The Bad Boy ✔

Chapter Thirty-Stalker much?

A laugh escaped her mouth and for a moment, I forgot that I was talking to my Maths teacher.

“I can imagine,” Davis answered. “Jace doesn’t seem very cat-friendly.”

I shrugged. “They’re sort of secret friends now.” My eyes drifted towards the kitchen. “I thought you were helping my father.”

Davis nodded. Her hair bobbed with the movement.

“I was,” she sighed, “but he’s stubborn and wanted to do everything by himself.” She grinned at me. “You’re a lot like him Marilyn.”

I frowned. I wanted to tell Mrs Davis that I was nothing like my father. He was a rocker and I was, well, me. But for some strange reason, I felt a sense of pride to know that Mrs Davis thought that I was like Dad. It made me feel less weird, and more like I had fitted in all along-even if it was just with Dad.

Dad stepped in, a wide grin on his face. “Food’s ready,” he exclaimed.

“You sure you didn’t need any help?” Davis asked him.

My father chuckled, although I wasn’t quite sure what was so funny. Forcing back the urge to roll my eyes, I stared at my father. He was smiling so much that the corners of his eyes were crinkling, and after gazing at Mrs Davis for a while, I noticed that her cheeks were slightly red. It was surprising to see Dad look so happy. Especially since the last I remembered him smiling like that was when Mum was alive.

By the time we sat down to eat, I was beginning to feel less uncomfortable being seated opposite Mrs Davis. She was smiling and being friendly, and actually making jokes. Which was a complete contrast to the way she was at school. I mean, people had made awful jokes about her and never once had I felt guilty about laughing at them, until now that is.

The truth was, Mrs Davis didn’t seem all that bad after all.

Still, it seemed almost like I was the third wheel at the table. Dad had assured me that it wasn’t going to be a date. It was just supper to get to know Mrs Davis better. But at the rate that supper was going, it was as if I had become invisible to the adults in the room. I understood that I was short and everything, but pretending that I wasn’t even there? Rude.

After biting into my fifth carrot-which was a record since I detested them-I turned to Mrs Davis, with an intent to learn more about her.

“So, why do you go by Mrs Davis if you’re not married?” I asked.

Mrs Davis turned to me, her cheeks deepening a shade darker.

“Lynn that’s not something you should ask at the dinner table,” my father interjected. “Now apologise.”

“No, no,” Mrs Davis replied. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question.” She sipped at her wine. “Well you see Marilyn,” she explained, “it is true that I’m no longer married, but my husband passed away a long time ago. And I wanted to remember him by keeping his surname. We were very much in love at the time of his passing.”

I stilled. I had not been expecting that. Which I suppose I deserved. I mean, it really was a rude thing to have asked. But I was frustrated at my father and teacher’s behaviour. It almost seemed like I had been morphed into the adult, supervising their fun little date. Which was not fun at all. More like embarrassing and kind of perverse to watch.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” I murmured. My cheeks heated. “Sorry.”

My father cast me a glare and I shrank back in my seat. Turning my eyes back onto my plate, I shoved yet another carrot into my mouth.

By the time that supper was over, I had become quiet. I wasn’t sure what to say to Mrs Davis, nor was I sure what to say to Dad. It felt like I had ruined the entire evening. But if that was the case, both Dad and Mrs Davis were doing a really good job of hiding it. Dad was busy washing the dishes, and Davis dried them. They were chattering away happily and if I didn’t know any better, it seemed like Davis belonged here.