Best Friends Forever

Ayla swallowed hard and dug the thumbnail of her left hand into her palm until she almost drew blood. Teri would stand there until Ayla responded, she knew that from unfortunate past experience. The two women made eye contact, seething Ayla vs. smug Teri, and the stare down lasted a heartbeat past becoming uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Ayla muttered under her breath and sat down at her desk, punching in her password.

“I’ll bring that paperwork over for you to sign in just a little while,” Teri began to walk away but turned back. “Ayla, have you stopped going to the gym? You look like you’ve put on, I don’t know, five pounds? My trainer could probably squeeze you in if you want his number.”

What. The. Fuck.

Ayla’s eyes opened wide as she stared at her monitor. She’d taken all she was going to take. She looked back over her shoulder at Teri. “No, thanks, I don’t think your trainer has an impressive enough portfolio for me.”

Teri scrunched up her face, as best the procedures she’d had done would allow, and digested the dig. Ayla had already donned her headset and turned her attention to work, so Teri let the matter drop and went to find somebody else to bully.

At her first break, after a morning of being berated over the phone, Ayla checked her cell and found four text messages waiting for her.

Randy, her boss’s boss at the shipping company, asked her to find him in the morning when she got to work. Undoubtedly to talk about her reliability and punctuality.

Desiree checked in and apologized if she’d been short with Ayla in the morning and wanted to check on her and Preston.

The third was from Amy, Ayla’s older sister in California. Amy’s husband had gotten two free Dodgers’ tickets for their Saturday afternoon game from a friend, good seats, and wanted to invite Ayla and Preston to use them if they could make it down to L.A. for the weekend.

Finally, some good news after a dreadful morning.

Weekends were when Ayla caught up on sleep and enjoyed some quality time with her son, and they squeezed in as much fun as she could afford. They loved hiking in the desert, exploring old ghost towns, and taking trips to Southern California to visit her sister and Preston’s cousins.

Amy felt bad for Ayla and wished she could be there to help, but she wasn’t in a position to relocate. Amy’s husband, Noah, worked as a session musician, playing guitar at several Los Angeles-area recording studios, and he helped to care for his own sister, Melissa, who was stricken with cerebral palsy. Amy and Noah had two small children of their own, a boy and girl, and their life had enough stress without worrying about Ayla and Preston.

Noah had inherited a large house down in Orange County, with a guest bedroom larger than the master in Ayla’s rental house. It came complete with its own bathroom, large flat screen TV, and small fridge. Being there was just like being on vacation. Preston would be excited to hear about the Dodgers game, and maybe they could squeeze in a trip to the beach while they were there.

The final text message was from Ayla’s babysitter, Lupe. A flimsy excuse about having to watch her niece, but nothing which would have precluded her from calling Desiree or Ayla to let them know she might not be able to make it. Ayla figured she’d spent the night at her boyfriend’s place, been up late, and slept right through her alarm, if she’d even set one.

The search for a reliable person to watch Preston early in the morning would evidently have to resume.

Once she was back on the clock, Ayla’s work was interrupted by Teri with her paperwork. “I have two, one for your persistent tardiness and one for your insubordination,” Teri explained, setting the papers down on the edge of Ayla’s desk. “Just sign here and here.”

“Insubordination?” Ayla asked.

“That nasty remark about my trainer,” Teri explained. She leaned in close, so only Ayla could hear her. “Challenge me and I’ll burn you to the ground. You’ll be out of here. Don’t forget that boy of yours. You need this job.”

Ayla balled up her fists in a fit of rage. She needed a drink. Or a massage. Or to get fucked. Or all three. She’d settle for a glass of wine and a few chapters of the new Nora Roberts novel she’d downloaded the previous evening. The guy on the cover had almost melted the glass on her Kindle, so she had that guilty pleasure to look forward to.

She scribbled her name on the two lines Teri had pointed to and slammed the pen down on the desk before putting her headset back on and turning her back to her manager.

The rest of the day was uneventful, and Ayla looked forward to giving Preston the news about the Dodgers and watching him enjoy his ice cream.

Ayla’s Spanish wasn’t great, but she’d given Preston a few phrases to try with the boys at daycare. He’d tried them, and the boys seemed pleased, but they responded with full-speed Spanish, and Preston was immediately lost. The making of daycare lemonade would be a work in progress. Lupe’s family was from Honduras, and Desiree had taken four years of high school Spanish. In fact, Desiree’s brother-in-law was from Ecuador, so Ayla knew she could eventually get her son pointed

in the right direction. And hopefully she could get Lupe to show up consistently on time.

He was ecstatic about the trip to California, and although baseball wasn’t his favorite sport, going to the big stadium was always fun. Staying up late with Mom watching movies on Aunt Amy’s Netflix was pretty cool, too.

Once Preston was full and showered, Ayla drew a bath and poured herself some wine. Staying up to enjoy some “me time” would cut into her already small sleep window, but she needed to destress in the worst way.

The steam from the romance novel was even hotter than that rising from the bathwater, and before long the wine had helped dissolve Ayla’s tension. When she got to a particularly wicked scene involving the heroine and her father’s best friend, an MMA fighter, Ayla’s hands wandered all over her own body.

In her mind, she imagined the man she always did – the man in the green shirt from Scald.

For a long time, she felt shame at how she’d acted, what she’d done, how eager she’d been for him to have her and take her and use her. But nothing got her going like the memory. She climaxed easily, straightening her legs hard against the end of the tub and tossing her head back.

Rather than satiating her, the release was a trigger, and she stayed in the tub until the water was lukewarm, coaxing all the pleasure she could from her lush body. By the time she staggered to her bed and collapsed, it was after midnight. She was due at work in less than four hours.