One Big Cliché

Chapter 6

Dustin

          I glare at Chris as he laughs for about the hundredth time since he came over. "How many times do I need to tell you to shut up before you actually do?"

          Calming down, he shakes his head and puts his attention back on the game, shooting at the other team. "But man, you should have seen her face, too. She looked like she would have thrown my phone or something. I was seriously afraid she would have. And—"

          "Shut up! Dude! Seriously!" Taking a deep breath, I try to focus on getting to the next checkpoint, thumbs directing the sticks on my controller as I click at the right trigger. "I don't even know what misogynistic even means."

          "I think it means you discriminate against women, or something," he explains, taking out someone sneaking up behind me. We fist bump, and then he continues, "I don't see what the big deal is. She's actually really cool. Her and her friend's little brother, Steven."

          I turn away from the game and stare at him, "Dude. Do you not have a life? And what would you have done if Donavin had showed up?"

          He shakes his head, a sad sort of smile on his face. "I'm not really worried about what Donavin thinks anymore. Maybe you shouldn't be, either."

          The front door opens before I can figure out my response to that, and my mom's laugh carries through the house. Chris and I share a look before getting up and checking it out. Usually my mom's never home. By the time I'm out of practice, or on weekends, she's with all the other rich wives who get together and try to feel important, and then the rest of the day she's drinking cocktails with said wives. If she's coming home now, then she didn't come home last night.

          And that's when the deeper laugh follows hers and we round the corner into the kitchen, seeing her and some guy walking into the house. My house. Like he belongs here. But he doesn't. I step around the island in the kitchen and into the dining area, moving toward them, my blood rushing in my ears. Chris follows me, and even though he probably wants to keep me from making a scene, I know he isn't going to stop me if it comes to that.

          My mom pales when she sees me, her smile dropping. I'm her son. She shouldn't have that reaction. I'm too pissed off to dwell on it, though. "Who is this?"

          "Dustin," Chris whispers uncomfortably. He doesn't believe in raising your voice to a woman, especially if she's your mom. I don't care.

          She stares at me, but doesn't answer, just gapes.

          The guy she's with, some loser in need of a haircut and a fresh shave, glares at me, "Who do you think you are? She's a grown woman, she doesn't answer to you."

          "I wasn't talking to you!" I yell, which makes my mom jump, and I try not to wince.

          The guy steps closer to me, but he's thin and I have a couple of inches on him. Plus there's a hint of slurring in his words, as if he's had too much to drink, or is still drunk off what he drank last night. There's no way he can honestly think he could take me if I decide to kick his ass. My eyes narrow as I size him up. He's dressed formal and in all black, but his slacks are wrinkled and his button up is barely buttoned. His hair looks as if it had been mussed at some point, but now it hangs limp and falls in his eyes. He looks less like a hot date and more like a hot mess.

           My mom finally says something, her voice shaking, "Dustin, I didn't know you'd be home."

          "It's Sunday," I state, not taking my eyes off the guy. "Where else would I be? Mom, who is this? What about dad?"