Heather remembers something

In the next moment, Heather stops and says, “Wait. Before we do anything else—while I can still think about anything other than sex with you—call your parents and tell them you’re staying the night.”

The idea rises up and takes over my imagination. My cock springs erect, earning a low, foxy whistle from Heather. Then the worry hits me: what about her parents? I like Owen and Mary Innis-Jones, and I’ve always thought they liked me, but I don’t know what they’ll think if I start dating their daughter. Of course, Alyssa said they’re away from home right now, but . . . “When are your parents supposed to get back?” I ask.

“Day after tomorrow,” Heather tells me, a beautiful smile blossoming on her face. “They’ve gone off for a couple nights at a B&B.”

“That’s convenient,” I say with some surprise. “What made them take the time away?”

“You,” she replies smugly. “When I told them I was going to bring you home and seduce you after Whitney’s bachelorette party—I didn’t tell them you were going to be the main attraction at her party, I’ll admit—they were thrilled. They made the reservation so we would have the house to ourselves.”

I feel poleaxed. “They—were—thrilled?”

Heather grins, then bursts into laughter. “Yeah . . .” she gasps. After a moment she takes a deep breath to steady herself and says, “They’re just like Alyssa—they’ve been telling me for years that I should be with you. They think you’re wonderful, easily worth ten of any of my other boyfriends. To their credit, when I finally admitted to them they were right, they never said, ‘I told you so’—they just said they would do whatever they could to help. In this case, they figured the best thing they could do would be to get out of the way.”

“Wow,” I say. “It was really good of them to leave you the house like this.”

“To be honest,” Heather admits, “it made me nervous. What if you’d turned me down? I would have had two days alone in the house—it would have been miserable. I argued with them a little, but they wouldn’t have it.

“Mom said, ‘I’ve seen how that young man looks at you. He’s been in love with you for years, even while you made him miserable talking about your boyfriends.’” I can feel my face flush. Heather comments, “They never said ‘I told you so,’ but Mom couldn’t quite keep herself from scolding me a little for how I treated you. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry . . . I promise, I’ll make it all up to you.”

I squeeze her hands and say, “It’s OK, love. If we’re really together—I’m sorry, I don’t doubt you, it’s just—it’s going to take a while for this to really sink in; but if I have you now, I don’t care about anything else.”

She squeezes back and says huskily, “Thank you, Andrew. My parents were right: you’re worth ten of any boy I ever dated before now. I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to see it. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you were still here for me.” She clears her throat and continues, “I was afraid . . . but my parents weren’t. You weren’t dating anyone else—Alyssa assured me that was still true last week—so they were sure you still felt the same way about me. They will say ‘I told you so’ about that one,” she adds, then kisses my hand. “Now call your parents, love—I’m really horny.”

That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse, so I call my parents and tell them I’m staying over at Heather’s tonight. My dad’s puzzled for a moment, but Mom gets it right away and starts crying. Then, classic Mom, she pulls herself together and asks if I need my toothbrush. Heather’s listening; she holds out her hand, and without thinking, I hand her my phone. “It’s OK, Mrs. Lane,” she says, turning away from me and shielding the phone with one hand. “I bought a toothbrush for him.” Over her shoulder, I can see the edge of what looks like a wicked grin. “Yes, ma’am, I thought of everything. I’m going to take very good care of him. . . . Goodbye, sir. Thank you. . . . Thank you, ma’am. I’m happy, too. I wish I’d done this years ago.” Her grin widens. “I’ll try to remember to call you Karen, but it will take a while. . . . We can talk about that another time, when he isn’t standing right here. . . . Yes, ma’—Karen. We will. Goodbye.”

“Well,” I observe as she hands back the phone, “that sounded like an interesting conversation.”

“You have no idea,” Heather smirks. “And you probably never will.”

I start to ask her what she means, then think better of it. I should probably just let that go.