Strings Attached

I laughed. Little brat. Since he has no life and all, maybe he’d like to spend the night?

Geez, you’re obsessed with him, aren’t you? Zander texted back, and yes, yes I was.

Eh. He’s okay.

I’ll go to Ross’s and pack a bag, and then I’ll be there. I work both jobs tomorrow, so might as well enjoy Sunday while we can. I’ve never had such steady sex in my life! LOL.

Ah, fucking. It always seemed to go back to that, didn’t it? Not that I didn’t love having sex with Zander. I did, and I wanted it all the time, but I would’ve loved for him to come over just to be with me…because he missed me…

He was right. I was obsessed with him. I should have known better.

He showed up around six. I’d ordered pizza, which had arrived a few minutes before. I liked to try and feed him when I could.

I opened the door. “Hey, you,” I said, motioning for him to come inside. He had two bags slung over his shoulders, one with his school supplies and the other for his clothes.

“Hey.” His voice was slightly off, an extra edge of vulnerability to it. Maybe it was because of what he’d told me the day before, or maybe it was simply arriving at my house—he got that way sometimes, like he was nervous and giving too much by spending time with me.

“I bet you’re glad to be here. From what others have told me, it’s terrible to be without me.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he played along. “I mean, how does anyone survive without constantly being around someone as humble as you?”

“No, not someone as—just me. It has to be me.”

“Of course it does.” Zander set his bags on one of the counters. “Your son was teasing me about coming over here again. I explained it was just the obsessive thing in you. I didn’t want to make you suffer.”

I walked over and looked at him with a raised brow. “Who’s not being humble now?”

“You. Still you, Mr. Scrooge.”

I laughed. Were we playing that game again? “I think you’ve mistaken yourself for me. If anyone in this relationship is Scrooge, it’s you.” He frowned, and I realized what I said, that I’d called it a relationship, but instead of fumbling through what I’d meant or what I was supposed to have meant, I changed the subject. “I got pizza, and I’m starving.”

I grabbed us plates and added three slices to each. We sat down at the table with the food and water, Zander picking at his, taking the pepperoni off and eating those first. “Mom was happy about the car. I took her and Molly to yard sales in it. It’s…weird probably, doing that, but we have since I was a kid. It was something fun on the weekends.”

“It’s not weird. It’s sweet.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, but there was real appreciation in them too. “Anyway…she told me to tell you thank you, so I am. I explained to her that I’m just leasing it, but it’s a nice car, and she’s never had someone do nice things like that for her, so she made a big deal out of it—not that it’s not a big deal, because it is, but just not in the way she might think it is.”

He was definitely nervous today. I was beginning to understand his moods, his behaviors, and rambling was one of his signs for nerves. With his ADHD, it often meant other things too, but I didn’t think so today. “She doesn’t need to thank me, but you can tell her I said it’s my pleasure. I’m glad it’s helping someone who needs it, that you could go see your family and all that.”

He nodded, took a bite. “You’re looking at me strange.”

“Am I? I was just listening to you.”

“You really are obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

“I am, I’m afraid. I’ve actually lured you here to have my wicked way with you and don’t plan to ever let you out.”

“I would drive you crazy after a while.” He ate more.

No, no he wouldn’t. “Did you have lunch?”

“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it would incriminate me.”

I chuckled. “In what way?”

“I don’t know. It sounded good. I teach English, not law.”

The conversation was light through the rest of dinner. Zander insisted on washing the dishes, so I pulled out my laptop and worked on some spreadsheets for the dealership. When he was done, he got his out too, and we sat together on the living-room floor, backs against the couch, computers on the coffee table, working.

“We’re going to do some creative writing exercises this week,” he said. “I always loved it—writing. Most kids hate it. Please let me have at least a few students who love it.”