His Good Girl Read online

  "I see. And I suppose this here is your fella?" she said.

  I nodded, smiling tightly at my husband-to-be.

  Kevin acted as if not a thing in the world was wrong as he stepped toward my mom and embraced her.

  She laughed, which I'm sure surprised the mess out of both of us.

  "He's certainly a… handsy thing, ain't he? Say there, handsome, why don't you scoot to the kitchen? There's a nice, cold pitcher of iced tea in the fridge. Cara and I's gonna excuse ourselves to the patio and have us a little talk."

  Kevin nodded agreeably and went to do her bidding, because that was the kind of gentleman he was. Not that my mother would appreciate it.

  She didn't even wait until we'd reached the backyard, nor did she trouble to lower her voice. "Why'd you go and get engaged, huh? What do you want to get married for?"

  I sighed. I hadn't expected any better, but it still hurt. "I know you think all men are evil and marriage is a clever ploy of the Enemy, but—"

  "What are you talkin' about? I was married, wasn't I?"

  "He's a nice man, Mom."

  "Oh, I can see that. I can see that from right here." She was craning her neck to look into the kitchen, and I could feel my hackles rising.

  "Mom, please. I'm begging you, be nice."

  "Nice?" she echoed, with her trademark wide-eyed innocence. "Who said a thing about not bein' nice, Darlin'? I'm always nice, baby girl."

  Yep, I thought, smiling tightly. Always—to everyone but me, it seemed.

  When Kevin slid the door open to join us, he was carrying two glasses of iced tea which he set down on the table. "I'm sorry," he said, "I looked for some lemon to slice up, but couldn't find any."

  "Why, aren't you the sweetest thing?" My mom practically purred as she leaned forward and touched his arm. "I'm afraid I need to do some grocery shoppin'."

  "I could run out and—"

  "No, y'all just got here, I don't wantcha runnin' around and tirin' yourself out. Never you mind, just have a seat here, next to me."

  I struggled not to roll my eyes. That was my mom; sweet southern belle to every stranger she met, but a vicious critic where her only daughter was concerned. That summed it up in a neat little package. Suddenly, I desperately wished I'd opened up to Kevin about my mother. If I'd told him, maybe he wouldn't be looking at her like he was eating out of the palm of her hand. Right then, I didn't know who I was more irked at; her, for being her usual charming, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth self, or me, for not warning him it was all an act.

  What began then might have looked like small talk to someone who didn't know better— except I did. It was more of an inquisition, but with such sweet aw-shucks eyelash-batting that you'd never know it if you didn't have the same DNA flowing through your veins.

  "So, when's the weddin'?" she asked.

  "Ah…" Kevin and I exchanged glances, grinning at each other. "We're still talking that one out, but we're thinking soon," he told her.

  "And how long have you two known each other, exactly?" She shot me a cutting, sidelong glance. "Cara hasn't mentioned you, but then again, it's not like she's a real regular caller."

  Kevin's brow furrowed and I kicked myself. I could only guess what he was thinking, and I longed to turn to him and tell him that he was assuming wrong, that it had nothing to do with him. But I didn't dare risk giving her more ammunition to use against us, so I kept my mouth shut. "Um, it's been a little over six weeks," I admitted.

  "Six weeks, huh?" She flicked her cigarette and the ash sailed down to the old, discolored patio. "I might be mistaken, but that's not a real long time, is it?"

  "Uh, well—"

  I moved beside Kevin and took his hand, squeezing it in a show of support. "You'd known Daddy for about the same amount of time, if memory serves," I said.

  Despite the smile on her face, her eyes narrowed, and I knew she would have loved to backhand me if there'd been a chance. "Yeah, and you know how well that turned out," she said.

  I wanted to turn around and leave right then and there. If not for Kevin's comforting presence beside me, I would have. "Well," I strived to keep my tone light, "I'm not eighteen, either."

  "No." She smiled through a haze of smoke. "You're not." She sat back and surveyed the pair of us, her big, fake smile firmly in place. "Soon, you say—after knowing each other for six weeks. Well, I reckon that makes about as much sense as titties on a potted plant."

