there was nothing wrong with making good, smart, responsible choices and respecting your body.
“Why all this concern about my sobriety?” A thought occurred to her. “Will there be drinking at this picnic?”
“You caught me,” he said as he flipped his sweatshirt from one shoulder to the other. “I’m just trying to divert attention from the fact that Luke’s mom bought a keg so her son and all his friends can get wasted. Too bad she drew the line at hiring those strippers we asked for.”
“The scary part is I’m not entirely sure you’re joking.”
His answer to that was, yes, one of his impressive eye rolls. “Keys?”
“On the hook by the door.” Where they always were. Well, where she always put them. He, on the other hand, seemed to have a hard time remembering to hang them up after using her car. One time she even found them in the freezer.
She prayed he remembered to brush his teeth every day. No need to worry about him using deodorant, though. Or aftershave. The child splashed the potent stuff on like it was some sort of muscle-building, beard-growing, girl-catching elixir.
The room spun. Which was incredibly strange as she hadn’t actually moved. Maybe wine on an empty stomach hadn’t been the best idea. Lesson learned.
She’d always excelled at learning her lessons. And not making the same mistakes twice.
While Andrew texted someone, she pulled the raw turkey burgers from the fridge, then crossed to the double doors and stepped out onto the patio. Inhaled the warm air. There. That helped. A little food, a little fresh air and her head would clear right up.
She set down the plate, then knelt and turned on the gas to the grill.
“Bye,” Andrew said, stepping outside.
“Hold it.” She straightened—too fast, it turned out, as the world pitched and spun. “Were you born in a barn?”
“Seeing as how you were there, you’d know that better than me.”
“Ha-ha. Close the door.”
While he did, she shut her eyes for a moment, got her bearings. “I don’t recall you asking for permission to take the car.”
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said, jiggling the keys, “since you’re not going anywhere.”
Irritation pricked her, dimming some of her previous glow. She couldn’t fault his logic—after all, she had nowhere to go. But did he have to rub it in? Her foot began tapping in agitation as if of its own accord. She wasn’t jealous of him. That would be ridiculous. She was thrilled beyond measure he’d made friends. That he didn’t have her shyness, her awkwardness around others. And it wasn’t as if she was a complete social pariah. There were a few women in the office she chatted with. Sometimes.
When they initiated the conversation.
“I’m not going anywhere, but seeing as how it’s my car, it’d be nice if you asked first.”
She winced. That had sounded close to...well...whiny was the only way to describe it. She pulled her shoulders back. She wasn’t a whiner. She was a doer.
A doer with absolutely no social life whatsoever.
How wonderful.
Andrew shifted, impatient to be gone. “Can I take the car?”
She wanted to say no, but that would be petty. Besides, if he didn’t drive himself, she’d have to take him. And she was seriously considering a third glass of wine, since what she’d had already was making her feel...not quite happy...but certainly no worse for the wear. “I suppose.”
He brushed past her. “See