Page 48 of The Trouble with Flings

“He played hooky,” Keira says unhelpfully. “And from what I understand, it wasn’t just for the cooking class, and he wasn’t alone.”

“Jesus.” I set down my coffee, glowering at her.

“Is that true, son?” my father asks.

“I attended some of the sessions,” I say, wishing I’d told him the truth when I got back. He would have understood, and he’s always been straight with me, which is exactly why I should have led with it.

“Some?” Grant says, and sits back, amusement dancing in his eyes. “This ought to be good.”

“Hold on a second,” Bellamy says, holding up her hand. “You skipped conference sessions? You? The guy who had a coronary because he found out I skipped phys ed class in seventh grade?”

The table erupts into laughter.

I stifle a smile and say, “I’ve skipped things before.”

“Name one thing you’ve ever missed on purpose,” Bellamy challenges.

“He can’t. He’s never skipped anything in his life,” Keira says. “He voluntarily did extra credit in school every year.”

Everyone cracks up.

I shake my head, refusing to be goaded further into this.

Bellamy glowers at me. “No wonder you didn’t want me to come with you. You used that trip as a hookup vacation.”

They’re all laughing. Even my mother presses her lips together, one hand lifting briefly, trying to signal order, but she gives it up almost immediately.

“I didn’t do that,” I insist.

“You basically said you didn’t want to have to worry about me traipsing around Costa Rica alone,” Bellamy says. “But what you really meant was that you’d be too busy chasing tail—”

“Bellamy,” my father warns.

She pulls back, but she’s grinning, and so is everyone else.

“I wasn’t chasing tail. I ran into a friend,” I say, knowing they won’t drop it until I give them something.

“A friend named Jennifer Stone,” Keira says, eager to stir the pot. “As in Jared’s sister.”

“I think you mean Jared and Jace’s sister,” my father says, eyeing me with a mix of amusement and concern. “Better be careful there, son.”

“Did you hear that, Wells?” Bellamy says, but Wells is staring at the ceiling with tremendous focus. “Ohmygod. You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“No comment,” he says.

Everyone talks at once, putting together six degrees of separation between Jennifer and our family.

“This is the best Sunday breakfast ever,” Jules says.

My mother pats my arm and says, “So, Jennifer Stone?”

“We ran into each other at the hotel,” I say. “It wasn’t planned.”

“And the cooking class?” my father asks.

“Also not planned,” I say.

“You said she’s a friend. How did you meet her?” my mother asks.