Chapter 19 Skye I don't know why that's where my head jumped to, but the moaning is loud, and high pitched. It's followed by a male grunt and a: "Fuck yeah, just like that." "Shit. Stay right here, please." Sidney's face contorts into a grimace as he rearranges his hard-on and rushes down the hall. I could and should stay put, but if he left porn on, the content may make me reconsider another date. So I ignore his request and follow him down the hall, noting how nice his place is. It's a modern build with clean lines and simple decor. "Randall Ballistic Junior, you cannot have sex on my living room couch!" Sidney bellows as I round the corner. And wish I didn't. While the living room is dim, the light from the kitchen shines brightly on the very naked man-boy positioned at the end of the couch, over which an equally naked young woman is bent. "Shit. Fuck. Sorry Mr. Butterson!" The young man shouts. Sidney spins around, presumably to avoid another eyeful of naked young woman. He looks absolutely horrified. "There's a bathroom down the hall to the right. Please tell your friend to put her clothes back on. You can do the same in the kitchen." Sidney says through gritted teeth. His gaze shifts to me. "I'm so sorry." "There's something in the air tonight, apparently." I fight a giggle. He bites back a grin. Our gazes lift to the ceiling when the floor above us creaks. "Fuck," he mutters. "That's probably my son." "Why don't you make sure no one tries to jump out the window, and I'll keep these two from attempting a runner before you read them the riot act?" I offer. "You don't have to do that." "I don't mind unless you'd rather I go. But you might need someone to drive the girls home? I may be the less awkward option, seeing as I have the same equipment and I'm not the angry dad. Totally up to you, though. And if you want to deal with the upstairs issue before you decide, that's also okay." "You're amazing." He rushes up the stairs. I stay where I am, in the middle of the hallway. I'd like to cross my arms, but it makes my ridiculous cleavage more of a problem. A minute later, the young man whose butt I've seen comes out of the kitchen. He's dressed in a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. He's lanky, with dark brown hair that curls around the back of his ears. I note tattoos on his arm as he runs his hand through his hair. He startles when he sees me, and his gaze darts from my face to my chest and back up. "Oh hey, uh, hi. You must be Sid's date." "I am." He nods a bunch of times. "Cool. Uh, I should probably go." I tip my head. "I'm pretty sure Sidney is planning to tear you a new one for using his house as your sex pad before you do that." The young woman who was bent over the couch appears in the hallway. She pauses when she sees me, and much like Randall, her gaze drops to my chest before it springs back to my face. "Um." She appears to be on the verge of tears. "Is your friend upstairs?" I ask. She nods once. "I'm a friend of Miller's dad, and I have a feeling that Randall might need to stick around here for a bit. If you would like, I can drive you and your friend home. Your other option is to be part of the dad wrath. Neither is ideal, but I'm probably the less awkward of your choices." She bites her lips together. "Do you know where Randy is?" I tip my head toward the kitchen. "Right here. Would you like a moment?" "Is that-Can I?" "Absolutely." I motion for her to go ahead while I move away from the doorway. They whisper frantically. She's clearly panicking, and as bad as I feel for her, it's also hilarious. A minute later, the pounding of feet on the stairs ends their conversation. I step out from the hallway just as a young man who is definitely Sidney's son, but with lighter hair, appears at the bottom of the stairs. His face is beet red, and his eyes are wide as saucers. A young woman with sandy brown hair appears behind him, followed by Sidney. He looks from the group of red-faced teens to me. Apology is written all over his face. And mortification. "I can take the girls home if you'd like to deal with the boys," I offer. His son's head whips my way, and his face goes impossibly redder as he mumbles, "Oh my God." He looks like he's trying to sink into the floor. He's a big kid. They're both tall, but where Randall is lanky, Miller is broad, so either of them blending in is impossible. "I can take Claire and Millie home," Randall all but shouts. Miller elbows him in the side and Randall grunts. Sidney crosses his arms. "You two need to explain yourselves." The girls look at me. I motion them forward. Sidney's gaze shifts my way. "Are you sure?" "Absolutely, I'll text when I'm home." "Thank you. I'm sorry about this." His gaze flicks to the boys. I smile, irrationally turned on, because managing the boy's behavior is his top priority. "It's okay. We'll talk soon. Girls, let's go." They scamper down the hall after me. I stoop to pick up Sidney's suit jacket and my coat from the floor. His I hang on the hook; mine I slip through my arms so my boobs are no longer in full force. The girls shove their feet into their shoes and follow me to my car, whispering to each other. I unlock the doors and they climb into the backseat while I take my place behind the wheel. "Where are we heading?" "My house." The girl who was upstairs says. "Are you Millie or Claire?" "I'm Millie, this is