Are you just going to stand there?
Fletcher smirks and kisses his mother on the cheek. “Have fun, Mom.”
“Thanks, darling.” She turns to Paul. “Are you ready?”
“Sure am.” Paul puts his arm out, and she links it with hers.
I put my hands on my hips in disgust.
What the actual fuck is going on here? She’s dating someone else?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Don’t cause a scene in front of Fletcher . . . don’t cause a scene in front of fucking Fletcher. You are not dating her . . . you shouldn’t be pissed.
I am.
I want to cause a fucking scene.
“Won’t be late, sweetie. Bye, Tristan.” She forces a nervous smile, and I glare at her.
I watch as they walk out, get into his car, and drive away.
I turn to Fletcher. “What are you going to do about this?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Why aren’t you attacking him with underpants?” I snap, annoyed. “What good are you if you’re not going to be consistent?” I hit his chest with the backs of my fingers. “Consistency is key, Fletcher. If your mother isn’t allowed to date, she isn’t allowed to date anyone.”
He shrugs, uninterested. “You coming in?”
“Yes, I am, actually.” I walk into the house, angered that I’ve been discriminated against so abysmally.
She’s on a fucking date . . . of all the nerve.
I raise my chin in defiance. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her yet. I better wait for her to get home.” I look around the house. “Where does your mother keep her wine?”
“Hi.” The little dark-haired boy smiles up at me. “You came back.”
“Yes, I did.” I smirk. This kid is my favorite—cute and innocent.
“What’s your name again?” He frowns.
“Tristan.” I smile. “I remember your name.”
He bites his bottom lip. “What is it?”
“Patrick.”
His eyes widen in excitement. “It is.” He smiles proudly.
I look around nervously. “Where’s that other brother of yours?”
“Who?” He frowns.
“The Harry Potter one.”
“Oh, he’s at school camp. He gets back in the morning,” Patrick replies.