Beth Andrews – Charming the Firefighter (страница 3)

“Really?” she asked, crossing her arms. “No apology?”

He turned, walked to the weight bench in the corner, laid back, and started pumping a barbell up and down. Up and down.

Stubbornness was just one of the new, and many, unattractive traits he’d acquired and perfected since puberty hit him full force.

She stepped into his room and wrinkled her nose at the scents of stale sweat, dirty socks and only God knew what else. Maybe it was a good thing he kept the door shut all the time.

Holding her breath, she crossed to the window, stepping over a pile of clothes she knew darn well had been clean and neatly folded two hours ago. Mainly because she was the one who’d washed, dried and folded them.

She opened the window. “I guess you’ve had enough of your phone privileges then.”

Privileges he’d just gotten back after she’d shut off his account for the past two weeks thanks to his smart mouth.

Some days she felt more like a parole officer than a mother.

He set the weights on the support bar with a clang, his face flushed, either from exertion or irritation. Heaven forbid he actually be embarrassed or ashamed of his behavior.

“Sorry,” he muttered, already moving on to bicep curls, his elbow resting on his knee as he pumped the weight with slow, deliberate movements.

She smiled. A small, forgiving smile, though his apology was halfhearted at best. Forgive and forget—her life motto.

“It’s okay,” she said, but he kept his head lowered, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, lips moving as he counted his repetitions.

He’d changed, and more than his personality. The raging hormones she blamed for his bad attitude had also broadened his shoulders, deepened his voice. His face, a blending of her features and those of his father’s, had lost its roundness. His hair was darker—nearer in shade to her own than the sandy-blond he’d had as a grade-schooler—and badly in need of a trim. He was a tall, darkly handsome, soon-to-be-cut young man.

God save her when the teenage girls started coming around in earnest.

She picked up three clean shirts and carried them to his closet. “Why don’t you jump in the shower?” she asked, shaking the wrinkles out of the first shirt before placing it on a hanger. “I’m about to put the burgers on the grill so we can eat in half an hour.”

“I’m not hungry,” Andrew said, sweat sliding from his hairline down the side of his forehead.

Yuck.

She hung the shirt, then slid a hanger into the next one. “You’re always hungry.”

It was the main reason her grocery bill surpassed the gas, electric and cable bills combined.

With a shrug she had no idea how to take, he switched hands and started doing reps on that side. “I’m eating at Luke’s.”

She blinked. Blinked again. Kept the smile on her face. “Why would you eat at Luke’s?”

“He invited me over. His family’s having a picnic.”

“So are we. I made all your favorites. Taco dip and potato salad.” Both with light versions of sour cream and mayonnaise instead of nonfat. For him. Because he claimed the nonfat tasted like crap, which wasn’t even true. “And brownie sundaes for dessert. With whipped cream. I even got bacon for the burgers.”

He snorted. “Turkey bacon. Tastes like shit,” he said under his breath.

But loud enough that she could hear.

She pretended otherwise. “Real bacon.” She’d read it was better to use that instead of turkey bacon, which often had more additives.

He eyed her suspiciously, his blue eyes—his father’s eyes—narrowed. “Real burgers? From a cow?”

Full-fat beef burgers? Did he have any idea how bad all that grease was for him? “Turkey burgers. They taste just as good.”

“No. They don’t.” He switched sides again, didn’t bother looking at her. “Like I said, I’ll eat at Luke’s.”

“But I want you to eat here. With me.”

“No, thanks.”

She squeezed the shirt in her hand. She’d made a trip into Pittsburgh yesterday to get all the ingredients she needed to have a special picnic for the two of them. A trip that had taken all afternoon, which meant she’d had to stay up late to finish the laundry and housework, not to mention that profit-and-loss statement for work. She’d spent the morning cooking and baking, wanting nothing more than to enjoy a leisurely, pleasant Labor Day. With her son.

And all he had to say to her was no, thanks?

She didn’t think so.

“You’re eating here,” she told him, her tone brooking no argument—though that never stopped him before. “With me. We’ll eat, play some board games or maybe watch a movie. It’ll be fun.”

It would be like it used to between them. Before he started hating her.

His expression darkening, he stood. Let the weight drop to the floor. “I want to go to Luke’s.”

“I understand that,” she said, letting him know she heard him. That she was taking his wants and needs into account. Just as the therapist she and her ex-husband, Todd, had seen for marriage counseling had taught her. Not that it had worked out so well—they’d separated a month after their last session—but at least she’d learned a few valuable tools for dealing with conflict.

“After we eat,” she told Andrew, “you can go over there for an hour or so.”

See? That was completely reasonable. Completely rational and, if she did say so herself, a very nice compromise.

“Everyone will be gone by then!”

So much for trying to meet him halfway. No good deed and all that.

“I want to spend the day with you,” she said. “We hardly ever see each other.”

“That’s not my fault. You’re the one always working.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? It’s not as if I spend every waking moment at the office. I’d say the bigger issue is that we’re on opposite schedules.” When he wasn’t bussing tables at Wix’s Diner in the evenings, he was hanging out with his new friends.

Andrew tossed up his hands. “But I already told Luke I’d come over.”

“I guess the next time you’ll wait until you have permission before you make plans. Especially on a holiday.”

“It’s not Christmas,” he grumbled.

He stared at her, all resentment and anger. The dark stubble covering his sharp jaw and chin mocked her, sparse though it was. A visible reminder that he wasn’t a little boy anymore.

That he no longer needed her or, it seemed, wanted her around. Ever.

When she looked at him, love swamped her. Threatened to drown her.

And he looked right through her as if he wished she were already gone.

His phone buzzed. He grabbed it from the bed and checked the screen. “It’s Luke. He says I can come over whenever I want.”

Luke Sapko was a good kid. A nice kid.

Actually, he was nicer—and certainly more polite—to her than her own son was. The thought left her feeling guilty and inadequate.

Maybe she was too hard on Andrew. Maybe she wasn’t hard enough. She had no idea. All she knew was it shouldn’t be this difficult. It wasn’t rocket science, for goodness’ sake. By all accounts, humans had been raising children for two hundred thousand years. Surely she could guide her own son into adulthood. She had only two more years to go.

“Come on, Mom,” Andrew whined. Funny how he could look like a grown man—or pretty darn close to it—and still act like a five-year-old. “A bunch of the guys are going. I don’t want to be the only one stuck at home.”

She winced. Stuck at home. Guess that summed up how he felt about spending a few hours in her company.

She tried not to take it personally. “Andrew, I—”

“Please?”

The rest of what she intended to say dried in her throat. Please. There was a word she didn’t hear from him often.

He was working her. Or trying to. She knew it. He probably even knew she knew it. But he didn’t care as long as he got his way.

She found herself softening. Luke was the first friend Andrew had made since moving here, and she didn’t want her son to miss out on a chance to interact with his peers. Not when he actually seemed excited to be doing something in Shady Grove instead of complaining about how the kids were all small-town hicks, the weather was too cold and the beach too far away.

Maybe this was a step in the right direction. A sign that Andrew was finally settling into his new life.

And maybe she was just sick and tired of arguing with the boy.