Scratch: Mischief Makers MC: Mother Chapter by Flora Burgos

Author:Flora Burgos [Burgos, Flora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-21T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Maisie

I went back to my tables, checked on everyone, and did it all over again until Louisa shoved a few minutes before closing.

As soon as I locked the door behind the last paying customer in the whole restaurant, I turned to my friend and said, “Oh my gosh, I have so much to tell you. And I need to know what’s going on with Clint! Oh, just come crash at mine tonight! I’ve got marg mix from last time!”

She grinned big time, and it was nice, but it wasn’t the earth-stopping one her brother had, “Sister, I already packed my bag. Try and make me leave!”

I clapped my hands and bounced on my toes before saying, “Oh, let me hurry up and get everything shut down so we can go!”

I had everything done in record time, and we were sitting on my couch in our pj’s within the hour.

“Ok, you first!” I demanded. “What happened after we left the party?”

She grimaced, “Well, it was cool at the party, but after, I called him, just to check-in, and he was really short with me and hung up.”

I let my head roll forward with a groan, before rolling it back up and asking, “Have you talked to him since?”

She grinned, “Yeah. He’s a really good guy, so he felt pretty guilty the next day. He won’t call me, and he won’t answer if I call, but we’ve been texting.”

“You’ve been texting?”

“I know. Ugh. How the heck is this my life?”

“Ok, but, play this out for me, what kind of texts are y’all sending? Are we talkin’ half-naked pictures? Clues for the crossword in the paper? Hey! How’s the weather? Tell me more!”

She laughed and said, “Jeez, hang on, Sandy.”

I knew her games, “Good one, trying to throw me off with the Grease reference when you know I’m thinking about the movie now, and that leads to Kinicky fantasies, and then I start talking about Danny coming down on the engine, and I will not fall for your wicked ways this time. What kind of texts are we talking about here?”

She gave in, “Good mornings and good nights and a few how were your days thrown in there.”

“Is he sending them too? Or it is just you?”

“Well, see, he’s the one sending them because I refuse to talk to him through text. So, he texts me, and then I call and leave a voicemail. It’s ridiculous, and it’s juvenile, but he’s not treating me like the enemy anymore, even if he refuses to have a grownup discussion about why he suddenly decided we were done and how my brother does not give that first shit about who I sleep with, though,” she grinned wickedly at me, “he evidently really cares about where my friends get their tires.”

I shoved her leg, “Shut up! I didn’t know I couldn’t go to a shop three years ago, and I’ll remind you that your brother wasn’t even here back then. I did what I had to do, and he can damn well suck it up if that makes him mad.

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