Fumbled (Playbook #2)(20)

“Well, I had to hike down Broadway and catch an Uber home, if that tells you anything.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Understatement of the century,” I say, swiping the stupid tears falling down my stupid face.

“Was he pissed you changed your mind or that you didn’t tell him? Is he getting lawyers?” Her voice rises from curious to panicked in a matter of seconds. “When is he going to meet him? Are you going to need a lawyer too? I have a little in savings to help pay for one.”

“No.” I don’t know why I didn’t wait to call her. I have not recharged my emotional stability batteries enough to deal with this conversation.

“No what?” I hear her sheets rustling. “He isn’t going to try any custody stuff?”

“Well, since he thinks I’m lying about Ace being his so I can get some of his money, I’m going to assume he’s not interested in a shared custody agreement.”

She gasps into the phone and is silent for about ten seconds. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she screams. I have to pull the phone away from my ear, afraid she might’ve ruptured my eardrum. “Why would you lie about that? And he found you and asked you out, not the other way around!” She’s still screaming.

“I mean, I understand him having questions. You don’t see someone in ten years and then they say they have your kid, who wouldn’t have some? But he straight up called me a gold digger. He didn’t ask to see a picture. He didn’t ask when his birthday was. Nothing.” I take a deep breath, willing myself not to get worked up again. “I guess it’s good. He’s not who I remember him being, and if this angry man is who he turned into, I don’t want him in Ace’s life. It’s better he doesn’t want in from the go.”

“You’re right,” she says, but it’s lacking any conviction. “Anyways. I was reading a study on Facebook and it said lesbians raise the best kids. We can get married and raise Ace together. It’s obviously the only answer.”

I snort. “Obviously.” I stand up and peel off my jeans, something that would’ve been easier without all the alcohol I had tonight. “One problem.”

“What?” she asks, her voice full of curiosity.

“We aren’t lesbians.” I mean, I love her, but I also love penis.

“Semantics.”

“You’re insane, but thank you for listening to me rant and offering up an alternative solution. It was a bad one . . . but I still appreciate it.”

“Maybe we could be sister wives without the husband?” she suggests.

“That’s a plan I can get behind.” I laugh a real laugh, which feels nothing short of a miracle after the debacle of a night I had. But it just goes to show I was right. Nothing changed. I have Ace. I have Sadie. And I have myself—and also a very reliable vibrator. What else do I need . . . besides sleep? “Thank you for listening to me bitch.”

“Anytime,” she says. And I know she means it. “Aaaaand . . . if you’re still feeling down, I can always swing by and glitter dust you.”

“Dear God, no. Keep that crap to yourself.”

“Just a suggestion.” Even though I can’t see her, I know she’s shrugging her shoulders, thinking I’m the weirdo for not wanting to find glitter in my hair for weeks. “See you at work?”

“Yup.” I look at the clock, T minus about seven hours until Ace is back, and seventeen until work. “Later.”

“Later,” she repeats, and ends the call.

I take off my bra and head to the bathroom.

And what’s waiting for me in the mirror is not the uplifting moment I need. My hair still looks fantastic, it’s out to there and my curl definition is amazing. My face, on the other hand, does not. Red and swollen eyes, black smudges down my blotchy cheeks, and my lips are already starting to chap from how much I chewed on them.

I turn on the hot water, and when the steam starts to billow up, I throw my washcloth underneath the faucet. I pull it out of the water and drop it twice before I can wring it out. I lay it on my face and take comfort in the heat against my skin. I take it off and put it under the water one more time, this time, when I bring it to my face, I wipe off the remnants of mascara and tear stains.

I put on face lotion and my head scarf and turn off the lights before I climb into my bed with too many pillows. I pull up the covers, and when I close my eyes, I silently pray that, at least in my dreams, I won’t have to be alone.

Maybe there, somebody will want me.

Somebody could love me in my dreams.

Someone with green eyes and a beard I didn’t get to touch nearly enough.





Nine




The weeks after our date crawled by.

Mustang players obviously got the memo about the Emerald Cabaret being the place to be. Every night I dreaded walking into work, bracing for another run-in with TK. Thanks to the little bit of good luck I still have on my side, so far he’s skipped the outings.

It’s been a month and I’m just starting to be able to breathe easy when I show up for work each evening. Rochelle only asked once how I knew TK, and since he hasn’t come back, she hasn’t asked again. She’s just taking full advantage of the players who do come . . . and my refusal to wait on them.