  The baffled look Kevin shot me at that would have made me laugh, under different circumstances. "Mama, please, stop."

  "I'm sorry if the truth offends ya, darlin'."

  "Ma—"

  "Don't let anythin' I say bother ya, Cara," she said, her voice implying I should do the exact opposite. "If you're determined to do this thing, I'm not gonna try to stop ya."

  "Mrs. Jones—"

  "Don't bother, honey," I told Kevin in a terse voice. "For Mama, that's a high compliment."

  He gave me an uncertain look before plunging ahead anyway. "I'm sorry that I haven't met you before now, and I can definitely understand your concerns. We haven't known each other very long, but I love your daughter. I promise you I will do everything I can to take care of her and make sure she never wants for anything."

  "Well then, I guess that makes it all right, doesn't it?" She flicked her cigarette carelessly as I winced from the sarcasm.

  Kevin looked at me, his face questioning, but there was no advice I could give him. There was no way to handle my mama; all you could do was buckle up and ride it out until it was time to go—which, as far as I was concerned, was always the sooner the better.

  "You love her, you say? Let me give you a piece of advice: love just don't last. Sure, it seems mighty nice right now, when you've not even known each other long enough to have a good knock-down-drag-out. But when that time comes—and I promise ya, it will—then you'll see how much you really love each other. And take it from me, son—Cara's not the easiest person to live with."

  My face felt like it was on fire, and I was sure beet red wasn't exactly becoming on me. "I think we should go," I mumbled in my fiancé's direction, wincing as I tried to swallow the hurt.

  Kevin was sitting up, straight as a board, and even though he gave me a small nod, his eyes were fixed on my mother. "With all due respect, Mrs. Jones, I'm surprised you'd talk to your daughter like this. We were hoping you'd be happy for us, and want to be a part of our big day, but if not, you could at least not be so critical. If you want Cara to call more, this isn't the way to accomplish it."

  I looked at him in surprise. Though my mother had embarrassed me in front of more than one boyfriend, Kevin was the first to ever take up for me. Though part of me wished he hadn't bothered, I couldn't deny that part of me was also very touched.

  Mama didn't say anything. She never did, when she knew she'd already made her point. Instead, she looked straight ahead at the tall grass, her leg bouncing as she inhaled on her cigarette.

  "Let's go," I whispered again, and this time Kevin stood up. With one more parting glance toward my mother, we walked out together.

  ***

  Things were noticeably quieter on the drive back to my apartment. I turned on the radio and mindlessly flitted through the stations, not really caring what we listened to so long as it covered the obvious silence. There was no denying that Kevin was upset. Though he didn't react to frustration the way I was used to, with yelling or cursing, it was clear in his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, in the way he was studiously looking at the road in front of him and avoiding my eyes, that he wasn't his usual happy self.

  I tolerated it for as long as I could, sneaking little glances at him out of the corner of my eye. Every time I saw his stiff posture, the hard line of his mouth, the knots in my tummy tightened just a bit more. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and shut off the radio, leaning back into my seat with a loud sigh. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

  "Sorry for what?" he asked, his voice gruff.

  "She's m
y mother. There's really no excuse I can make for her, and I'm sorry that she made you uncomfortable." I glanced across to see if he was listening to me and nervously licked my lips. "I kind of thought something like this would happen. That's why I didn't want to go, to tell you the truth."

  "Really?" he asked, in a conversational manner that caught me off guard.

  "Well, yeah."

  "You should have told me that from the start." He spoke so quietly that at first, I wasn't sure he'd really spoken at all. At least, not until he looked my way, indicating that he was waiting for a response.

  "I did try—"

  "No," he interrupted, his voice still low. "You told me you didn't want to go, that's true, but whenever I asked you for a specific reason, you danced around the question or changed the subject or just pouted."

  "I didn't pout," I muttered.

  "Really?" He gave me a sidelong glance and smiled for the first time since we'd gotten back into the car. "I think you're sort of pouting now."

  "Okay, okay," I grumbled, smiling despite myself. "You've got me there."

