… was that supposed to be a warning or an insult or both?
Me:
A warning! He’ll use his moves on you. Whatever you do, don’t let him tell you the story of the time he went camping.
Colby:
I should be worried about the camping story. Gotcha. Can I enjoy my date now?
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and rolled down my back.
Me:
Don’t stay out too late. The kids will be upset if they wake up and don’t see you.
I was being ridiculous.
I was overreacting.
I stared at my phone, willing her to text me back.
Finally the little bubbles popped up on the screen.
Colby:
Stop texting my date, man, that’s bad form. Don’t worry, I’ll have her back by eleven. Just don’t wait up. I don’t need an audience when I kiss her good night. Byeeeeee
Kiss?
He was being sarcastic.
Right?
I clutched my phone so hard that I was afraid I was going to split the screen in two. Then I grabbed the bottle of wine, poured another glass, and waited in the dark like the proverbial overprotective father waiting for his daughter to come home from prom.
I fell asleep waiting but shot up off the couch the minute the front door opened, revealing Colby, sans heels, tiptoeing through the kitchen.
“It’s midnight,” I grumbled.
“Ouch!” Colby banged her hip into the countertop and turned toward me, her eyes lit with laughter like she’d just had the time of her life while all I’d gotten was a kink in my neck from sleeping on the couch. “Where did that countertop come from?”
“Are you drunk?” I hissed.
She glared. “No, just clumsy, but thanks.”
I rocked back on my heels, then shoved my hands into my pockets. “What happened to eleven?”
“Oh.” She tossed her clutch onto the chair next to me and then leaned against it. “We were back at eleven, we just got to talking…”
My ears perked up. “You had that much to talk about with Banks?”
“He’s a talker.” She smiled again.
Why was she smiling?
Was it because they had been doing more than talking?
Was Banks really that charming?