A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,52
she thought about it. “Honey, don’t worry about people who talk behind your back. They’re behind you for a reason.”
Auri’s mouth fell open. “That’s really good. Did you just make that up?”
“No. Fortune cookie.”
“Ah.”
“Honey—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” She held up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, Mom. According to the girls at school, Quincy’s a major hottie.”
She couldn’t argue that. “Want to talk about it?”
“About you and Quincy?” she asked with a snort.
Sun pulled into the drop-off area and waited to move forward. “I know how it looked, hon.”
“It looked to me like you have no room to talk,” Auri said, a satisfied smirk on her face.
That got Sun’s attention. “Really? In what way?”
“You had a boy in your room. I had a boy in my room. I say let bygones be bygones.”
Sun turned to wave at Principal Jacobs, mostly to squelch a wayward grin. “I’d like to start by saying you have a very valid argument.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Thank you.”
“I’d like to say that,” she corrected, “but I won’t, because you don’t.”
Auri frowned. “Why? It seems logical to me. And Cruz and I weren’t even naked.”
Sun pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, first off, nothing happened.”
“Nay-ked,” she reiterated.
“I know.” Sun lost points in that area, but she needed Auri to know the truth. She eased forward and was about to piss off a lot of other parents, because she had no intention of leaving Auri with the idea that she and Quincy had gone all the way.
Then again, that had been the original plan. She cringed at the thought. She risked the friendship of the most important man in her life besides her dad. She wasn’t including Levi since he wasn’t actually in her life. But seriously, how stupid could she be? “I just want to make sure you understand nothing happened.”
“Exactly! We’re on the same page here, Mom. I can get out here.”
“Oh, no you don’t.”
“So close,” Auri said, collapsing dramatically against the door.
“Now that you think you’re old enough to have boys in your room—”
“One boy, Mom. One.”
“—I think we need to have the talk.”
“We had the talk, Mom. We’ve actually had the talk several times throughout my life and it never gets any less uncomfortable.”
“This one is different.” The kid had a boy in her room. She had to know there’d be consequences.
Judging by her daughter’s expression, panic was starting to take over. “You say that every time!”
“Since we’re on the subject of you getting pregnant—”
“What?” Auri screeched. “We weren’t on any subject.”
“—I’ve realized I’ve been putting off this conversation long enough.”
Auri paled. “You really haven’t.”
“I feel now is the right time.”
“It really isn’t.”
“We need to discuss the devil’s doorbell.”
Auri paused and tilted her head to the side. “The devil’s what?”
“You know. The button of bliss. The pushpin of pleasure.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Satan’s socket.”
“I’m going to need so much therapy.”
“Lucifer’s little darling.”
“Have you been reading those pamphlets again?”
“Now, for future reference, you can ring the devil’s doorbell any time you want to, sweetheart.”
“I could run away and join the circus.”
“You, and only you.”
“Or go into witness protection.”
“Cruz De los Santos is not allowed to ring that bell.”
She put her hands over her ears. “Mom, I can’t hear this.”
“Your button of bliss is off-limits to him and any boy until you’re thirty-five.”
Auri dropped her hands and glared at her. “There should be a test to find out how unstable your parents are.”
“Hey. I’m totally stable.”
“So is nitroglycerin until you shake it.”
Someone honked behind her, so she turned on her emergency lights.
Auri’s head fell into her hand. The final nail in the coffin.
“And for the record,” Sun said, planting an angelic smile on her little kumquat, “the next time you have a boy in your room, I’m going to put bars on the windows. Got it?”
“Got it.” She glanced out the window, her demeanor changing like the gentle shift of a breeze. “Is he okay, Mom?”
“I don’t know. That wine did a number on both of us.”
“Levi,” she said.
Ah. Sun rubbed her daughter’s shoulder. “He’s fine. He’s Levi.”
“Cross your cold and bitter heart?”
“Cross my cold and bitter heart.”
Auri leaned over and hugged her, taking Sun by surprise considering the doorbell thing. Then she hurried out without another word.
It would have ended there, except in her haste, she forgot her backpack.
Sun grabbed it and hurried after her.
“Sweetheart,” she called, weaving through cliques of kids, following the auburn glow of her daughter’s carrot top. “Aurora,” she said a little louder.