Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,50

notice my pajamas, my knotty hair, or my glasses. No, that smile ignored all of that and only focused on me. No hesitation.

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding just as cheerful as Mom. “I just wanted to stop by for a little bit and keep you company. If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Wallace. I don’t want to intrude on a holiday.”

Mom seemed charmed by him, though, his random appearance immediately welcome. “That’s perfectly fine. Come on in. We were just getting breakfast set. What did you say your name was again?”

“Walsh,” he answered, readily offering his hand. “Walsh Hunter.”

“A friend from school?”

Walsh took great pleasure in speaking his next words; that much was obvious from his expression. “Sophie’s boyfriend, actually.”

Am I having a heart attack?

Dad spoke then, right behind me. “I thought you were dating that other bonehead.”

Maybe it’s a stroke.

“Steve?” Mom suggested unhelpfully.

“I thought it was Silvan.”

I’m definitely dying.

My tongue started to work again, but the words sounded far away. “His name is Scott, and we broke up.”

“Good.” Dad shook his head. “I never liked him.”

Unsurprisingly, Walsh chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a stick in the mud.”

Okay, ha-ha, that was enough communal conversation. That was enough of Walsh being around my parents, too. I wasn’t going to give him any chance to see more of their weirdness, to hate them as much as Scott had.

I grabbed for Walsh’s wrist. “We’re going upstairs.”

But Dad wasn’t sold, holding a hand out. “Now hold on, young lady. You haven’t eaten your breakfast, and I think we need to know a bit more about Walsh here before we let him go up to your room.”

Well, you see, when Scott dumped me, Walsh told everyone that we had a secret love affair. Funny story, now we’re pretending to be dating because Walsh was sticking up for me, but I’m using it to my advantage so I can dig up information for my article, which will save my writing career. Ta-da!

Walsh interlocked his fingers with mine, giving them a warm squeeze. “You definitely need to eat breakfast,” he told me, sounding like a concerned boyfriend. Points to him. “It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.”

If my brain hadn’t been short-circuiting, I might’ve rolled my eyes.

Even though my nerves were chewing apart my insides, I forced myself to sit back down at my plate of food and resume cutting up my waffle like everything was fine. Like Walsh Hunter wasn’t in my house, wasn’t bearing witness to my horrific hairdo, and wasn’t sitting at the seat beside me. Dad must’ve taken care of his plate. “Can I get you anything, Walsh? Would you like a waffle?”

Walsh pressed his hands on the countertop, and I just stared at them. For some reason, I couldn’t help but wonder what they looked like holding a pencil, poising to write. “I actually just ate. But…do I smell coffee?”

“Would you like milk or sugar?” Mom asked, happy to serve our guest.

The whole exchange was bizarre to witness. Aliens. I blamed aliens.

I was really on a different planet. Or in an entirely different universe. With Scott, this situation had been completely different. Mom and Dad hadn’t put on their best behavior for Scott. I’d brought him home the first time, and they just continued to argue over me trying to make introductions. “They seem…crazy,” he’d told me, right in front of them. They hadn’t even noticed.

I pushed a forkful of my waffle into my mouth, and it was slightly soggy from sitting in the syrup.

“How long have you two been dating?” Mom asked, standing by the counter opposite of us. She seemed almost enchanted by Walsh’s appearance, at the idea of her daughter dating someone who didn’t look at them with judgey eyes.

Dad set a coffee mug in front of Walsh, careful not to slosh any liquid out since he’d filled it to the brim.

Walsh took a long sip, and it took me a moment to realize it was on purpose. He wanted me to answer. “Oh, uh, about two weeks.”

That earned me angry eyes from Dad. “You never mentioned him, Sophia.”

“I know. My bad.”

“She’s been so busy,” Walsh said, reaching over and patting my arm. “When she’s not with me, she’s so busy with her article, aren’t you?”

“Article?” Mom glanced to me. “What article?”

I sliced the side of my fork through my waffle, tearing a small piece from the circle. Even though everyone’s eyes were on me, I didn’t want to meet any of them. I didn’t want anything to