I nod and smile, trying not to think about how furious Gavin will be when he finds out I ditched him.  It’s not like it’s a big deal, though. I mean, I’ll be at school, surrounded by hundreds of witnesses.  The only way I could be any safer is if I was hiding a ninja bodyguard up my butt.

Mom brings me the keys then turns to the toaster and a bag of wheat bread lying to its left.  Without so much as a word to me, she starts making toast, the same thing she’s had for breakfast every day for the last thousand years.

Quietly, I slip off the stool and make my way back upstairs.  Sometimes I wonder why I even care what she thinks.

I pause on the steps when I realize that what I’m doing has very little to do with what Mom thinks of me, or changing it.  Things have been this way between us for years.  No, this has everything to do with her trusting my judgment enough to see that Cash is a good guy, that I’ve finally found someone that’s worthy in her eyes.  I want her to see that.  Not for my sake, but for Cash’s.  He doesn’t deserve her bias.  It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with my mistakes, her mistakes and her inability to forgive or forget either.

My determination grows with my epiphany. Yes, I’ll do this.  And I’ll show her that finding and dating Mr. Wrongs doesn’t mean I’m incapable of finding Mr. Right.  It simply means that I’ve had lots of practice learning to work my bullshit detector. If anything, I think that makes me a professional.

I snicker at my logic.  And at the use of the term “professional.”  Mom would die if she could hear my thoughts. She’d swear I’m a prostitute.

I’m looking at all this as a good thing.  And the fact that I’m thinking of a future with Cash has to be a good sign.  That means he’ll get through this just fine and we’ll have a chance to see where life takes our relationship.  To me, it’s worth exploring.  Cash is worth any risk.

As I pass the guest bathroom, I hear the shower kick on.  Gavin is just getting started.  Quickly, I hurry to my room, grab my bag and head for the second guest bath.  I squirt toothpaste on my toothbrush, stick it in my mouth and strip down before turning on the shower.  I hate going anywhere without a shower. I can be in and out in a flash. If I dress at the speed of light, I can take my bag with me and put on some mascara and lipgloss on the way. I know that’s frowned upon, but the roads should be fairly empty at this hour.

Blasting through a hurried hair wash, scrubbing my teeth as I rinse then hitting the high spots with my washcloth and a bar of Mom’s expensive soap, I’m hopping out of the shower and toweling off before you can say spit.

I hurry to give my armpits a swipe with deodorant, give my neck a spray of perfume and dress in the same clothes I wore for ten seconds this morning, only this time putting them on right side out.

“Can’t be embarrassing my tight-assed mother, now can I?” I mumble to the mirror.

I push my feet into my shoes, throw my bag over my shoulder and drag my fingers through the tangles in my hair as I tiptoe past the guest bath.

I pause to listen and can still hear the water running.  I resist the urge to pump my fist. I’m not sure why, but I feel like I’ve just won some sort of competition worthy of headlines.

“Ovaries beat out testicles in speed shower match.”

I roll my eyes at my inane train of thought.  I think my mother must’ve taken drugs when I was in utero.  That’s surely the only explanation.

I hit the stairs and don’t stop until I’m pulling out of the driveway in my mother’s Escalade. Less than thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into a parking spot outside the hall my first class is in.  I don’t want to go in too early, mainly because I’m not sure what time they open the lecture halls in the morning.  I decide to break over and call Ginger.  I haven’t talked to her since everything sort of…exploded.

Her voice sounds scratchy and groggy when she answers.  “There better be a strip-o-gram on its way to me for a call this early.  What the hell?”

I grin.  “Wake up, sleepy head.  It’s me.”

That perks her up some.  “Liv?”

“It’s alive! It’s alive!” I tease.

“If you promise not to like it too much, I’m gonna spank the shit out of you next time I see you.  What time is it?”

“Too early for you to be up.  Sorry, but I don’t have much choice.”

“It’s never too early for you, my sweet.”  She partially covers her yawn.  “Who’s phone are you calling from?  Did you find a third penis to add to the mix?”

“Oh God, no!  Ginger!”

“What?  I was just gonna congratulate you on your mad fornication skills.  That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.  Sure you were.”

“Who am I to judge how you get your freak on?  Just as long as you get it on.”

“I don’t have a freak to get on, Ginger.”

“And that’s a damn shame.  One of those twins ought to be able to introduce you to your freak.  Of course, if they need teachin’, don’t forget my number.”

“Speaking of the twins…”

“Please, God, tell me that segue means you’re about to give me details!”

“Um, no.  But I do have something I’d like to run by you.”

“Is it about dildo selection?  Because those things can be tricky if you’ve never bought one before.”

I sigh.  “No, it’s not about dildos.  Do you always wake up this way?”

“Of course!  Why wouldn’t I? This is how I go to sleep. It just makes sense that I’d wake up this way.  Awesome doesn’t take a break, Liv.  And it never sleeps.”

I grin at that.  “And neither does humility, evidently.”

“Hey, I just tell it like it is.”

“Then turn your brutal honesty this way for a minute.”

“Okay.  Wha’cha got?”

I would never want to lie to Ginger, so I carefully avoid mentioning anything that might inspire her curiosity, especially about the whole twin thing.  That could get ugly pretty fast.

I give her the short version (or should I say shortER version) of the phone conversation between Cash and me.  When I tell her what he said, her only response is really nothing more than a noise, but it still alarms me.

“Ahhh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?  ‘Ahhh’.”

“Nothing.  Not really. To me, it sounds like he was wussing out just as much as you did.  It’s not an outright declaration, but it’s very provocative.”

“Provocative?”

“Yes, provocative.  As in to provoke.  You know I’m a student of both provoking and being provoked, so I know.”

“So I shouldn’t take it as him telling me he loves me?”

“Just to be safe, I wouldn’t.  Besides, you don’t want him telling you in that kind of situation anyway.  It makes it sound like he’s just reflecting your sentiment.  Surely a guy that hot can be a little more original.”