The Anti-Boyfriend(32)

She smiled. “It’s the thought that counts, and it was an amazing gesture. Thank you.”

We sat on the floor, eating directly off the cake with our forks.

“This ain’t bad,” I said with my mouth full.

“Not sure I want to know where you even got a cake this late, but I have to say, it’s pretty damn good.” She had blue frosting stuck on her teeth, and I had the urge to take her mouth in mine and lick it off.

Whoa.

Distraction needed. Stat.

I reached into my pocket and took out the gift card I’d purchased from the kiosk at the store. “There weren’t a lot of options. So I hope you can use this.”

She took the gift card from me. “I love Macy’s. Maybe someday I’ll get a sitter for Sunny and spend the whole day shopping. That sounds divine.” She placed the gift card aside and stuck her fork in the cake. “You spent too much. You didn’t have to do that. You’ve made me feel incredibly special.”

I stopped chewing. “You are special. You’ve become a really good friend.”

There I was again, attempting to define our relationship, mainly as a means of reminding myself that I couldn’t cross the line, though I wanted to so desperately right now.

She seemed to remember something. “Oh! I forgot! I actually have something for you, too.” Carys disappeared into her bedroom.

She returned, holding something she’d apparently crocheted, but I couldn’t identify it.

Carys smiled proudly. “Your little crochet story inspired me to give it another go.” She handed it to me. “I made this for you. Can you guess what it is?”

I didn’t want to insult her. But it didn’t look like…anything. A tiny umbrella slipcover? What the hell was it? Actually, to be honest, it looked like a…cock sock.

“Is it a crocheted condom?” I finally asked.

She covered her mouth. “Oh my God.” Looking over at it, she said, “Actually, you’re right. That’s exactly what it looks like. Shit. But no.”

“So, it’s not a cock sock?” I teased.

“It’s a cover for your pan handles! You said you burn your hands on your cheap frying pans. I made you a little cover for them. I thought I was being clever. It was also easy to make compared to the hat I’d been failing at. I actually found someone who made these online, and she listed instructions. But apparently, I made you something else.”

She was so fucking sweet. I couldn’t believe she remembered I’d even said that about my damn pans.

“Actually, that’s really cool. Who knew there was such a thing? Thank you for thinking of me. And I promise not to try it on for size.”

Carys turned red and hopped off the couch. “Maybe we should have that drink, yeah? I feel like I’m getting a second wind.”

Licking the frosting off my lips, I agreed. “Okay. Yup.”

She retreated to the kitchen and brought out a large bottle of pink champagne.

“This is my last one. I’ve had two bottles chilling in there for months—since before Sunny was born. The first one I opened the night I found out I got the job. Just not sure how to open this without waking Sunny.”

I took the bottle from her. “Let me take it next door and open it over there.”

“Good thinking.” She smiled.

After I returned with the open bottle, we settled into the couch with our respective flutes.

“So…” She took a long sip and swallowed. “If you’re here…then obviously your date didn’t go as well as you might have hoped.”

It upset me that she thought she was someone I only turned to when things went wrong. Of course, I’d given her that impression.

“Actually…” The words were at the tip of my tongue—that I’d specifically canceled the date early because I wanted to come here instead. I thought better of admitting that, though.

“Yeah. The date was just…meh.”

Feeling more comfortable with each sip, I lay back into the couch and put my feet up. She did the same from her spot at the other end of the sofa, her bare toes taunting me. Toes were not normally something that attracted me. But this girl’s toes? I wanted to take each and every one into my mouth and devour them. Fuck. I needed help.

Carys downed the last of her bubbly before setting the glass down on the corner of the coffee table. Then she stared up at the ceiling and said, “You know…I used to imagine where I’d be at twenty-five. My life looks nothing like that. But I’m okay with it.”

I turned to her. “You should be. You’re doing everything right. You’re an amazing mother, and your career is thriving. You’ve accomplished more than most people your age.”

She smiled over at me, then stared into space for several seconds.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“Neil—the guy you saw me with today—he mentioned that when he went to our competitor, The Manhattan Ballet, the man he spoke with over there was basically badmouthing us.”

It hit me. “Sunny’s father…”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“What an asshole.”

She sighed. “I talk a lot about how he abandoned his daughter, but I don’t often deal with my feelings about what he did to me. And hearing that today opened up so many old wounds.”