He chuckles. “I was meeting my mother for coffee before her class.”
“Your mother?” It’s hard to picture him as anyone’s son, but now that he mentioned her, and the fact she has a class, I can clearly picture her. Like vividly. “Is your mother Joan Parker?” I ask.
“Yes.” He nods.
“I took her class last semester.”
Now that I know this, the resemblance seems almost uncanny. He looks a lot like her, down to the small nose and rounded cheeks. His jaw is sharper, and his eyes darker blue, but I can see her in him.
“How was it? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want the illusion I have of her to be ruined.”
“She was great.”
“Can you believe she raised me?” He laughs, running his hands through his hair. “She moved out here a little after I got signed, hoping to be closer to me after my father died, but I’m always touring.”
“You should spend more time with her. She really cares about you.” I try to keep the bitterness from my voice. Mrs. Parker talked fondly of her son in class. Never mentioned he was a famous rock star, but nonetheless she did mention him.
“Probably,” he agrees. “Are you okay?” His eyes roam over my face.
“Just peachy,” I respond. “But I’m about to be late for class.”
“Ditch.” His lips curve into a sly smile. “We could get that coffee we talked about last night.”
“What would your mother say about you telling one of her students to ditch school?”
“Ex-student,” he counters with a smirk. “And look at me, do you really think she would expect anything else from me? I don’t really scream good influence, do I?”
“You must have given her such a hard time as a kid.”
“Oh, you can only imagine. I don’t think she has slept a full night since the day I was born.”
“Poor woman.”
“Join me for coffee. We can make that ex of yours jealous.”
“No thanks,” I say, walking past him.
I expect him to stay put or go his own way, but he surprises me by falling in stride beside me.
“Was he the one who hurt you?”
“No.” I shake my head. I’ve come to terms with the fact that lying about it is better than talking about it. New people didn’t need to know the truth. It was better they didn’t see me as pathetic as I am.
“No?” he presses.
“Does it matter?”
“To me, yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m an asshole, but even I know to never put hands on a woman. There is a line and if a guy crosses it, I have no problems ridding the world of them.”
“Listen, Ben, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I was just…”
“No, you aren’t,” he cuts me off.
“Yes I am.”
