Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,118

to live with him. He’s been very protective. Very sweet.”

“Oh, no,” Dyma said. “Very sweet? You’re kidding. Mom. Wait. Why were you with him yesterday in the first place? When you said you were going to Portland, I figured it had to do with a job. Something with Blake. You went to visit Harlan, though. Why? After you keep telling me not to get too excited. Owen’s been here, at least. He took me to prom. I thought you were all about your future now.”

“I wasn’t …” She was still mincing garlic. “It was different.”

“Uh-huh. Here’s the thing about casual sex. It’s supposed to be casual.”

Jennifer tried to say something, but she was drawing a blank. Finally, she came up with, “I like him.”

Dyma sighed. “And you think I’m impulsive. I guess I underestimated Harlan’s wow factor. Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing, then? That you were going to see him? If it wasn’t that you were, you know, in love?”

“I just didn’t want you to think …” Jennifer had to stop. “Well, obviously, I didn’t want to share the truth.”

“Why not?” Dyma asked. “What would have been so bad about it? So you were going to Portland, and you figured you’d hook up with a really hot guy, because he was great the first time. So what? Nobody died. Whoops. I guess they did. But seriously, so what? You were both responsible and all that, right?”

Wait until I tell you I’m pregnant, Jennifer didn’t say as she mixed garlic into softened butter. She knew exactly why she hadn’t done that yet. Probably the main reason. How did you tell your daughter that you didn’t know who the father was? She was waiting until she did know, and then she’d tell Dyma. Call her a coward, but she was waiting.

Eighteen years of being boring and invisible, down the tubes. One reckless night, and here she was again.

The front door opened, and she said, “Whoops. Got to go. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

Harlan and Annabelle came in arguing. Or rather, Annabelle came in mad and near tears, and Harlan came in looking frustrated, beleaguered, and at a loss.

She was familiar with the feeling.

Annabelle said, as she stripped off her jacket, “I can’t just leave forever, Harlan! What about my team? The playoffs are in May. You’d never leave your team in the middle of the season.”

Harlan glanced at Jennifer, and she saw the words like they were written on his forehead. Help me. She said, “Wash your hands, would you, Annabelle, and then come sit up here at the bar and slice this bread for me. You can spread garlic butter on the slices, too. Here.” She grabbed a cutting board and plunked the bread down along with the bowl of garlic butter and a bread knife. “Want a beer, Harlan?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I do.” He looked weary, which she’d bet happened just about never, but he washed his hands, too, then got himself up on a stool next to Annabelle.

She’d found out a long time ago that there wasn’t much teenage angst you couldn’t make better in a kitchen. Time to see if it worked here. She got him a beer and the opener, turned on the oven, put the teakettle on to boil, wished for a beer herself, and said, “So tell me.”

Annabelle said, “I get that Harlan wants to help. I do. But I’ve got letters of interest from all these schools, and it’s my junior year. It’s my chance.”

“You had a junior season of volleyball already,” Harlan said. “And you can have a senior season of both sports, too. Besides, I told you, you’ve already got a ride to college. From me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to do it on … on your back,” Annabelle said. “I want to make it myself, and I can. Plus, there are my classes. You can’t just switch schools in April. It’s not third grade. I’m taking two AP classes, and the exams are in May. How’m I going to handle those? Do I just wash out this whole year of work?”

Harlan said, “I … we’ll figure it out,” and Annabelle said, “No, we won’t, because you can’t do that.” Sounding agitated. Sounding nearly frantic.

“That’s a tough one,” Jennifer said, thinking, Let’s lower the temperature here. “You wanted to do your senior year in Portland, though, right?”

“Yes,” Annabelle said. “But I wasn’t thinking now. And I get it that it’d suck to be here. If they