Stay(19)

His lips are at my temple, and his voice is a hot whisper on my cheek. “I want to have you for dessert.”

My clit is screaming yes… Yes! When my brain cuts through like a bullhorn. No. I can’t have sex with Stephen Hastings. As bad as I want it, as long as it’s been, it would be a mistake.

Placing my fingers on his mouth, I shake my head. “You know we can’t do this.”

“I’m not sure I know that.” His hands are still on me, but his eyes study mine. He won’t force me.

He won’t try and wear me down like Burt did.

He wouldn’t have to try. Clearly, I’m his…

Stepping back. He runs a hand down his blazer, down the front of his pants. That cock… Oh, I want that cock so bad.

Groaning, I put my fingers over my cheeks and stand. Then I catch his wrist as I pass him on the way to my door. Have I forgotten what happened the last time I let my hormones take over? He fucked me and dumped me like a used condom.

“You have to go now.” Opening the door, I hold it between us, refusing to meet his gaze.

He clears his throat, pausing in the entrance. “I’m sorry—”

“No…” I cut him off. “Just go. I’m not falling for you again.”

He’s on the landing, and I close the wooden barrier firmly between us. My eyes squeeze shut, and I lower my forehead to the door, breathing hard. Tears are in my eyes. Stupid tears. Stupid girl.

My hand is still on the doorknob when I finally hear the noise of his footsteps receding down the stairs. He hesitated. Why would he hesitate?

Pushing away from the door, I roughly wipe the damp from my cheeks. “It’s hard to walk with an erection, I guess.”

I won’t let myself go back there. I won’t dream about him at night and analyze everything he says or does searching for clues that he cares. I’m not that little girl anymore. I’m a woman, a mom. I have more important things in my life now.

Picking up my phone, I shoot a text to Eli. How’s it going?

I wait several seconds, but I don’t get a reply. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s after eleven. I guess he’s gone to sleep. I fight against the pang of guilt over not catching him before bedtime.

Flopping on my bed alone, I stare at my phone face, wishing he would reply. As Stephen pointed out, he’s growing up. It happened so fast. I’ve got to get him that surgery before he’s too old for it to help him. But how?



* * *



“Let’s be clothes friends.” I read the sign aloud into my phone as I dash into Miss Con-Cleaneality.

Eli forces a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Good one.”

I wave to Lou as I run to my locker, pushing in my bag and pulling out my vest. “You don’t have to laugh if you don’t think it’s funny.”

“I like it, Mom. It’s punny.”

“Punny,” I exhale, shrugging on my vest. “Who taught you that word?”

“You did!”

“I did?” I can’t help a grin. He really is brilliant for seven. “Sorry I didn’t catch you before bedtime last night.”

“It’s okay. I was pretty tired.”

“Did he make you play football?” My chest is tight, and I swear to God, I will take away his visitation rights… But how? I can’t afford another lawyer.

“No. We went to a baseball game instead.”

Thank you, Jesus. My laugh is weak. “No wonder you fell asleep.”

“I like baseball!”

“Nerd.” I lean my back against the lockers wishing I could comb his hair off his forehead. “Well, I have to get to work now. Have fun. If you want to come back early, that’s okay.”

“I’m good. We’re going to the park tomorrow.”

“Really? Well… that’s great! I’m glad to hear it.” He calls to someone in the background. I tell him I love him, and we disconnect.

I try hard not to put Eli in the middle of his dad and me. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on him. Burt always pushes him to play contact sports, even though his doctors have advised against it. He doesn’t want his son to grow up “queer.” Asshole.

God, I’d give anything for a redo of our custody arrangement. What made me think allowing him to have visitation rights was a good idea? I believed a son needed his dad in his life… Now I’m not so sure.

Walking out front, Lou has a red handkerchief tied around her head Rosie the Riveter style. She’s in a vintage yellow waitress dress with her pink vest on top. I’m in my usual cutoffs and tank top. When we get to moving fast, it gets hot in here.

“How’s my little man?” She winks a false eyelash at me. “His idiot dad behaving?”

“No football, thank God.” I pull out the pick-up receipts for today and sort them.

“That’s good.” Lulabell watches me putting the receipts in the little box organized by last name, and she muses, “We probably should get more digital around here.”

“It would make things easier.” Glancing up, I smile. “We could do discounts for return customers and special promos…”

“That sounds like math.” She slides a pencil behind her ear. “I was thinking it would eliminate all this alphabetizing.”