Page 122 of Pucking Matt
“No,” she says, leaning forward to look at my face. “There are so many kinds of girlfriends out there, so pick your type.”
I stare at the ceiling and consider what that entails. I guess she’s not wrong.
Amber says, “Do I need to sit in your lap, pet your hair, keep my hands on you? Or do I need to stay in my own chair and nod respectfully at everything she says?”
I chuckle. “You’re thinking way too much about this.”
She reaches for my cheek with the bandage, and I’m thrown off by her touch. Her palm is sweaty as her face twitches. She went from nervous to strained. “Do you see how uncomfortable this is?”
I grab her hand as she pulls away, not caring about the sweat. It’s actually cute to know I have her this worked up and overthinking about meeting my mom.
“What kind of girlfriend are you, Amber?” I ask, playing with her fingers. “I think you would be the type to only touch me if you mean it. No public PDA. You would save that for when we’re in private, and even then, you would still not fully give yourself easily. I think you would let me hold your hand in public. And only if you were in love could I kiss you with my tongue in front of anyone. I don’t see you sitting on my lap, especially in front of my mom and her husband. If you want to sell it, we keep eye contact.” I reach for her chin. “You sell it with your eyes and body language.” I don’t touch her lips, but I hover my thumb above them. “We don’t even have to kiss if you can sell it with your body language. So, to answer your question, just pretend to be into me.”
She grabs the hand I have on her face and says, “And what about my personality? I’m type A, and some people hate that.”
“I like it,” I say, shrugging.
“Yeah, but I do have to put on an act for your mom. Do I have to pretend to…I don’t know?”
I shake my head. “You really want her approval?”
Amber nods. “That’s why I’m here, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, sighing. I pinch my eyes closed, frustrated with the first thought that comes to my mind. But she’s asking me, so I have to say it. I exhale. “Be a bitch.”
“What?”
I nod, regretting that I have to say this. “Be a bitch. Hold yourself high. She has changed since the divorce, and lately, she only cares about materialistic things. She doesn’t come to my games. She couldn’t care less about hockey. Hell, I’m surprised I’m even invited to this elopement. Sometimes I hear my mom in her voice, but her priorities have changed since I’ve been out of the house. She’s had a few years of freedom and turned into someone I barely recognize. So, if you really want her approval to sell it, or whatever, just be a bitch.”
Amber looks deflated. “Do you want me to be a bitch?”
Good question.
“If you’re timid and scared of her, she’ll eat you for lunch. If she says anything off the walls, I’m not backing you up. It’s her big day today, so whatever she says goes.”
“And that’s the kind of boyfriend you would be?” she asks, astounded.
“On her wedding day, yes,” I say, annoyed that I have to admit this shit out loud. “Any other day, no.”
“So, I should expect to be put down?” she asks.
I shrug, not wanting to work her up. “You’re going to be a lawyer, right?”
Amber’s cold gaze bores into me.
I smirk. “I don’t bring girls home, Amby. So, yeah, she might make some comments. She might not. I don’t know what mood she’ll be in.”
“She should be in a good mood, and you’re just trying to scare me.”
“Is it working?” I ask.
She shoves me. “If you’re lying to me, I promise that by the end of the night, you will not be sleeping in this bed.”
I look into her brown eyes and smirk. I always love a challenge. I say, “Why do you think I asked you to be here this weekend out of everyone I know?”
“Please,” she rolls her eyes, huffing. “Michelle should be here, not me.”
“My mom wouldn’t approve, and I would never hear the end of it.”
