“No, no, I think your father should get it,” Mom said sharply. She was standing in the entryway between me and the door, glaring into the kitchen where my dad sat at the table with his e-reader and a coffee. “Roger. Roger!” She snapped her fingers, and my dad turned his head, tipping down his glasses as he looked at her. “There’s a strange man at the door. Answer it!”

“Oh my God, he’s not a strange man,” I said. “Everything is fine, Dad. You don’t need to get the door.”

“Mm-hm, I thought so,” he said, turning back to his book with an exhausted sigh. Mom looked absolutely exasperated. I headed for the door, but right as I reached for the knob, she barreled ahead of me and opened it.

If Lucas was surprised to see my mom, he certainly didn’t show it. He was standing back from the door, his hands shoved into his pockets as Mom stared him down. He was wearing ragged denim jeans and boots laced up to his knees, his tattoo-covered arms bare. He was the furthest thing from “parent friendly” possible.

It was strangely satisfying knowing Mom was horrified and there was really nothing she could do about it.

“Can I help you?” she said in the kind of icy tone that usually sent people running for the hills. I tried to mouth, Sorry! to Lucas from over her shoulder, but I don’t think he caught it. The Bronco, El Camino, and the Z were all parked along the curb, making quite an entourage for them merely being “my ride.”

Mom wasn’t buying it; I could see it on her face.

“Morning, ma’am. I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Lucas Bent, a friend of Jessica’s.”

My mouth dropped open. Holy shit, what version of Lucas was this? He sounded polite. If it weren’t for the massive boots and tattoos, Mom may have actually thought his soft drawl was charming. Apparently he could clean up that dirty mouth of his after all.

But Mom regarded him like he was a bag of flaming dog shit discarded on her doorstep. “I know who you are. What exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

Okay, now was the time to intervene. I gently grabbed her arm, ushering her back from the door so I could squeeze past her.

“Mom, that’s enough, seriously, I’ll take it from here,” I said. If she hadn’t cared so much about what the neighbors would think, she probably would have yelled at me right there on the front porch. I was shocked that fire didn’t shoot out of her eyeballs as I slipped out the door, waving to her as I said, “I’ll be fine. I’ll text you on the way home.”