  Silence fell over the car once more, and for a moment I almost thought things were okay between us again. Just before I relaxed completely, Kevin spoke up. "You said she knew I was coming."

  I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat, looking at my hands, which were clasped tightly in my lap. "I didn't say that, actually."

  "Excuse me?" His voice hiked up for the first time during the conversation, and I ducked my head lower.

  "I didn't. Not exactly."

  "Not exactly," he repeated slowly, his tone making his disapproval clear. "So, what did you say, exactly?"

  "Um… I said we could go the following Saturday."

  "I see. And you said that knowing I would assume you'd spoken to your mother."

  The accusation in his voice made me squirm, but I couldn't find anything to say that would make it better.

  "So, tell me," he went on, "how isn't that a lie?"

  My head jerked up in surprise at his question. "I would never lie to you, Kevin. I mean, not about anything that mattered."

  He arched a dark brow. "I see. And who gets to decide what matters?"

  "Please, I didn't mean for things to go like this." I ran a hand through my hair, wondering what I could say to make this right.

  "I do believe you, Cara." His tone gentled as he reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "I knew that our going to see your mother was hard for you, and now that I've met her, I understand even more. However, that doesn't make up for the fact that you lied to me."

  "No, Kevin, I—"

  "You lied," he repeated, his voice growing firmer. "Even if you didn't intend to; by letting me think you'd spoken to your mother, you lied by omission. I'm also not very happy that you knew how she would react and yet you didn't give me any kind of advance warning. I still would have wanted to meet her, but at least I wouldn't have been blindsided."

  I winced. He had every right to be angry at me. "I know. I'm sorry."

  "I know you are, sweetheart." He gave my hand a squeeze. "Now, what are we going to do about this?"

  "I don't know," I admitted, hanging my head and feeling ashamed of myself. I'd known it was stupid not to be more open with him, but I also hadn't known how to bring it up. What was I supposed to say? "Thanks for dinner, honey, by the way, my mom's a psycho?" I hadn't wanted to scare him off—we weren't married yet, after all.

  "I was thinking that this is the kind of situation where a spanking might be in order."

  His words made me freeze. My first instinct was to pull back my hand, but he tightened his grip, trapping my fingers. "I don't know…" I began.

  "You don't know, or you don't want a spanking?" he prompted, without looking my way.

  I knew for certain that I didn't want a spanking. Yet, at the same time, I knew that I'd been wrong to mislead him. I knew that I had to make things right between us… But wasn't there another way? "I really am sorry, and I promise it won't happen again."

  "I appreciate that, honey. I really do, but I'm afraid I can't let the lie slide." With that, he began to slow down and pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car into park and turning off the engine. When he turned to me, I felt the first tears prick my eyes.

  "Look, Kevin, I said I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do."

  "You can take your spanking like a good girl."

  He said it as though it was so simple, however it was anything but. My tummy was doing back-handsprings, and the thought of being spanked—especially here, on the side of the road—made me feel as though I was ready to vomit. "I'm sorry, I don't know if I can," I muttered.

  "Don't worry," he said with a wry smile. "I have faith in you. I think you'll do just fine." When he reached for me, I didn't pull away, despite the fact that I wanted to so badly. He let his seat back, and the next thing I knew, I was lying face-down over his lap. It felt strange for more than one reason. For one thing, my pulse was racing so fast I thought I might faint, and for another, I was worried that someone might pull over to see if we needed help, at which point they'd get an eyeful of my spanked bottom.

  "Please, don't," I whimpered, when Kevin flipped up my skirt and went to lower my panties.

  "I'm sorry, but you've earned this spanking."

  "I know, but what if someone looks in through the window?"

  He hesitated for an instant, and I clenched my buttocks, certain that any moment they would be bared. To my immense relief, he let go of the band of my panties and began rubbing his hand over the fabric of my underwear. The relief didn't last long, however, because all too soon the only thing I could think about was the hard flat of his hand as it punished my panty-clad behind.

  "Kevin!" I squealed, kicking my legs out. "Please, stop! That hurts!"

  "I know, honey," he said, his voice soothing and in sharp contrast to the swats he continued to rain down on my poor, defenseless cheeks.

