Love and Fame Games (Book 1)

01

"Get out of my house." My mom was practically snarling as she stood in front of me, her expression stern, one hand on her hip.

"Get out of the way," I replied in a robotic voice. I made a point of not budging an inch from my comfortable position—on my back on the overstuffed, white living room couch, with my head turned at an angle toward the TV—and looked straight ahead, as if she weren't there. "You're blocking my view."

"Adrian St. Clair, you get off your butt this instant."

I should have guessed she meant business when she used my full name and by her tone but I wasn't always the most perceptive person, so I continued to ignore her and, using the remote control in my hand, turned the TV's volume up several notches.

This got a rise out of her, apparently, as she snatched the remote control out of my hand and turned the TV off. I bolted upright and huffed, while she looked at me with a cool expression.

"I am saying this with love, dear daughter. I am going out for a while and when I come home you better be off that couch and doing something that involves standing or at least sitting properly with your back straight or else."

"Or else what?" The question was out of my mouth before I thought better of it.

My mom said nothing, just gave me the look she usually gave whenever our little talks went on longer than she would have liked. In the past, whenever my friends saw that look, they always told me that they thought I was about to get slapped. That would never happen; my mom was too elegant, too much of a lady, to hit.

I supposed not all families talked like this to each other but this was the norm in the St. Clair household. To be honest, I would be more freaked out if my mom acted sweet and motherly all of a sudden; it would just mean that she was up to something.

"Where are you going?" I asked, in an effort to change the subject and diffuse the situation.

"I'm having lunch at the country club with some people your father knows from work, and then picking up some stuff at the supermarket."

I scowled, and then looked at her more closely, noticing just then how put-together she looked. Her honey blonde hair was in a sleek little bun; she wore a nice mid-length dress, heels, and the tastefully understated jewelry she only wore when she wanted to make an impression.

I, on the other hand, was still in the clothes I wore to bed the previous night and my hair—the same color as my mom's—was a tangled, disheveled mess; I began to see her point, but was not about to give my mother the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Oh good. We're out of food," was what I said, instead.

"Because you ate it all," my mom said, scoffing. I dismissed her accusation with a wave. She cast me one last disapproving look, headed toward the door, but just when I thought she was finally off my back, she turned to face me once more. "One more thing, if I come back with guests, I want you to move this party-of-one into the den. I'm not in the mood to explain to my friends that my beautiful daughter has disappeared and was replaced by this growth in my living room."

I widened my eyes at her and gave an exaggerated gasp. Shifting so that I was on my knees with my arms draped over the back of it, I called out to my mom. "I am going back to school in a week and going off to college in two years. Mark my words, someday you are going to miss this eyesore and wish you made better use of this time."

My mother fell silent, which rarely happened. I flashed her a sly grin. "I really like those fancy desserts they have at the club. Bring me back an assortment."

She furrowed her brows and huffed. "I will not," she said, and was out the door before I could think of a comeback.

I continued to stare at the last spot by the front door where my mom had stood. I scowled, indignant at being yelled at so early in the morning. It wasn't even –