Page 32 of Falling for My Son's Best Friend

“And say what?” I huffed, my heart beginning to speed, my breath coming fast. “What could I possibly say?”

“I dunno,” replied Angie airily, “but it sounds like you guys really got along, that you were never short on words. Just give him a call and feel it out, go with the flow.”

I choked then.

“But Ang, did you hear what I said? Trent’s my son’s age. In fact, he’s my son’s best friend, it’s so wrong.”

The blonde laughed again.

“Honey, that was the best part. That was the most awesome part of the whole thing, that you hooked a man half your age, that you turned his head, made him want you, and by the sounds of it, made him love you too. Who cares if he’s your son’s age? What, he’s got a career, he’s got his own life, it’s not like you’re picking up a kid.”

And I was stunned silent. She didn’t think I was some gross cradle robber? But Angie wasn’t done yet.

“Besides, if you’re some old witch, then what am I?” she asked. “One of the men I’m dating is eighteen,” she confessed wickedly, her voice lowered. “Grant’s eighteen, he’s so hot, so amazing in bed, I forgot how good a younger man tastes,” she purred into the phone. “So if you’re a cradle robber, then I’m robbing in utero, my new guy’s barely a baby.”

I choked then.

“Eighteen, really?” I croaked. “That’s barely legal.”

“I know,” said Angie smugly. “But it’s legal. Barely legal, but legal still.”

And my head whirled. Oh my god, we were both cradle robbers. My friend and I both, we were cougars preying on young men, robbing them before they reached maturity. But something about that description was wrong, flat out wrong and even silly. Because although I couldn’t speak for Angie’s boy, I knew Trent was nothing of the type. My man was self-assured, charismatic, he knew what he wanted, a man with a purpose and meaning to life, a confident spring in his step. I was no cougar “preying” on some helpless victim. Trent would never be a victim, he was too alpha, too sure of himself.

So my voice wavered as I spoke again.

“But Ang, don’t you feel guilty?” I asked tremulously. “And don’t forget, Trent’s my son’s friend, it complicates everything.”

But Angie just pshawed.

“Honey, you don’t give these guys enough credit,” she admonished. “Seriously, your son is a grown man. Robbie. Is. A. Grown. Man. He can handle it, he’s not some middle school boy who’s upset that his parents are divorcing. And if I remember, Robbie’s been telling you to get out, he wants you to be happy, find someone new. And if it’s with his best friend, then all the better. He knows both of you already, it simplifies everything.”

But I shook my head.

“No, I don’t think this is what my son had in mind,” I said slowly. “Robbie wants me to date, yes, but not so close to home.”

“Home, schmome,” scoffed Angie. “Your man is traveling all the time, your son is at college sixty miles away, nothing is close to home, honey. Trust me Marie, you’re being too hard on yourself. The smallest challenge pops up and immediately you’re a damsel in distress thinking, “This’ll never work.” What never was going to work was your marriage to your ex, honey, marriage to that loser was going to work, I could have told you that before you married Rob. But this? This is different, there are no rings yet, there are no promises. So just give it a try, darlin’, give Trent a call and see what happens.”

I laughed then, a small half-laugh, half-sob into the phone. Because Angie and I have been friends forever, she’d seen me through my marriage and divorce, through the highs and lows, the rollercoaster of life, and knew me better than almost anybody. And her solid support, her reassurance, the bulwark of strength, gave me so much confidence, pulling me through a tough time, a ray of hope in the darkness.

“Maybe,” I murmured into the phone. “Maybe.” I wasn’t making any promises, this was too much to take. But Angie was all over it.

“Good,” she encouraged. “I’m hanging up now so you can call him.”

I squealed.

“Ang, no, not yet! Right this moment? No, I’m not ready.”

My friend chuckled, rolling her eyes, I could hear it even through the phone.

“Okay, not this very second then,” she agreed lightly. “But tomorrow okay? Call him tomorrow. Imagine that voice, his voice speaking into your ear, saying “Marie.””

And although it sounds lame, I swooned a little. I imagined Trent’s voice in my mind, the deep, soft velvet, how he’d whispered my name to me while we were in bed, how he’d muttered my name into my folds while licking my pussy, how he roared my name as he came, his dick hard in my butt. Oh god, everything about him made my heart beat fast, my pussy moisten.

So I had to do it. Even if all it did was cause me more heartache, I had to talk to Trent again. I had to see where this would go, where it could lead, and maybe, just maybe, we might have a future. After all, what was there to lose? I’d stepped out of my cocoon once, and it had brought me true love. If I stepped out again, what might happen? I wasn’t sure, but as I bit my lip, my heart pounded even faster thinking to the conversation ahead. Because I had to talk to Trent again … my love, my life, my everything.

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