  "Please! I'm sorry!" I begged as my ass began to heat up. "I won't do it again!"

  "No, you most certainly will not," he agreed as he continued to spank.

  I moaned in pain and writhed, but unfortunately there was nowhere to escape to even if I had been able to free myself from his tight grip. I huffed and sighed, kicked my feet and whimpered, but no matter what I did he didn't pause, much less relent in the steady barrage of spanks he was delivering to my quivering, tender flesh. Each one seemed to hurt more than the previous one, until my whimpers turned to pitiful cries. As my flesh continued to heat up, tears began to fill my eyes. To begin with, I was able to blink them back, but that didn't last long, and soon I was crying out loud, with them streaming down my cheeks.

  How much longer could this go on? I wondered as I sobbed. My bottom felt like it was on fire—surely his hand couldn't be feeling much better. But as much as I wanted to know, I was too busy crying to ask the question.

  By the time he stopped, all I could concentrate on was my blazing rear. I lay over his lap, sobbing for several minutes before I even realized that he'd finished. When I sat up, I noticed that I'd left a puddle of tears which had soaked through the leg of his jeans.

  "Your pants," I said, with a hiccup.

  "Oh, don't worry about that," he replied, pulling me to him and giving me a kiss on the temple as he rubbed my back. "Let's get you home, okay?"

  "Okay," I agreed, sniffling. I scooted back over to my seat and buckled my seatbelt, the tears drying on my face as the burn in my buns began to subside. Though the intense sting did lessen, there was no denying that I had a very red rear under my skirt and for the first time, I rued the fact that Kevin's car had leather seats which seemed to trap in the heat.

  We drove back to my apartment in relative silence. I was embarrassed by what had just happened, and didn't know what to say to get to feeling as though things were back to 'normal'. Kevin seemed content to sit in silence, so I stopped trying to think of something to say. Once he'd parked, I waited in the car for him to walk
around—something that still took me by surprise—to open my door. I managed a small smile and a soft, "Thank you," but fell quiet once more as we walked to my apartment.

  I almost didn't expect him to stay, so I was surprised when he followed me inside and took a seat on the couch. He patted the seat beside him and I eagerly scampered to his side. Curling up next to him, I buried my face in his shirt, inhaling his clean, warm skin, still feeling too shy to look at him.

  "I'm sorry things didn't go well back there," he said.

  Hearing his gentle tone helped me to relax. "It's okay. My Mom can be… a handful."

  "Like mother, like daughter."

  Despite his teasing tone, I pulled back in surprise, my mouth agape. "Kevin, I'm nothing like her!"

  "She's your mother," he said, as though I needed reminding. "It's inevitable that you have some things in common, whether you like it or not. Maybe that was why you didn't want me to meet her?"

  "I-I didn't want you to meet her because she's awful! Because I-I'm ashamed of her!" I spluttered, shocked that he would dare compare us, however lightly.

  "Cara, you don't have anything to be ashamed of. No one can control who their parents are. But, honey, if you were this worried about my meeting her, you should have sat me down and we should have talked."

  "Yes, you made that point very clear."

  He arched an eyebrow at my snappish reply. "Apparently not clear enough."

  I felt heat creep into my cheeks and glanced away, but I was too stubborn to apologize.

  "Go and stand in the corner, please," he said.

  "What?" My eyes widened in surprise. He can't be serious!

  "It seems you haven't learned your lesson yet, so go stand in the corner."

  "You can't punish me every time I dare to share my opinion!"

  "Is that what I'm doing?"

  I huffed, annoyed with myself for how childishly I was acting, and annoyed with him for having a point. "No, but—"

  "The corner, Cara."

  His voice didn't rise even by a decibel, but I could tell by the determined look in his eyes that he wasn't going to back down. With a final glare, I got off the couch and flounced over to the nearest corner, facing the wall with my arms crossed angrily. I couldn't believe he was being so unfair! I'd thought he was the sweetest, kindest man I'd ever met, but the truth was, he was showing himself to be quite the bully. Maybe my mother had been right, maybe we just hadn't known each other long enough.