Page 12 of Wild Curves
“Yeah, he’s…”
“And those muscles…” Mom inhales sharply. “The tattoos. I bet he’s rough in bed.”
“Mom!” My cheeks instantly heat, and Mom cackles.
Arlo and Dad turn to stare at us.
“We’re just having some girl talk,” Mom says, wiggling her eyebrows at Arlo in what I assume she thinks is a sexy way but instead looks like caterpillars are dancing on her forehead.
I’m so horrified I wish the ground would swallow me up. But Arlo just laughs and winks at Mom.
“Did she tell you where I’ve got my secret tattoo?”
Mom’s mouth drops open and she turns to me, deliciously scandalized.
“She did not.”
I’ve got no idea what Arlo’s talking about, but he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Luckily at that moment, we arrive at our table. I note Arlo’s reserved the best spot in the house.
Arlo holds the chair out for Mom, winning her over even more.
“You in town for long?” he asks once we’re seated.
“Just for the weekend.”
“Perfect. What do you want us to show you while you’re here?”
I nudge Arlo under the table, because he’s not showing them anything. “What a shame you have to work, honey.”
He fixes his gaze on me. “I don’t. I got the weekend off.”
“That’s so good of you,” Mom gushes, while I stare daggers at him. He keeps looking straight ahead, talking to Mom about the places of interest they might want to visit.
“I didn’t know you had the weekend off,” I say tightly.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss spending the weekend with your parents.”
“That’s so sweet of you,” Mom gushes, while I kick him under the table.
He was supposed to have a quick meeting with them. Let them know he existed before spending the weekend conveniently working. But for some reason Arlo wants to taunt me. The problem is, I’m kind of enjoying having him around.
6
ARLO
It’s late in the afternoon by the time we finish out leisurely lunch. Leisurely because I insisted on drawing it out by getting Maggie’s father the tasting menu from the brewery. We’ve talked over the finer points of ale versus bitters and I’ve shown him around the bar, focusing on the vintage bikes we’ve got on display. Turns out her dad’s an enthusiast and an easy man to talk to. He’s got the same softly spoken mannerisms as his daughter and the same quick intelligence.
We’ve come back across the road so I can show Jim the bikes on display, and Debbie’s voice carries from where the girls are sitting at the bar.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with wearing a chef’s hat, but it will give you split ends. It’s not good for the hair to be squashed down all the time.”
While I love chatting bikes with Jim, it’s time to rescue my girl. No wonder she doesn’t talk much with her mother always at her.
“Where are you staying?” I ask, not caring that I cut into Debbie’s tirade.
Debbie looks at me and back at her daughter. “We’re staying with you, aren’t we MeMe? I didn’t book a hotel.” She turns in her seat and calls across the room. “Jim, did you book a hotel?”
Jim shakes his head and goes back to studying the pictures hanging on the wall.
