I blink once. Twice.
Well. Fuck. Me.
Looking back and forth between the two of them, I squint my eyes, as if that will give me some better insight. Slowly, it becomes painfully obvious. Same light blue eyes. Same dark brown hair, with grey and a little extra curl in Mary’s.
“Mama, I thought you were out of town all week?” Jackson asks, clearly still shocked to find his Freaking! Mom! at this afterparty.
Mary just smiles. “I came home early. I was a little late to the game, but I got to spend time talking to your Kitten.”
Oh. My. Holy Hell. Please, Earth, if you’re listening, swallow me whole, right now.
“Kitten?” Jackson asks, then looks over to me. “You told her that?”
I throw my hands up. “I didn’t know she was your mom!” Then, turning to Mary -“Uh hello? You didn’t think to mention that? Like, at all?”
Mary’s smile doesn’t falter. And then, in a totally inappropriate manner, I burst out laughing. Holding my stomach with one hand, the other hiding my face. This situation is so beyond ridiculous I don’t know how to handle it. Maybe if I wasn’t halfway-to-drunk, from drinking with Jackson’s mom, I’d be able to handle this better.
Unfazed, Mary’s looking more than pleased with herself, while Jackson looks part confused, and part horrified.
Choking down another laugh I say, “I’ll give you two a moment.” Then I turn, and bolt.
After a quick stop at the ladies’ room, I venture over to the bar. I’m still not sure what to do about this pickle I’ve found myself in. Yeah, I for sure told Jackson’s mom way more about our little meet-cute than I ever would’ve had I’d known she was his mom. But how the heck was I supposed to know that? And why didn’t she mention it? Well, I know why she didn’t mention it. She was getting unfiltered information about her son, and she was seeing hearts and wedding bells and whatever else partially insane mothers hope for.
Taking a deep breath I try to take a mental step back from the problem. Maybe this isn’t that bad. Maybe we’ll all be laughing about this in a few minutes.
Standing with my back against the bar, I search the crowd trying to spot the pair in question. When I do see them, my heart sinks. Jackson has his head tilted back, eyes closed, and is pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s not the look of a happy man.
He just helped to win his game. He should be happy. Very happy. But instead, I’ve brought stress, via his mama, into his night. He should be celebrating, not dealing with this crap. I feel like such a jerk. This is all my fault. And he has every right to be upset with me, but I’m not sure I can deal with that right now. Jackson yelling at me, or even gently scolding me, would be too much for me to handle. I was already frazzled before this little family reunion, so I believe it’s time to go.
Looking back up, I see that Jackson is staring at me, while still talking to his mom. He’s giving me the look of a man constructing a plan. And that’s my cue to expedite this exit strategy.
I recognize the guy at the bar next to me as the teammate Jackson walked in with. He has a partial drink in his hand and seems to be only half-listening to the pair of guys standing next to him.
Stepping forward I tap him on the shoulder.
When he turns to look at me I give him my best innocent look. “Hi there. I have a big favor to ask you.”
He lets loose a toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile as he says, “Hey. Aren’t you the one who greeted our boy Wilder with a hug?” He tosses a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the entrance.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I grab the drink from his hand and toss it back in one go. Coughing a little I hand him back the glass. He chuckles as my eyes start to water. I think that was straight whiskey. I shake it off. “Long story short, I need you to stall him if he comes over this way. I’m going to make a break for it out the back, and I think there’s a good chance he’ll try to stop me.”
I dig out a twenty from my pocket and tuck it in his hand next to the empty glass he’s still holding.
The smile on this guy’s face just keeps growing. “Now why would you be trying to escape?”
“So . . . turns out the friend I made at the game, who I brought with me to this party, is actually Jackson’s mom.” Cue laughter from whiskey guy. I’m talking fast now to wrap this up so I can get on my way. “I may have told her more about us than I should have. Not knowing who she was, obviously. And, understandably so, Jackson is all sorts of pissed. I don’t want a scene. And I don’t want to be told off in public. That twenty in your hand is payment for your troubles, and the drink I just stole.” I take a breath, that extra drink did the opposite of calming me down. “So, what do you say? Will you stall him, if he comes over?”
He looks up in Jackson’s direction and then back to me. “I think you’re right about him being pissed. But I don’t think the look on his face is about you talking to his mama. I think he’s pissed about you over here talking to me.”
“Huh?”
Moving closer he drops his voice. “Please don’t punch me.” He places a hand on my shoulder, turning my back more toward Jackson. “I am definitely going to help you, because Wilder is definitely going to follow you.” He bends closer still. “And me getting close to you like this is proving my point. Based on the look he’s giving me, I’d say that fucker is already planning my death.” He laughs. “And I don’t need your money, but this bill is going to play into the little plan I have.”
With that, he straightens up, and lightly grazes his hand down my arm as he releases me.
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he said he’d help me and that’s all that matters.
Slipping back through the crowd, I pull out my phone and request a ride as I head toward the rear exit.
Two minutes later, I’m in a car heading home.
