Me: Okay, Mr. Groucho Numbers Guy. I shall ensure I am most accurate with my expenses going forward, but this worked in my favor.
Austin: Good Girl. And my company is paying your salary and for my expenses so it’s no sweat. Seriously, Miss Sweetheart.
Me: This got way too serious for three in the morning. I thought this was a sexting booty call.
Austin: Numbers are my thing. Believe me, this is a conversation I’m finding highly arousing.
I laugh.
Me: nerd.
Austin: Ya well you’ve got the cooties.
Me: Maybe you’ve got my cooties now. And you’re pretty hot for a numbers nerd.
Austin: Maybe I’d like some more of them, too. Cooties, that is. And numbers.
Me: Are you drunk?
Austin: Very.
Me: What did you do tonight?
Austin: I had dinner with Aiden, Carly, Adele, and Dirk. And there was some drama with Carly’s friend and our buddy and that was fun to watch. I’m pretty sure everyone of them is getting lucky tonight. Except me.
Me: I’m not getting lucky either, so I can relate.
My phone rings. Austin calling.
My heart is racing.
I answer it.
“Hi,” I say. My voice is scratchy. I clear my throat.
“Hey,” he returns. “Did I wake you up when I texted you?”
“Yeah, but that’s okay. I don’t have to be up early.”
“No, you don’t, I guess.”
“Your father’s doing okay?”
“Yeah,” he says. “He’s recovering from surgery. He has a brand-new girlfriend after many years of celibate misery, so I’m happy for him. He had a heart attack while having sex in the supply room at the office. Got caught, too.”
“Oh my Lord!”
He chuckles. “Yeah. At least he’s okay. And my understanding, he recently ended a decade of what he figured was impotence. Guess it works right after all. Just wouldn’t work for my mother. I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”
“Probably not…” I laugh.
“But if you’re gonna go, sounds like a good way to go.”
“Holy! I’m glad he’s okay.”
“He is. Hopefully he smartens up with his workaholic ways. This isn’t his first heart attack. Dad is only 55. This is a bad sign.”
“Yikes,” I say.
“Yeah. Prostate cancer diagnosis six months ago, now this.”
“Scary stuff.”
“For sure,” Austin says. “They caught the cancer early. But he keeps getting warning signs with the heart. Puts things in perspective.”
“Does it?” I ask.
He’s quiet a minute. He’s gotten very serious.
“Austin?”
“What’s the story with your family, Jada?”
“It’s kind of a long one.”
“You too tired to talk?” he asks.
“No, I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you,” he returns.
I smile and then bite my lip.
“I like doing other things with you, too,” he adds.
“Like bantering?” I ask.
“That’s a nice alternative word for arguing.”
“I mean, it was arguing before. Now it could be more like banter, since there’s no longer animosity. At least I don’t think there is.”
“This is true.”
He says he’s drunk, but he sounds happy, playful. I like it.
My father gets mean when he drinks anything alcoholic besides beer. We gave him a wide berth when we saw a liquor bottle come out. A special occasion rarely ended without him getting ugly and confrontational with somebody and that was because of mixing alcohols or just maybe because of the whisky.
“So, you’re wearing my shirt?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“Pretend,” he whispers.
“I can do better than that,” I suggest. “I can go get one and put it on.”
“Yeah?” Austin says. “Do that.”
“Just a second.”
“Wait. Take the phone with you.”
“Okay.”
“Put me on speaker before you do it. I want to give you some instructions and I want you doing it in there.”
Oh. Oh Wow. Maybe this is a sexting booty call. Austin Groucho the Third style.
“Okay. One sec.”
I dash down the hall to his room.
“Ow!” I groan.
“What’s wrong?”
“Stubbed my toe in the hallway. A little eager,” I say, laughing.
“I like that,” Austin says. “I mean, I like the eager part, not the hurt part. If I were there, I’d kiss it better.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Mm hm. I wanted to kiss your ankle that night with the soup.”
“You did?”
“I did. Are you naked yet?”
“Naked? No?”
“You in the master bedroom?”
“Yep.” I flick the light on. It’s too bright so I dash over and turn on the lamp on the nightstand and then flick the big light off.
“Well, now the master has some instructions for you,” he advises.
I’m about to be a smartass and reply that technically Aiden is the master of this bedroom, but that could backfire and a backfire might mean I don’t get to find out what’s about to happen. So instead, I say, “What are your instructions, then, master?”
He chuckles low. I hear a rattling sound. Ice cubes?
He smacks his lips and lets out a gust of breath like he’s just had something to drink.
“Wait. What are you wearing? What are you doing? I want a visual, too.”
“I’m sitting in my bedroom beside the window,” he says. “Looking out at the yard. Palm trees. Pool.”