Page 66 of Holiday Love
Because your daughter is a firecracker at hand jobs, and she just gave me the most earth-shattering orgasm, and we left evidence all over your sheets.
Shit, even my internal monologue is babbling. I swallow hard, heat crawling up the back of my neck.
“Uh…we, umm…spilled something. Just trying to clean it up before it sets in and stains.”
Jesus Christ, Teddy.
Could I sound anymoresuspicious?
Phillip’s lip twitches, not with humor. “A stain?”
I open my mouth and find it completely empty of words.
Where the hell is Helen?
I’m one second away from blacking out when I hear footsteps pounding down the stairs. Helen comes rushing into the room, moving so fast her hair flies out behind her.
“Dad! What’re you doing here?”
He practically rolls his eyes. “I live here, remember?”
“Oh! Of course.” Helen meets my worried gaze and lets out a lighthearted laugh, but the quick dart of her eyes, the sudden tension in her shoulders, tells me she’s equally freaked out.
Phillip turns and trudges back up the stairs, calling out, “Your mom wanted me to tell you breakfast is ready.”
“Perfect,” Helen chirps. “We’ll be up in a minute.”
She grabs the sheets and comforter out of my hands. With quiet efficiency she loads them into the washing machine. A tiny blue and green detergent pod follows, then she slams the door closed and sets the dial. The washer makes a beep and starts to spin, sudsy water splashing inside.
Helen’s hands are on her hips when she turns back to me. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”
“Yes.” I nod once, like she’s the general and I’m the foot soldier reporting for duty.
“You’re not going to act weird, right, Teddy? No acting weird in front of my parents. No letting them know what happened.”
“No.” I resist the urge to salute her.
She narrows her eyes at me, then exhales hard and walks away.
I stay there, stuck in place for a beat longer, watching the clothes spin. Then I gather myself and follow, repeating:
Don’t tell Helen’s parents about her suspension.
Don’t tell Helen’s parents we’re not dating.
Don’t tell Helen’s parents I came all over their sheets.
The list keeps growing.
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it all straight, how many lies I can juggle without messing up, and when that happens, it won’t be her parents I let down.
It’ll be Helen.
***
Helen
Teddy wassoweird all through breakfast. He nodded too much, talked too loud, and flinched when my dad asked him to pass the salt. Only ate three of my mom’s specialty cinnamon rolls, which is borderline criminal because those things are basically sugar-laced perfection. It was bad enough that Mom pulled me aside afterward, as we washed the dishes,and asked if everything was okay. I let out a nervous laugh and assured her it was fine.
