He paused, the inner conflict so strong it was lining his face.
“Come on,” I insisted, grabbing his hand and giving it a tug. “My dad’s the best cook ever and you just met my mom. Don’t make me go in there alone.”
Exhaling, his eyes shifted to mine. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, positively, impossibly, certainly,”—I peaked a brow at him— “Dare me to continue?”
“Make it stop,” he said, clamping his hands over his ears.
“Come on, Drama-saurus Rex,” I said, waving goodbye to Rambo, who was happy as a clam gnawing his bone, and lead Jude up the stone walkway.
“Another weak weak attempt at humor, Luce,” he said, winding his fingers through mine. “So weak.”
“Forgive me, oh hallowed god of comedy.”
Nudging me as we walked up the steps, he grinned that impish grin that made me feel my heartbeat in my mouth. “Good to see you’re ready to admit I am a god.”
“Oh, god,” I sighed, shaking my head.
“Exactly,” he said, all matter-of-fact. “Just the way you should refer to me.”
Shooting him the most unamused look I could manage, I shoved the screen open. The inevitable would only wait so long.
Sitting down to a family dinner was low on my list of priorities, especially considering dinners as of late had been punctuated by silence and even more silence. Unless you count the looks mom fired like a ping-pong ball between dad and me. But sitting down to a family dinner with Jude, a guy I knew very little about other than I was dangerously captivated by him and that, at least on the surface, he was a guy no right-minded parent would want their teenage daughter spending their time with, this dinner, I was quite certain, had the potential to be epic.
An epic disaster.
“Something smells damn good,” Jude said to me, sniffing the air that was thick with the scents of lemon and butter.
His words weren’t only heard by me, as attested by both my parents’ heads snapping back to stare at him.
Throwing a double punch, my mom’s brows peaked at the same time her lips pursed. My dad smiled. You see, where mom saw the bad in everything, the damn in life, dad saw the good. Or at least used to and still did from seven to nine p.m.
Jude chose to address mom first. “Sorry for the language, ma’am.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was brought up in a house where cursing was like a second language. It comes so naturally I don’t even realize it. But I promise to attempt to filter myself when I’m in your house.”
Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms. “I’ve always found profanity to be a substitute for intelligence.”
My mouth fell open. Even this, for my mom, was crossing into a new level of cruel.
Jude’s expression didn’t change. “In my case, I’d have to agree with you. My report cards have been the things of parents’ nightmares.”
“And from the smirk on your face, I deduce you’re proud of that?”
And now, to join my mouth falling to the ground, I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Whatever was hidden between the layers that made up a person like Jude, no secret, crime, or offense deserved this degree of nastiness.
Glancing over at Jude, I found his face just as calm as if he was om’ing his way through yoga.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“No as in you are proud or are not proud?”
Sliding his hand from mine, Jude looked her straight on and answered, “No as in I’m proud of very little in my life.”
Mom didn’t have an immediate response for this. Even in her paint it black world, honesty of this sort gave her pause. “Sounds like precisely the kind of over achiever I want spending time with my daughter.”
“Mom,” I hissed in my warning voice. Not that it affected her in any way.
“That’s what I told her,” Jude said, “but the thing I’ve learned about Lucy in the few hours we’ve spent together is that she’s the kind of person who doesn’t let anyone make up her mind for her.”
The cell phone mom kept within an arm’s length at all times buzzed to attention. For the first time in who knows how long, she clicked ignore. “And what else have you learned about Lucy? Since you’re the expert.”
Taking my hand back in his, he slid me a smile. “She’s smart, except when she isn’t.”
Buzzing again, mom lifted the phone to her ear. “What a revelation,” she said to Jude before rising and marching out of the kitchen, offering the party on the other end a clipped greeting followed by a three second long sigh.
“Sorry,” I mouthed to him.
“For what?” he said in a low voice. “You can’t control your mom’s actions any more than she can yours.”
“My,” I said, tugging him forward. One parent down, one more to go. “Aren’t we insightful today?”
“That’s a term that no one’s ever used to describe me before,” he said, tugging at his beanie so it sat just above his eyebrows. For all the long sleeves, stocking caps, and ass-kicking boots he wore, I was beginning to wonder if he had the circulation of an eighty year old woman.
“Dad,” I called, tapping his shoulder.
He didn’t look away from his pots and pans sizzling and boiling on the gas range. “Hello, my Lucy in the sky—”
“This is Jude,” I interrupted, not wanting Jude to see me even more as the little girl I already felt in his presence.