Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(49)
Author: Erin McCarthy

He had to admit, he could see himself with Tuesday that way.

Yep. In love. Jesus, how had that happened to him?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TUESDAY was feeling incredibly awkward at dinner with her mother, which irritated her. Never in her whole life, even in her angsty teen years, had she been uncomfortable around her mother. Now all she could think about was her mother and Tom Richards falling into each other’s arms, grateful all obstacles had been removed from their being together.

It made her want to throw up a little in her mouth.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked, tucking into her salmon.

Tuesday hadn’t even touched her chicken parmesan, which definitely wasn’t like her. She even passed on the bread, and she was a girl who loved a good carb. “Yeah, fine, why?” she asked defensively, then hated how the tone of her voice sounded.

“You’re just quiet, that’s all. You seem like something is bothering you. Does it have anything to do with Diesel Lange?”

“No.” That she could say in all honesty. Diesel was . . . good. In fact, just hearing his name made her feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. It had been years since any man had done that to her. Since like junior year in college. It was embarrassing at the same time it was actually really nice. She enjoyed his company, both in bed and out.

“Do you like him?”

“Yes, or I wouldn’t be dating him.” God, she sounded snippy.

But her mother didn’t get angry. She just frowned. “Is this about Dad? Do you want to talk about it?”

Tuesday put down her fork. Her appetite had disappeared entirely. “You know I’m not big on talking about my feelings.”

“That’s not true. You like to talk about your feelings, you just don’t like to admit weakness.” Her mother smiled at her knowingly.

Tuesday pulled a face. Trust her mother to both know her and to baldly point it out to her. “Okay, fine, that’s probably true. So how am I supposed to ask you about Tom Richards without showing how pathetic I am? I mean, you should be able to hang out with whoever you want.”

Her mother stared at her blankly, her water goblet in her hand. “What? What about Tom Richards?”

“Do you like him?”

“Well, of course I like him or I wouldn’t be going to lunch with him. He’s a friend.”

“Just a friend?” Tuesday realized her words were ground out and that her nails were digging into her leg, but she had to know. She needed to get this over with.

Understanding seemed to dawn on her mother. “Ooh. Did you think that I was interested in Tom as more than a friend? That it was a date?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Tuesday, Tom is just an old friend. He lost his wife five years ago so he understands what I’m going through. He’s actually very recently remarried but he said it took him a long time to open up to the possibility of being with someone else. I feel the same way. Right now I can’t even imagine it.”

A lump had lodged itself in Tuesday’s windpipe. She felt both immense relief and guilt for thinking anything otherwise. Then a different kind of guilt for realizing she wouldn’t have been happy for her mother if she had found solace with another man. All the way around, it made her feel like a horrible person and daughter.

“I’m sorry. It just freaked me out, and you used to always say Tom was the one who got away.”

“That was just to tweak your father. Tom’s a good guy but he never lit my fire, if you know what I mean.”

She did. Lord, did she ever. “Okay. I’m sorry. It’s just so soon and I was being selfish.”

But her mother waved her words off. “You’d have a right to be angry if I started dating again this soon. It’s only been a month, good grief.” She passed the breadbasket to Tuesday, who took it without thinking. “So when do I get to meet Diesel?”

Realizing that somehow she had taken a piece of bread she hadn’t wanted and was buttering it, Tuesday marveled at how mothers could manipulate the hell out of you. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m not sure we’re that far along in our dating to meet the parents.” Which, now that she said that in the plural out loud, she realized didn’t apply. Her mother was the only parent between the two of them. There was something really sad and unfortunate about that.

“How do you feel about him?”

Did she have to talk about it? Couldn’t she just keep the way she felt locked inside her, where she could check on it secretly? “I like him.”

“You like your dentist. Tell me about him . . . what’s he like. What do the two of you do together?”

They had sex. A lot. But that wasn’t it. They laughed together. “We grilled out. We play with the dog. We went to putt-putt golf, which he hated, but did anyway. I forced him to go wine tasting, which he also hated. And he made me go to the shooting range, which I actually really enjoyed and that probably irritated him.” Come to think of it, she irritated him a lot. But he seemed to like it. “We’re going to the movies tonight. Just normal stuff.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It is.”

“So do you think it’s becoming serious?”

Why did that question always have to come up? Why couldn’t it just be that she was having fun in the now? Tuesday didn’t want to think about the future, she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she admitted that she was falling in love with Diesel. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he dumped her? What if she thought she’d found something special and she was wrong? That was all too damn risky. It was better to keep a tight lid on her emotions and just have fun. Hold back. Call it a crush and roll with it.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t been long enough to say one way or the other.”

The waiter leaned over her just then, dressed in black and white, his name as Italian as the pasta on her plate. She normally loved this restaurant, with its hushed atmosphere, warm stucco walls, and hearty food. But this whole dinner had made her anxious, and her stomach had the knots to prove it. Even though the outcome of her mom’s lunch with Tom had been what she would have hoped for, it still made her feel bad. Now she didn’t want to talk about Diesel.

“Don’t allow your grief to prevent you from enjoying this relationship.”

Here they went. Tuesday chewed the piece of bread she’d bitten off and tried desperately not to roll her eyes. Couldn’t her mother just understand she didn’t want to talk about it? And when she did, she’d let her know.