Claire." She thumbs over at Randall's friend. "Are you going to tell my parents?" Millie asks. "I wasn't planning to." I set my phone in the holder. "Address please?" Millie rattles it off and I plug it into the navigation system. It's a twenty-minute drive. Should be lots of time to school these girls. "How old are you two?" I ask, conversationally. "Eighteen," they say in unison. I tap the wheel. "Are you Buck's dad's girlfriend?" Millie asks. "We're dating. Casually at this point. Are you Buck's girlfriend?" I fire back. I really don't understand the nickname. "I...uh. I watch him play a lot. We were supposed to go to the movies tonight, but they were hungry after practice, so we stopped for food, and then we missed the beginning of the movie and decided we could just watch one at Buck's house." "Which is how you and Miller or Buck, or whatever you want to call him, ended up in his room and you ended up bent over the couch." I thumb over my shoulder at Claire. "Oh, my God! You had sex with Randy?" Millie's voice is about seven octaves too high for the inside of a car. Claire shrugs. "He's hot. And freaking Jasmine is always bragging about how she hooked up with him last year." "Okay." I hold up a hand. "As the mother of a teenage girl, I need to step in with some important pearls of wisdom." "You have a teenage daughter?" "Yeah, she's fifteen." "You don't look old enough to have a fifteen-year-old." Claire is obviously trying to suck up. "That's because I had her when I was young. Her dad was a one-night stand, and we even used a condom. Shit happens." "Oh snap," Claire says. "She's a great kid and I'm lucky because it could have been a lot different. Anyway, I'm going to tell you what I've told my daughter. Boys are giant walking hormones. Doesn't matter if they're nice or not, most of their brain activity resides in their pants and they will do and say literally anything to have someone else hold their penis for them. Unless they're super religious and then they find creative ways to make that happen and feel guilty about it afterwards, but I digress. It's normal to want to have sex at your age. But your body needs to be your priority." I hold up a finger when Claire opens her mouth to speak. "I'm not done." She clamps her mouth shut. "If you cannot give yourself an orgasm, you cannot expect one from someone else. Same sex, opposite sex. I don't care who it is. If you don't know how to get yourself there, you can't ever show someone else how to do it." "That actually makes sense," Millie says. "I know. And girls, this is the most important part. Always, always make sure you get your orgasm first." Millie raises her hand like we're in school and I'm not some random mom driving her and her friend home after getting caught doing naughty things with boys. "But what if⁠-" "There are no buts, Millie. There are zero buts. Men always reach the big O. Every single damn time. And they get there a hell of a lot faster than we do most of the time. If they can't bother to take care of you before they take care of themself then they aren't worth your time or energy." The girls look at each other. "My mom would never talk about this with me," Claire says. "Well, I'm not your mom, and let me assure you that my daughter usually turns fifty shades of red when I talk about this stuff with her, but you know what she'll never settle for?" "Not having an orgasm first?" "Correct. She'll never end up with a guy who won't put in the effort. And learning how to push a woman's buttons takes effort and practice and time." I'm on a roll now and I can't decide if Violet would be proud of me or if she'd die of embarrassment. Either way, I'll leave a lasting impression on these girls. "I take a really long time to have an orgasm," Claire admits. "What's a really long time?" "I don't know. Like ten minutes maybe?" She wrings her hands. "Pfft. Ten minutes is nothing. Just because a guy can jizz in two minutes, which isn't something to brag about FYI, doesn't mean your ten-minute build up is a long time. Foreplay should take time. Sure, sometimes it's just about the quick and dirty, like when he's looking his best and your whole night has been one giant foreplay session of innocent touches and stolen kisses and him whispering all the naughty things he wants to do to you once you're alone-" I crack a window. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" Claire shrieks and then slaps a hand over her mouth. Millie looks at her like she's sprouted a second head. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "We totally cockblocked you and Buck's dad, didn't we?" Claire looks horrified. "Yes, honey, you did, but that's not the point I'm trying to make." Millie wrinkles her nose. "Thinking about parents doing it is weird." "Mr. Butterson is hot," Claire says. Millie looks scandalized. "Ew. He's old." "Careful throwing that word around unless you want to walk the rest of the way home," I threaten. I don't mean it, obviously. I wouldn't make teen girls walk home at night in the dark. "I'm sorry. I don't think you're old," Millie backtracks. "You look like maybe you're thirty, but then that would mean you had your daughter at fourteen and that's really, really young." "I'm thirty-seven. I had my daughter when I was twenty-one, which is still young to have a kid, especially when the dad ends up being a waste of air." I wave a hand