6. Hunter

"Hey! I'm home!"

I hang up my cheer bag in the mudroom, then head to the kitchen and refill my water bottle at the sink. Even after polishing off my entire slushy, I'm still so thirsty.

The slushy Greedy bought for me.

I've got a full night of internet sleuthing ahead of me. The guys mentioned they'd be at the bonfire this weekend—part of the pregame events for the senior showcase game. I'm more than a little eager to learn all I can about them before I see them again.

Before things go any further.

Giddiness bubbles up at the thought. Internally, I squeal as I replay that moment in the QuickieMart when Greedy stepped in close and watched me drink my slushy like he wanted to devour me.

And then there was his promise.

"We're going to be so much more than friends."

"Oh, good! You're here."

My mom rushes into the kitchen, pulling me from thoughts of Greedy, securing an earring in place one-handed while she carries two pairs of high heels in the other hand.

"Which shoes?"

"Hi to you, too," I murmur, coming closer to inspect her outfit and the footwear choices.

My mother is the definition of beautiful. Her chin-length golden blond hair is cut into a blunt bob. Her green eyes are lined dark, and though she's in her early forties, her skin is flawless and wrinkle-free.

She's religious about med spa appointments and maintenance. Until the divorce, the two of us used to spend an entire day at the salon together once a month.

"Hunter," she snaps. "Help me."

I force myself to focus on her, assessing her outfit and the shoes she's thrusting at me. Strappy black Louboutins or edgier Jimmy Choos.

"How old is he?"

She scowls for a beat, considering.

With another sip of water, I wait her out. I'm not judging her. She's been on dozens of dates over the last year. This is nothing new. Even if the divorce has yet to be finalized. It shouldn't be long now. Hopefully by this summer, it'll all be done so we can all start to heal and move on.

Or I can. My mother has obviously already started moving on.

"He's a little older, but not by much. He's a doctor," she gushes. "Widower. One son, maybe around your age? Or maybe a little older. I don't remember."

If he's older, the choice is easy. "Wear the Louboutins."

"Yes. You're so right. What would I do without you?"

With a sincere smile, she sits at the table and slips her feet into the heels. Once they're in place, she strides into the foyer and gives herself another once-over in the full-length mirror near the door.

I pad to the fridge and assess my options for dinner since it's clear I'm on my own tonight.

There's not much by way of leftovers, and the fruit and vegetable drawers have been cleared out for a few days. I guess I'm going grocery shopping this weekend.

I pull a block of white cheddar from the dairy drawer and snag the carton of eggs. From the weight of it, I'm pretty confident there will be enough for an omelet.

I've just popped the top, revealing four eggs nestled in their cardboard nooks, when my mom calls out to me.

"Hunter, can you come out here before I go?"

Abandoning the ingredients on the counter, I head to the front of the house and find my mom still standing in front of the mirror, applying a final coat of lip gloss.

"Here." She holds out her phone. "Take my picture, please."

I work hard to keep my expression even as I accept her unlocked device. If she's feeling herself tonight, why not document it?

She poses, and I snap several shots.

When I'm finished, she reviews and deletes them all, then makes me do it again.

"Let's take a selfie," she declares when one of my pictures finally meets her editorial standards.

She makes me hold out the phone but adjusts my arm to her liking to get the best angle.

"There," she demands once the shot is lined up how she wants it.

"Oh my gosh," she gushes once I've taken several and she's scrolling through the pictures. "I'm going to post this on Facebook. People will think we're sisters."

I hold back an eye roll. She's fully done up while I'm fresh from cheer practice and still smell like gas from the QuickieMart. We're not exactly comparing peaches to peaches here.

"Have fun tonight," I call over my shoulder as I turn back to the kitchen.

Without a response, she steps into the garage, and a moment later, the overhead door opens.

I exhale a slow, calming breath.

It's been a long day. Thankfully, it's almost over.

I make quick work of prepping the eggs and grating cheese. Then I get out the omelet pan and let it heat on the stovetop.

The whiff of natural gas that hits me as the flame ignites reminds me once again of my encounter with Greedy and Levi. It also reminds me that I'm in desperate need of a shower.

I'm looking forward to a quiet night in. I'll eat. Shower. Watch a bit of TV. Then I'll probably reread one of my favorite Sarah Dessen books and turn in early. I don't mind being alone.

I sigh again, letting the quiet of the empty house engulf me as I watch a pat of butter start to melt in the pan.