Page 17 of Offside Angle

Lena huffs, spins on her heel, and stomps back into the bedroom. A few minutes later she reappears, now wearing one of my old baggy t-shirts and a pair of jeans. Her hair is still down, but the sundress is gone.

I grin. “That’s better,” I say, satisfied. “This is Lena.”

She glares at me again, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

My dad looks at the new version of her, slightly confused, while my mom just shakes her head with a small, knowing smile.

I step forward and pull Lena into my side, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Much better,” I murmur against her hair.

She elbows me lightly in the ribs but doesn’t pull away.

My mom steps forward first. She walks right up to Lena and studies her for a moment — not in a cold way, but in that quiet, sharp way she has when she’s deciding what kind of person someone is. “Hi Lena,” she says warmly. “I’m Vivienne.” She gestures toward my dad. “And this is Rafa.”

Lena looks a little caught off guard, but she recovers quickly and offers a polite smile. “Hi… it’s really nice to meet you both,” she says.

After a minute or two, Lena seems to remember herself and starts herding us all toward the kitchen like she’s suddenly on a mission. “Come on, sit down,” she says, fussing over me as we walk. “You’ve been running around all day. Do you want water? Food? I made—”

I stop walking and turn to look at her. “Stop it, pretty girl,” I say, voice low but firm. “You don’t need to impress anyone.”

Lena freezes. Then she blushes. As soon as the color hits her cheeks, it’s like a switch flips. The soft, angelic version of her disappears completely. She narrows her eyes at me, and I can already see the teasing coming before she even opens her mouth.

“Oh, I don’t need to impress anyone?” she repeats, crossing her arms. “That’s funny, because I seem to remember someone telling me his parents were coming and I should ‘be a good girl and not panic.’”

I grin.

Eventually we all settle around the dining table. I pull out a chair for Lena and gently push her down into it before she can start fussing again.

“Sit,” I tell her. “I’ve got it.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but one look from me is enough to make her huff and stay put. My parents watch the exchange with varying levels of amusement—my dad openly delighted, my mom wearing that quiet, knowing little smile.

I move around the table, serving everyone. The food is clearly takeout that’s been reheated — nice containers, good presentation, but definitely not homemade. I have to bite back a smile.

Phew.

At least she didn’t try to cook.

It’s not that Lena can’t cook. She can, when she wants to. But I know her. She hates it from the bottom of her soul. The fact that she even considered trying tonight says a lot about how nervous she was about meeting my parents.

I place a plate in front of her and lean down to murmur near her ear, “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

She glances up at me and mutters back, “I was trying to be a good host.”

“You’re already a good host,” I say, straightening up with a grin. “Especially when you’re not trying so hard.”

Lena narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t argue. Instead, she reaches for her fork and starts eating like she’s trying very hard not to smile.

My dad, of course, has no such restraint. “She’s already perfect,” he declares loudly, already halfway through his plate. “Look at her. Beautiful, polite, puts up with you. What more could a father want?”

“Dad,” I groan, sitting down in my own chair.

My mom just shakes her head, but I can see the amusement in her eyes.

Lena finally cracks and laughs under her breath, shooting me a smug little look across the table like she’s winning.

After dinner, my dad doesn’t even try to be subtle. The second we’re finished eating, he pushes his chair back and looks at Lena with a bright, conspiratorial grin. “Come with me, mija,” he says, already standing up. “I brought good alcohol. We’re going outside.”

Lena barely has time to react before he’s guiding her toward the patio doors. She shoots me a panicked look over her shoulder, but I just shrug. Once my dad decides someone needs to drink with him, there’s no escaping it.