around. "Back to the point, though, ten minutes is not a long time, and you are doing yourself and the guy you're with a huge disservice if you don't help him help you get there. And do not, I repeat, do not ever fake an orgasm. No one wins. Especially not you." The GPS tells me to turn right in half a mile. "Wait! Go straight! Don't go right." Claire grabs the back of the passenger seat. "I'm not ready to go home yet. Can we take you out for coffee or ice cream or something? There's a really awesome café a couple miles down the road and I have so many questions. Unless you're planning to meet up with Mr. Butterson after you drop us off?" Claire is way too curious for her own good. And while the idea of rendezvousing with Sidney is intriguing, it's almost better that this happened. It means prolonging the anticipation. And forcing us to see each other again before we get naked together. Which wouldn't have been entirely gratifying since his son may have come home in the middle. It was a terribly thought-out plan. "I have to pick my daughter up in an hour. We can hit the café." Forty minutes and a decaf almond milk latte later, I drop the girls off at Millie's house, armed with all sorts of girl power, and drive to Michael's house. I have messages from Sidney, asking if I made it home more than half an hour ago. Skye: Just dropped them off and I'm picking up my daughter, I'll fill you in once I'm home. Hope the chat with the boys went okay. Dinner was lovely. X I message Violet next to let her know I'm in the driveway. Thirty seconds later she comes tripping down the front steps. She basically throws herself into the passenger seat. Michael is standing at the front window, waving. "Everything okay?" "Yup. Everything's fine." Her voice is high and reedy. "Are you sure?" "I did something stupid, and we need to leave, so I don't have to keep looking at my mistake. I might have to quit Mathletes." I back out of the driveway and head for home. "Can we stop at McDonalds? I need a milkshake and fries," Violet says while wringing her hands. "Uh oh, you're willing to risk a case of the moops? Whatever happened must have been bad." "Michael kissed me." "With or without your permission?" "With. Sort of. Ugh." She bangs her head against the seat. "So stupid." "He sort of had your permission? What does that mean?" I point to the glove compartment. "The lactose pills are in there. Take two, so tomorrow isn't another day of mistakes and regrets." She pops the glove compartment open and rummages around until she finds the bottle, then does some rummaging around in her backpack for her water bottle. She downs two pills, spills water down her chest and huffs dramatically. "Ali, Kiernan and Toby left half an hour ago because Ali finally got his license, and he offered to drive me home too, but Toby ate a pile of raw onions at dinner and I think Kiernan forgot his deodorant this morning and there was no way I was sitting in the car with two stinky boys, plus you were coming to get me and I wanted to hear all about your date, which I still want to hear about. How did that go?" "Deflector deflecting. Tell me what happened, Violet." She huffs again and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Michael has a date with Abby Hobbersmith next week and he's had a crush on her for like, forever, and he's never kissed a girl and he was sort of freaking out about it and I don't know what I was thinking, but I told him I could give him some pointers if he wanted them, because I went out with Jordan last year for like, two months, and I got some decent kissing experience from that. But the pointers turned into actual kissing, which surprisingly wasn't terrible. I mean, it's clear he's new at the whole concept, but he's a quick learner and he dialed back on the slobbery tongue real quick." She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "You don't need those details." "It's fine. You're fifteen. Making out with boys isn't unexpected." "Anyway, everything was fine, and he was catching on, but his younger sister came downstairs and saw us and then she went and told Michael's mom. She lectured us about not having sex before marriage because she clearly still believes that it's 1950 and now she thinks we're dating!" Violet throws her hands in the air. "And I like Michael, but I don't like, like him. Like, I don't want to be his girlfriend. He's not even remotely my type. I just closed my eyes and pretended he was Tom Welling from Smallville. Michael's obsessed with Star Wars and he's on my Mathlete team and I can never go to his house again ever. What if he tells the rest of the guys that he kissed me? What the hell am I going to do?" The Golden Arches appear, and I pull into the drive-thru. There are three cars ahead of us. "I'm taking it you haven't discussed this with Michael." "Nope. His sister caught us, ran upstairs, and tattled, and then we got a twenty-minute lecture on inappropriate behavior and then she wanted us to pray for our sins. We kissed! It wasn't like we were humping each other on her rec room furniture! I mean, then maybe we'd deserve the lecture. But our hands were all in PG places and you could have fit an entire extra human between our bodies. The only parts of us that were touching were our lips. And tongues." Violet stops freaking out while I order her a small vanilla shake and a medium fry. Even with