Kissing the Player - Maggie Dallen Page 0,15
came on that I loved and my eyes widened. “Let’s dance.”
He looked around with arched brows. “But…no one is dancing.”
I leaned over and wrapped my arms around his neck so I could talk directly in his ear. “Come on, Jax. Live a little.”
His arms tightened around my waist and he held me even closer. “You are something else, did you know that?”
I pulled back just far enough that I could look in his eyes. “I do. And you’re cute. Did you know that?”
The male satisfaction in his eyes was undeniable, the curve of his lips smug and sexy. “You think so?”
I looked up at him through my lashes the way I’d been practicing in front of the mirror. “I know so.” I bit my lip with a coy expression. “You know what else I know?”
“What?”
“You and me? We are going to have so much fun.”
4
Rose
Not just any mom would laugh in her daughter’s face.
Mine?
She was currently bent over at the waist, having a good chuckle at my expense.
I dipped my peppermint teabag into my mug of hot water as I waited for her to stop.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said, without a hint of apology. “But an acting coach? That’s out of the question.”
And this was what I got for listening to Hannah, a girl who wouldn’t know a dysfunctional home life if it reached up and slapped her in the face.
I stifled a sigh as my mom continued unloading the bag of takeout. Steamed chicken for her, chicken and broccoli light on the sauce for me, and no rice for either of us.
Carbs were a no-no in this household, and quite frankly fighting for the right to eat rice just didn’t rank on the priorities list these days. I had to choose my battles carefully, and rice?
That was not the hill I planned to die on.
But my acting career, on the other hand…
“Mom, you always said I should do whatever it takes to give me an edge—”
“I meant getting facials, sweetheart, or investing in braces when you were in junior high.” She reached over and patted my chin. “And I was right. You’ve got flawless skin and a smile to die for.”
I was so not smiling now, not that she noticed. “Sweetie, go get dressed for dinner. Steven will be over any minute.”
Steven was the boyfriend du jour. I looked down at the leggings and oversized sweater I’d changed into when I’d gotten home from school. “What do you want me to wear?”
She waved a hand. “Anything that doesn’t say hobo.”
I got up out of my seat even though my stomach was growling and begging me to dive into the steaming container. But if I wanted my mom to come around, I had to play her games. And that meant changing into something nice to lounge around in, as though this Steven guy cared about me and my wardrobe.
In my mother’s mind, clothes made the woman. Even loungewear ought to make a statement.
I paused in the doorway that led to my room, debating my tactics. If I let it go, there might never be another good moment to ask her. She was in a good mood right now—no doubt because Steven was coming over.
She was always happiest in the early stages of a new relationship. The honeymoon phase. Ironically, by the time the actual honeymoons came around she was typically a ball of stress trying to be the perfect trophy wife.
She might be annoyed if I pestered her now, or she could say yes just to shut me up so she could focus on her date tonight. It was a toss-up, but I’d take my chances. “You know, if I had an acting coach, I really think I have a good chance of winning the scholarship, and then—”
Her loud sigh cut me off, and the way she slumped forward told me straight away that I’d misjudged. Her good mood was fading fast and morphing into the all too familiar exasperation. “Rose, I’m not made of money, you know. I need to think long and hard about where I spend my money, and I’m not going to throw it away on a lost cause.”
Her voice held a note of toxic acidity, and it was all I could do not to strike back—remind her that it wasn’t her money. A large chunk of it was my money, thanks to the hefty child support my father paid every month.
I swallowed down the anger. It would only make things worse, and besides—she was already