Chapter 13

13

Sarah

So this is awkward.

There's an underwear model who wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend making everyone cheesy bacon fries.

My father's prowling about the house looking for bugs and taking audio notes for himself about increasing security, because that underwear model's version of security couldn't protect a mosquito in a swamp if we could get into your backyard with a tutu-ed pig on a leash .

My mother's doting all over Mackenzie, who's so tongue-tied she hasn't even looked at the bloodbath of a baseball game on the TV in the living room, nor has she asked me to explain anything , which is making me feel like utter slime.

And Cupcake is trying to hump my cat, who's just lying there under a kitchen chair and taking it like this is normal.

"Get off. Get off ." I tug the pig's collar again.

She looks up at me, but she doesn't stop trying to hump Meda.

Yes.

My parents' girl pig is horny.

This isn't unusual.

"You don't have to just take it," I tell Meda.

She mrowl s at me and stares up at me like I've betrayed her.

I pull her across the floor by the scruff to get her out from under Cupcake, who snuffles her disappointment at being denied a new girlfriend.

"Do you like cats?" I ask Beck, because he's the only one in my kitchen actually looking at me, and I don't know if it's because he's figured out who my parents are, or if it's because he knows anything about me before I became Sarah Dempsey , or if it's because he was just staring at my ass.

My ass that I got from my father's stocky side of the family.

Not the slender but gracefully curved ass of my mother's side.

Actually, I think I got both of their asses. There's no shortage of booty here.

"Cats are awesome," Beck tells me as he takes Meda and holds her like a football. "Like dogs or kids, except smaller and cleaner. Who's a good kitty?"

He scratches her under the chin, and she gives me another look while she purrs audibly, her blue eye telling me this is how to treat your queen , her amber eye calling me a sell-out, the combination clearly broadcasting if you loved me, you'd scratch me like this all day every day too .

"You've been friends for eight years ?" my mom's saying to Mackenzie. "Do you do those role-playing games too?"

"Mom, I don't do live-action RPGs anymore," I say quickly. "Mackenzie's a trash engineer. We met in school."

"Senior year," she agrees, her blue eyes still unnaturally wide. "She was the only other girl dressed up like Zoe at the Browncoat night at the campus theater."

"You went as Zoe?" Beck asks me. He glances down my body, and a slow grin spreads across his lips. "With the tight pants and everything?"

"She was smokin' hot," Mackenzie says.

"I can see it," he says with a nod.

"Stop looking at my daughter," Dad growls.

"What's a Browncoat?" Mom asks.

"It's what fans of the TV show Firefly call ourselves," Beck tells her. He gestures to my Firefly Babies print on the kitchen wall. "Still so fucking cool. Where'd you get that?"

"Internet." The internet. It's a blessing and a curse.

"Holes in the screens," my dad mutters as he passes by the kitchen windows. "Drafty. Room for a spy cam."

"He's studying up for his next role," Mom whispers to me, which I'd already figured out, because he's using his Bat-Dad voice, which only comes out when he's prepping for a badass role. "We're not allowed to talk about it yet."

Beck's still petting Meda, who's now purring loudly enough to rattle the drafty windows.

And I want to climb up into my bed and go to sleep and wake up tomorrow to go to work like the last three days haven't happened.

There's not supposed to be chaos in my house.

There's supposed to be peace and calm and videogames and occasional crazy baseball superstitions and sometimes Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Dr. Who marathons, but not chaos.

And not my best friend finding out who my parents are. Not this way, anyway.

Or Beck Ryder playing the unlikely hero who distracted her with questions about the best way to make cheese fries as soon as she realized what I'd been hiding from her for the last eight years, though the distraction only lasted so long before she was back to gaping at my mom.

It's only a matter of time before she figures out I broke up with Trent last year because while the sex was amazing, I didn't want him meeting my parents.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" Mom asks. "You're not sneaking out the window, are you?"

"Headache," I tell her.

It's not a lie.

"Oh, here. I have some herbal supplements that'll perk you up in no time."

"Don't do drugs," my dad growls at me.

Mom's shaking out her massive Prada bag all over the kitchen table.

Mackenzie's eyes are going rounder at the number of supplement bottles tumbling out.