the lactose pills, she'll probably regret this tomorrow, but she's had a hell of a night. "It was just supposed to be pointers, not a freaking live tutorial. What's wrong with me?" I pat her hand and wait until I've paid for her snack before I respond. "There's nothing wrong with you, honey. You're a teenage girl and you've been hanging out with these guys for the past two years. That this is the first time you've kissed one of them is pretty amazing, if I'm honest. Every single one of those boys has a crush on you." "They do not!" I arch a brow and pull up to the next window. "If he tells the rest of them, I'll kill him. Oh, shit." She pulls her hood up, and sinks down in her seat. The window slides open and a gangly teen boy who looks beyond bored asks, "Small vanilla milkshake and a medium fry?" "That's right." "Do you want any ketchup packets with that?" "Violet?" I ask. "Nope, no ketchup, but thanks," Violet replies, her voice all pitchy. The boy's head lifts and his eyes light up. "Violet? Hall?" She drops her hood and adopts a stiff smile. "Hey Jordan, how's it going?" "Good. I got a part in the play this semester. Are you working on costume design again?" "Uh, not this time. Mathletes is keeping me on my toes this semester." "That's too bad. It's nice to see you." He passes over the shake and the bag with the fries. "I threw in some ketchup, anyway. Just in case." "Thanks. See you around." "Yeah, have a good night." I wait until we drive away before I ask. "Would that be the Jordan you got all the practice kissing time in with?" "Yeah." "He's cute." "Yeah." "Why didn't I ever meet him?" "Because we only hung out when we were working on the play and he had a kiss scene because he was the lead role. I'm sure you can see where this is going." She pushes her straw into her shake and tries to hide a smirk by taking a hearty slurp. Two seconds later, she's holding the side of her head. "Ahhh, damn, you brain freeze." "So you practiced that scene together." "Obviously it was supposed to be closed mouth on stage, but we took creative liberties." She flings a hand around in the air. "Anyway, that happened, and now this has happened, and I don't know how to deal with it. And I'm terrified to text him because his mom probably reads all his messages." "I read your messages." "Yeah, but we have an agreement. When it's no longer safe to read my messages, I'll let you know." "I'm hoping that won't happen for a couple more years." "Based on what most of the girls I know say about their boyfriends, you don't have much to worry about there. I'd rather wait until the hormones have settled before I go making those kinds of life-altering decisions. My body is mine and all that jazz." She pries the lid off her shake and dips a fry in the thick vanilla. "Ah, fries and ice cream, my arch nemesis and best friend, how I love you so." She hums contentedly as she chews. "Do you want one?" "I'm okay, but thanks. Back to the Michael issue. I think you can safely message him and ask if he's able to talk. And then you can set the parameters for him. All your concerns are valid, and you can present it to him as valuing his friendship and your working relationship, and that you don't want to disrupt the dynamic on the team, so it would be best if you kept what happened between you," I suggest. "Okay. I can do that. I'm so glad you're my mom. I can't imagine having to rely on my girlfriends for advice on stuff like this." She pops another fry into her mouth. "Oh! How was the date? Did it go well?" "It did, actually. We had a lovely dinner at Spiaggia." "And? Will you see him again?" Violet's hopeful excitement makes me smile. "I think so, yes." "Did you get a last name so I can internet stalk him and see what he looks like?" "I did! His last name is Butterson." Violet frowns. "Butterson? That's a weird last name. If you marry him, I'm keeping Hall. Violet Butterson doesn't sound as nice as Violet Hall." I chuckle. "We've been out twice, Vi. Don't get ahead of yourself." "Still. Doesn't hurt to put that out in the universe." She pulls out her phone, presumably to look him up. "He has a son," I tell her before she finds out through social media. "He's a little older than you. A junior I think." Her thumb stills for a moment before continuing to tap along her screen. "Okay. It's b-u-t-t-e-r-s-o-n, right? Spelled like it sounds?" "Yup, spelled like it sounds." "Cool. Huh, there are more Buttersons in the world than I realized. The top hit for Sidney Butterson looks like a hockey fan." "That's him." I grip the wheel nervously. My daughter's approval is important. We've been a pair for a long time, and I don't want to upset the balance. These years before she goes to college and becomes a strong, independent woman are pivotal. I brake at the four-way stop. "Oh, hey now." She whistles and holds up her phone. "Is this him?" "Yup, that's Sidney." "And the beefcake must be his son. He's a junior in high school? He's freaking huge." "He plays competitive hockey." "That's unsurprising." I don't tell Violet about the situation Sidney and I walked in on this evening. I don't want to taint her view of his son before she meets him. And I'm not even sure if that will ever happen. Besides, she's had enough of her own nonsense tonight. She doesn't need more stress on top of the Michael situation. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...