Meant To Be (The Callahans #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,24

try and feel her up. Slip my fingers inside her panties. Whatever I could get, I would take because I’m greedy like that.

Greedy for her.

My overwhelming feelings for her almost—scare me. I want her so bad, even when she does me wrong. I’ll forgive her too easily. I know I will. Maybe I need to be stronger, and focus on myself first.

Yeah. That probably won’t happen.

“She has to come to me first,” I tell Jackson, who rolls his eyes at me. “I’m not the one who did wrong here. She did.”

“Pathetic,” Jackson mutters.

“Since when do you want me to get with her? Just a few nights ago, you were saying how all women were evil bitches.”

“I said that?” Jackson sounds surprised.

“Something like it, yeah,” I say, trying to remember exactly what he said and coming up empty. “Maybe. I don’t know. You got all heated.”

“I did?”

“Definitely.”

“Huh. I was drunk Saturday. And high as fuck.” Jackson scratches the side of his head, looking confused. “I’ve not had the best luck with long-term relationships. I prefer to avoid them.”

“I get that.” I pick at the wood on the picnic table, wincing when a sliver lodges itself beneath my thumbnail. “I’ve had shit luck too.”

“Even with Ava?”

“Even with her.”

And that just fucking sucks.

I come home after practice, dirty and tired. Coach ran us ragged throughout most of it, thanks to us losing to the Badgers Friday night. It wasn’t that he was pissed. More like he was disappointed. He sounded like my dad, giving all of us a lecture at the start of practice about slipping up and making mistakes throughout the night, when he knew we were better than that. We all ended up feeling like shit when the speech was over. Then we went on the field and played even worse.

Sucked.

By the time I’m walking into the house, I’m tense, prepared for Mom to attack me with her usual drunken nonsense. When I told her about Dad taking my phone away last night, she laughed. That’s it. I really appreciate her constant support.

Yeah.

Anyway, I’m fully prepared for her to say something awful, but when I enter the kitchen, I find her—making dinner. Something she never does.

Odd.

“Hungry?” she asks, her bright gaze meeting mine. I can tell she’s been drinking. There’s a half full wineglass on the counter, so there’s the first clue. But she’s also actually cooking. Looks like spaghetti, which I know is a fairly simple meal, but come on. I can’t remember the last time she actually played homemaker and cooked a meal for us. It’s usually takeout, frozen foods, or those gourmet meal kits that always taste like absolute trash.

“I am,” I say, as I slowly set my duffel on the barstool closest to me. I watch as she buzzes around the kitchen. “What’s the occasion?”

“Can’t I make dinner for my son?” she chirps, as she goes to the oven and opens the door, peeking in. The delicious scent of garlic wafts out and my stomach growls.

This was my favorite meal when I was little. Spaghetti and garlic bread.

“I guess,” I say with a shrug. Ah, still can’t help but be a little asshole. Guess it’s in my blood. “What’s the occasion? Dad finally agree to your alimony demands or what?”

She sends me an irritated look, letting the oven door slam. “No need to be rude about it. Can’t I do something nice for you?”

“Okay.” I go to the fridge and grab a blue Gatorade out of it, shutting the door as I twist the lid off and drain half of it in one go. “Seriously. What’s up?”

“You think I always have ulterior motives?” She sounds offended.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

Sighing, she sets the potholders on the counter and rubs her forehead. Then grabs her wineglass and takes a few sips. “I had a conversation with your father today. He told me he took your phone away.”

“Yeah, I already told you about that.” She blinks at me, and I can see the cogs turning in her brain as she tries to remember. “You laughed at me when I mentioned it.”

“I did?” She rests her hand against her chest. She’s been drinking, but I guess she’s not too drunk, considering she suddenly has a conscience. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Right.” I nod, not believing her. See how she didn’t apologize for being awful either. I come by this shit naturally.

“Why didn’t you try and explain to me why he took it away?” she asks.

“I figured you would get mad too