“You met my parents at graduation, Blondie. Enough said, no?”
“They seemed really sweet.”
“Sweet? Are you serious?”
“They were sweet. And how would I know otherwise? You barely talk about them. Your mom looks like she’s a runway model, and your dad looked like he was a badass at some point.”
I laughed louder. “When they come visit, I want you to recite that statement in front of him.”
“I may be blond, but I’m not stupid. And he may be old, but he could probably still beat my ass to a pulp.”
“With one arm tied behind his back.”
“So, tell me, what’s their story?” he asked, angling his body so he was facing me and turning down the volume on the radio.
“You can’t tell anyone. Promise me,” I begged.
“I promise,” he said, but his tone was not convincing.
I glared at him for a moment. “I mean it, Blondie. You can’t tell anyone.”
“Are they felons? On the run from the Feds? Come on, Mak. Now, you have to tell me about them.”
I didn’t answer, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Fine. Fine. I promise I won’t tell anyone, and if I do, you can cut off my nads and shove them down my throat.”
I winced, picturing the entire scene. “That’s a little much, but I would beat the shit out of you.”
“Like to see you try. Now, talk.”
“Bossy fucker,” I muttered. “Why do I always surround myself with impossible men?”
“You need the strength around you to calm the chaos.”
“I wasn’t asking your opinion,” I told him, rolling my eyes after being called chaos for a second time today.
“Then don’t ask the question out loud.”
I groaned, hating him for a minute for being impossible like almost everyone else in my life.
“Helloooo,” Blondie said. “Tell me about your parents.”
“Tell me about yours first,” I shot back, wanting to know about his life before I told him about mine.
“My mom is an elementary art teacher, and my dad is a farmer. Corn, remember?”
I nodded, liking that his parents led normal lives. I was actually jealous he never had to worry about his parents dying on the job. “Sounds like a nice life.”
“It was boring, and I don’t plan to end up like them.”
“There’re worse things to be.”
“Maybe, Mak, maybe. Now spill the beans on beauty and the beast?”
“Beauty and the beast?” I smirked.
“Your mom and pop. Who are they?”