"Let's see…not the Valerian root or the kava…oh, here. Here's some magnesium. And lavender. Lavender will help you relax."

"Mom, I don't need supplements."

"It's all natural," Dad says as he prowls to the back door. "Better than drugs. Just a deadbolt? Just a deadbolt? "

I need to get out of here.

"Actually, I was going to take her out for milkshakes," Beck announces.

"Yes," I agree, even though the fries are in the oven with the bacon right now and there's no way I'm leaving Mackenzie here alone with my parents and Cupcake, because that would be mean. "Me and Mackenzie. Because it's too hard to stay here and watch the Fireballs get creamed."

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful!" Mom claps her hands and grabs a hairbrush from amidst the piles of herbal supplement bottles. "Here, just let me do your hair quick, and I think I have the perfect shade of lipstick for you in my overnight bag."

"Need a dog," my dad growls while he stares out the window in the back door, arms folded, and studies my normally tranquil small back yard.

"Mom, I brushed my hair this morning."

"Oh, sweetie, it looks so cute when you put it in a French twist. Just two seconds?—"

"I like it down," Beck says.

"Are you trying to embarrass her?"

"It's soft." He curls a lock of my hair around his finger, and dammit , the gentle tug is lighting up the nerve endings all over my scalp. "And pretty."

He's holding my purring cat and playing with my hair and standing so close that I can feel the heat off his skin, and I have to remind myself that I don't need a guy in my life to be complete.

Especially with all the other complications my life comes with.

And all the complications his life comes with.

Assuming he's not just playing a part here.

I mentioned complications , right?

"Not enough security," my dad growls.

"Fixing that right now," Beck says.

I dodge my mom and her hairbrush and trip over the pig, who squeals and rushes to Mom, who squeaks and drops the hairbrush, which crashes to the ground and splits in two. The handle spins across the linoleum and comes to a stop at Mackenzie's feet.

"I'm starting to get it," she says to me. "Screw you famous people. Me and Sarah are going to my place."

She links her arm through mine and marches me out of the kitchen, pointing a finger at the three famous people who try to object. "Stay. Don't burn the bacon. And hand over the cat. And if the Fireballs lose, it's all y'all's fault."

Beck hands me my cat. My mom just gapes at us, probably because neither of us is wearing shoes. My dad tries to follow us, but Beck holds out an arm. "She has a taser. She'll be fine."

Mackenzie pulls me out the front door, where the security guys are pulling a random dude with a camera out of my gardenia bushes.

My heart stops. Just freezes in terror.

They know where I live.

They know where I live, and the next step is they know who my parents are , and the step after that is my high school prom is about to be rebroadcast to the entire universe on repeat for the next twelve years , and maybe not Tahiti.

Maybe I should find a monastery in the Himalayan mountains and take up painting and meditation.

"We got this, Miss Dempsey," the bigger of the two guys says. "You need a lift somewhere?"

"Yes," Mackenzie answers for us, and a third security guy pulls a black car to the curb. Without hesitation, we both climb in.

And I'm really, really glad I checked out all of their credentials when I got home earlier, because otherwise we'd be sticking out like sore thumbs in Mackenzie's Fireball-mobile, because I don't get in cars with security guards whose credentials I haven't checked myself.

"You have so much talking to do," Mackenzie murmurs as we pull away from the curb. "But catch your breath first." She squeezes my hand while I hug Meda tight with my other arm and she purrs like a crazy cat facing white water rapids. "You look like you need it."

"You're not mad?" I whisper.

"Not yet. You are going to tell me everything, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm definitely not mad. Also, this explains so much. I never really got the Oregon vibe off you, but I figured none of us ever really fully fit in anywhere. And for the record, I totally didn't get the Hollywood vibe off you. I mean, how did you even survive that?"

I'm so relieved my throat clogs, and I make a production of digging my phone out of my pocket. "I have to text my parents," I whisper.

I skip Mom and go straight for Dad, because despite the growling today, he's always understood I need a little space to process that my cozy little life is about to be turned upside down more than she has.

Also, I tell him to go easy on Beck.

And to make sure the pig doesn't eat my bees.

I really shouldn't have abandoned my bees.

But I'll be back to take care of them soon.

I just need a minute to figure out what I'm going to do next.

.