“Max, I’m not going to hit your sister up. Besides the fact she’s too young for me—”
“Way too young,” Max interjects.
“I don’t have time for another girl in my life right now. I’m already trying to get rid of the one I have.” Seriously, though, how hard is it to take a hint? Apparently, for Darla, it’s near impossible. I might have to take Nash up on his offer to take Darla off my hands. Let him deal with her crazy for a little while.
“Good. Well, make sure it stays that way,” he warns. He pulls out that look, and I groan. It’s a look he reserves for wanting me to feel bad about how shitty a friend I am in comparison to him. He’s helped me out so many times I’ve lost count. I know, me getting myself into trouble is hard to believe, but it happens a lot. “I’m serious, Drew. I need to know you won’t try anything. I don’t need to be worrying about that on top of everything else. Promise me you’re not gonna try anything.”
“You got my word,” I promise him. Seriously, the guy’s worrying about nothing. I put my jacket on and take out my keys. “And how come you’re not having this conversation with her?”
“Because I already know she’s going to be a problem,” he mutters. “My sister hates being told what to do, so the more I tell her not to do something, the more she’ll do it.” I shake my head and walk over to the stairs, waving at him as I leave.
“You have to be the adult here,” he
yells after me.
Ms. Rosewood greets me as I reach the front door, a drunken smile plastered on her face. She holds a glass of wine, and from her glazed eyes I know it’s not her first glass. Probably not even her first bottle.
“Leaving so soon?” she asks, putting her hand on my chest. I laugh and step back. Though Max didn’t say anything about his mum… No, I can’t ever go back to that. Ever.
I’ve kept that secret once before; I can’t do it a second time.
“Yeah, sorry, Ms. Rosewood, early start in the morning.”
“You’re still doing that, uh, what was it?” she murmurs to herself, her expression thoughtful.
“Welding,” I offer when it’s clear she has no idea what I do for a living.
“Welding.” She smiles, wetting her heavily applied lips. “You must get awfully hot and sweaty under all that gear,” she says, her eyes on my chest. I laugh, inching further away from her. I have a pretty good idea what she’s thinking right now, and it isn’t going to happen.
“Sure do. I gotta get going now, Ms. Rosewood. I’ll see you around.” I move slowly as to not offend her when I peel her fingers from my pecks, and her hand lazily falls to her side.
“You could stay for a drink or two,” she purrs, swirling the diminishing red liquid in her glass.
“I’d love to, really, but I have to get home. Next time?” I lie.
“Anytime, Andrew. See you around.” She tosses a wink my way, and I suddenly feel dirty. I have no problem getting chicks my own age, but what is it about these middle-aged women? Why, all of a sudden, am I on their radar? Shouldn’t they be speed dating or making online dating profiles instead of chasing after men at least half their age? And people think older men are the perverts. Pfft, if they could only see what I deal with on a daily basis. Between Ms. Rosewood and Darla, I’ve hit my quota for girls over thirty.
I quickly wave with the clear to leave and bolt out the door to my car. About halfway down the street, I’m able to shake the awkward feelings surrounding my most recent interaction with Ms. Rosewood. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. She’s been slyly hitting on me since I turned seventeen, and most of the time she’s at least able to disguise her feelings with sarcastic wit, except for when she’s been drinking.
From what Max has told me, she’s been hitting the bottle more and more since his most recent diagnosis. I can’t say I blame her. I have no idea how I’d deal with my child being so sick and me being so helpless, but I probably wouldn’t try to jump into bed with his friends. Then again, her first marriage ended with her bent over a desk in her husband’s office—though it wasn’t the first time she’d had an affair—but romping around with her husband’s student happened to coincide with the era when Aubrey and Emma started acting out. This might just be how she deals with her children’s problems. And obviously, by looking at Aubrey, how she pushes them away.
I decide home isn’t where I want to be right now, so I make a quick detour and head toward Sam’s job. He mentioned something about some kind of experimental treatment he researched for Max. Who knows if it’ll amount to anything, but it’s worth a shot at this point.
*****
“This is what you get to do all day?” I ask, stepping into Sam’s office. He looks up from the catalogue he’s perusing—probably picking out the next lingerie ensemble he’s going to stock—and laughs.
“Jealous?”
“Absolutely. You hiring? How does one get a job where he gets to look at tits and ass all day?”
“Well, jackass, you start by having a marketing degree and an eye for detail.”
“Touché.” Sam sets down the catalogue and stands, ushering me to have a seat at one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He sits back down and yawns, rubbing the back of his neck. “Big day?”
“Big night,” he admits. “Laura is on my back about moving in with me.”
“What’s the problem?” I ask. “You’ve been with Laura for more than a year. You love her, right?”