“Yeah, Mom. Don’t spoil the vibe.”
Trying very hard to ignore his tauntingly sexy smirk, I address my child. “Carson has to go home now.”
“But he already is home.”
I take a deep breath and try again. “Carson needs to go somewhere else, then.” I turn my attention to the man in question. “Or we do.”
It’s not a threat. More like a promise. I can’t have him here making my heart and my ovaries pinch as he takes imaginary tea—or gin—with my kid.
I don’t want to feel like this.
I can’t want this.
Can’t want him.
As I turn on my heel, I hear him scramble up behind me.
“Fee, wait up.” His hand catches my shoulder in the hallway, but I don’t turn, shrugging him off and storming into the kitchen. My head is in bits, and I just want it all to go away. And why do I keep hiding behind this bloody island?
“Please, I don’t want to upset you. But I just wanted to ask—”
I pivot to face him, preparing myself for whatever he’s going to say. If that’s even possible.
“This teacher. Do you think he could be your forever?”
I wasn’t prepared for that. His tone isn’t teasing or mocking, and for once, he isn’t trying to goad a reaction. It seems like a genuine question. One he seems a little desperate to hear the answer to. I think I might do a fair impersonation of a guppy in response.
“You don’t date.” I notice he’s still holding the crown in his hand as he places it on the island between us. Then he slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his broad shoulders pushed up around his ears. “I’m asking if you think you might be serious about him.”
Words begin to tumble from my mouth, almost before my brain connects.
“Are you truly asking? Or could it be you’re trying to remind me I haven’t been out on a date in almost five years?” I fold my arms and glare across the island at him. The thought that he might be trying to manipulate me with this whole performance is making me feel as prickly as a hedgehog. “Because if that’s the case, maybe you should cast your mind back to last night,” I utter icily as I poke a finger in his direction. “Because that wasn’t in my plans, either.”
“You haven’t—” His words halt, something like shock or maybe delight rippling across his face before his expression firms almost immediately again. “You haven’t been on a date since before Lulu was born.” This time his words are smokier. His dark eyes seem darker, too.
It’s a good thing I was never destined to be a spy. Because I’d be a really shit one, considering I’ve just about admitted he’s the only man I’ve slept with in forever. The only man I’ve slept with since the last time I slept with him.
“Oh, you’re still here.” Lulu appears next to him, her dark hair like a bird’s nest as she stares up at him. “Are you staying to help me with my homework?”
“Would you like me to, Lu?” he asks with the kind of expression that says a smirk isn’t far behind.
“No, she would not,” I almost growl.
“Of course!” Lulu’s attention swings my way, sort of like the kid out of the exorcist. She hasn’t had a tantrum in weeks, and I really could do without her having one right now. “I’ll get the cwayons.”
Seriously, anyone who has been in my vagina or came out of it needs to leave this room right now!
As much as I hold to the sentiment, this isn’t the kind of thing you should announce. Especially not in front of a four-year-old. No matter how much you’re feeling it. Not feeling my vagina but feeling severe frustration, the kind that makes my head feel like it’s about to explode.
“Uncle Carson is not staying to help you with your homework,” I declare firmly. “However, if you start your homework, and if he calls before arriving one evening this week, he may come and visit us.” Visit us in his own home. Honestly, this is like living in topsy-turvy ville. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Lulu agrees sullenly.
“You’ll have to give me your number.” Why does it sound like he thinks he’s won some kind of concession? I’m not doing it for him!
Maybe I’m not even doing it for Lulu.
“You can ring the landline,” I answer with just the smallest of snipes and a wiggle of my fingertips. “Off you go.”
Wednesday, in a week approximately three years long.
At work, Beth and I are scrupulously polite to each other, but the tentative friendship that was building seems to have disappeared over the weekend. The one time she tried to talk to me about it, I shut her down. I can’t talk about it, and I don’t want to hear about her experiences, either. She looked a little hurt. I expect she thinks I’m judging her, and I suppose I am, but not about how she chooses to live her life. If she wants to frequent sex clubs, who am I to tell her to do otherwise? She’s over twenty-one. She can make her own decisions, but what she can’t do is make decisions on my behalf.