Page 77 of Ancient History

One sock. And…

And…

Where was my other sock?

I swept the phone light across the floor searching for the last piece of my wardrobe. I had a thing for funky, fun socks. These socks had repeated images of Mount Rushmore with all four presidents wearing sunglasses. They couldn’t be hard to find.

Time was ticking. I didn’t want Hutch to wake up; he needed his beauty sleep. I definitely didn’t want his dad to find me either. That would’ve been awkward.

After another moment of frantic searching the corners of his room, I gave up. I went barefoot with my left shoe, but I would survive.

I gazed on Hutch for one more slightly creepy moment before I clicked his door shut.

I crept down the stairs, taking each step with utmost care. This was an old house. Everything creaked. If Hutch really got to have his way last night, he would’ve humped the bed so hard it crashed into the living room.

I tensed my body as one foot, then the other, slinked to the bottom of the stairs. I was doing full on cat burglar moves, like a mime dance. I took one step into the kitchen to use the side door, which I thought would be more secretive.

“Morning.” Mr. Hawkins stared at me before shoveling a spoonful of Froot Loops into his mouth.

“Hi,” I said, trained by society to be friendly no matter how awkward the circumstances. “I…think I’m lost?”

“Are you looking for the way back to my son’s room?” His eyes were direct spears holding me in place.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I take it you’re not a burglar.”

“Heavens no. Don’t believe such happenstance.”

Why did I start talking British when I got nervous?

I thought he was going to rip me in half. With his rugged face and bald head, he gave off Bruce Willis vibes. But then his rigid glare broke into a squinty-eyed smile and a deep chortle. I became a tad relaxed, still on alert.

“Just so I’m clear, you’re laughing because you’ve decided not to kill me, yes?”

That made him laugh more, grizzled cheeks bunching up like he was a child. “The name’s Bud.”

He held out his hand. Was it normal to shake hands with the father of the man I just slept with? My innate politeness won out.

I took his hand and was surprised by his firm handshake. “Lovely to make your acquaintance. I mean, nice to meet you.”

I sat at the table as instructed. “I’m sorry, sir. Hutch snuck me into his room last night. But nothing happened.”

I didn’t want this nice man to think I was a slut right off the bat.

“Nothing happened? Well, that sounds boring. Do you want something to eat? We’ve got toast, bagels, cereal.”

The colorful Froot Loops caught my eye and made my stomach rumble. CJ’s Pizza felt like a million years ago…and we definitely burned it off in his bedroom.

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

“I’ll get you a bowl, so long as you keep this a secret. My son would kill me if he caught me eating sugary cereal. He has me on a strict breakfast of flavorless heart-healthy shit.”

I smiled despite myself. There was something cute about Hutch being protective over his dad. Bud opened a cabinet next to the fridge and handed me a bowl that matched his.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Bud.”

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