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Willa
I STARED DOWN AT THE table covered in my mother’s favorite ivory tablecloth with tassels along the edge. “Wow. This is a lot of food.”
My mother had made her amazing chicken pot pie that I loved. The aroma filled the house. The rectangular mahogany table—my grandmother’s originally—was piled with various ceramic dishes. Not just the pot pie, but also salad, rolls, corn on the cob, and my mom’s cheesy green bean fries.
“Oh, it’s just something I whipped up. Nothing special.”
My eyes slid to my mom as she puttered around the kitchen. She was even wearing her good red, frilly apron. Something was up. My mom was a great cook and took pride in her food, but she never went all out like this for no reason.
“Really? It’s not a special occasion?”
I folded my arms and watched her avoid eye contact with me as she reached into the pinewood cabinet by the oven. Just because her vision was limited, didn’t mean she couldn’t make her way around her kitchen or tell that I was glaring at her.
“Nope.”
I took a step closer, leaning against the entryway as she did her busy work.
“No one’s coming over to eat with us?”
“Oh right.” She paused. “I did invite someone.”
I waited, but that’s all she said.
“Are you going to tell me the name of our mysterious guest?”
My mom stopped what she was doing, which involved placing a pan on the dark blue laminate counter. She turned and finally looked at me. “No. I’m not.”
Breaking up with Hunter yesterday wrecked me. My mom knew how upset I was, yet she decided today was the perfect day to mess with her only daughter. Keeping whoever was coming over a secret.
I knew I shouldn’t be upset over Hunter. I hadn’t been with him for very long, but he was the first guy who liked me and my flaws. I was never made to feel weird or crazy for what I liked. If anything, the more I revealed about myself, the more he wanted to be with me.
His love and passion for music were inspiring. If I hadn’t met him, I never would have gone to Dislocated Tapioca’s rehearsal last week. I may not be as experienced as Hunter, but it felt good to be a part of the band—to finally sing and create music.
“Please, don’t tell me you somehow invited Hunter over, Mom.”
Her green eyes widened. “Did you overhear me yesterday on your phone?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You called him on my phone?” I rubbed my thumb and forefinger over my eyes. “Now he thinks I have to get my mom to ask him out for me.”
“Don’t be silly. He wanted to come.”
There was a knock at the door.
Mom smiled and clapped her little hands together. “Oh! Perfect timing.”
“Ugh.” I groaned and knew I was acting like a brat, but I didn’t care.
My love life was none of her business, even if she didn’t see it that way.
“You must be Hunter. I’m Sandra Jones, Willa’s mother. Please, come inside. Oh, what are those? Flowers? They’re beautiful.”
I walked past the antique china cabinet and through the dining room and peered over to the entrance. Hunter stood there in an oversized dark gray suit, a button-up white shirt, and a bluish tie with an outdated geometric pattern. He was handsome in a I’m-going-to-prom in 1998 sort of way.
My mom glanced around with a big bouquet of pink roses in her hand. “Willa, where are you? Don’t be rude.”
“I’m right here.” I took a few steps forward and felt like Hunter’s prom date. I felt my face and neck turn more and more red and blotchy by the minute.
Even with my bulky yellow sweater, which had a hole on the right elbow, swallowing up half my body and my skin turning the same color as my hair, Hunter’s gaze slid over me as if I was the meal he came to eat.
I pulled the collar of the sweater up so it covered most of my face. “It’s nice to see you again, Hunter. I see you dressed for the after-school dance.”
“Willa!” my mom said in fake horror.
I knew it was fake because she lifted the bouquet to her face to cover her smirk.
Hunter dipped his head and examined his attire. “I usually have stylists who help me dress up. I found this tie in my dad’s old things since I didn’t own one.”
“Stylists, huh? Why would you need stylists? Your taste is perfection. From your home to your slicked-back hair.”
It wasn’t fair. I was being mean but it’s so easy. The man had the ugliest taste since suburban middle-aged fathers created the dad-bod revolution.
Even with his obvious style-blindness, Hunter stood there and took my sass like a champ. And, in a sick way, I think he kind of liked it. I noticed the smile tugging at his lips as he stood in the entranceway of my mom’s home.
“I’ll go put these beautiful flowers in water. You be nice, Willa.” My mom narrowed her eyes at me.
I don’t know why she tried. After twenty-eight years of having me as a daughter you’d think she would have learned by now that I wasn’t great at being nice.
“Of course, Mom. Should I strip him before or after the meal to get him ready to be baked into the pie?”
“Willa! I said be nice,” my mom yelled from the kitchen.
Hunter chuckled and sighed. “I’ve missed you.”
The grin I had from trying my best to entertain the dinner party fell.
“I miss you, too,” I said because it was the truth.
“Then why did you end this?”
I couldn’t look at him anymore. He was like a sad puppy dressed in an ugly suit—adorable and sweet. His eyes felt heavy on my heart. They were searching and wanting, but I couldn’t give him what he desired.
“What do you want? Some fling? I know you’re used to that, but I’m not.”
I turned to head to the kitchen. There must have been something in there I could help my mother with so I didn’t have to stand here. The last thing I wanted to do was witness his pain, knowing I put it there.
He’s a grown man. It may hurt now, but in a few days, he’d be over me—and probably on to the next woman.
His fingers curled around my arm, stopping me. “Willa, I don’t want a fling. I want you.”
“No, you don’t.” I shook my head, not bothering to look at him. I didn’t have to. He was saying that to get one more lay out of me or maybe a few more. But nothing long-term.
“Don’t tell me what I want or don’t want,” he growled, taking a step closer.
My head quickly turned and I stared up at him, shocked by his demeanor.
The last time Hunter took control like this was when he pinned me down, working his cock inside of me.
Heat raced up my neck as I stared at his lips. Standing in my mom’s entranceway, while she was in the kitchen, wasn’t the best time to get turned on, but here I was with Hunter’s hand on my arm and my core buzzing to life.
“Then what do you want?” My words came out breathy.
He lowered his head and his breath slid down my neck sending my nipples on high alert.
“You. Only you. I love you, Willa.”
I gasped.
Hunter pulled away, letting my arm go and waited. But instead of opening up and telling him my truth, I threw my thumb over my shoulder and said, “I should really help my mom in the kitchen.”
