Page 37 of Strictly the Worst

I can’t believe she suggested we have a threesome.

I try to push it out of my mind. Because it’s none of my business. If he wants to sleep with somebody that’s his call.

So why is there a weird pull in my chest at the thought of another woman touching his body the way I did when I put the lotion on. Of him smiling at somebody else the way he smiles at me when he’s not thinking about how annoying I am.

I squeeze a handful of shower gel out to wash away the lotion I have on my own body. My skin is warm, soft, and my nipples are so hard they tingle.

I slide my hand between my legs, thinking of Linc’s touch there and then pull it away because that’s so wrong.

We’re workmates. Without the mate. And yes, I think we’re warming to each other. But I shouldn’t be thinking about how easily he could lift me against the tiles and slide inside me.

How good he’d feel. How strong he’d pump against me until we were both breathless.

I reach back and turn the shower knob until the water is freezing, because I need a damn wake up call.

When I get out of the shower, I pull on my pajamas, because there’s no point in getting dressed again if I’m not going out. And then I dry my hair enough so I can twist it into a bun before I sit down at the table and pull my phone out, determined to stop thinking about him.

It only takes two rings for Zoe to pick up. And as soon as her face appears on the screen I relax into mommy mode, thankful to have my girl to concentrate on.

“Hey sweetie, how’s things?” I ask her. It looks like she’s in the bedroom at her dad’s house. Her hair is down, the thick strands falling over her face. The curtains must be closed because she’s surrounded by gloom.

“Boring,” she says.

“Oh.” I blink. “What’s up?”

“Dad and Melissa are having a date night. Her mom’s here and she’s brought some friends around.”

“What kind of friends?” I ask.

“A group she plays some kind of card game with. They’re drinking cocktails and eating some kind of horrible pasta. It stinks of garlic.”

I give her a sympathetic smile. “You hate garlic.”

“Right? I suppose I should be grateful,” she huffs. “At least I get to avoid the PDA for a night. Dad and Melissa are disgusting.”

It’s funny, because nobody tells you about this part of divorce. You’ve moved on, you’ve accepted it, but you can never truly walk away. Jared and I used to have disgusting PDA. And I don’t miss him, not at all. But for a minute, I find myself missing being wanted.

“It’s better than them arguing,” I say, trying to cheer her up.

“Oh they do that too. And other stuff.”

“What stuff?” I frown.

Zoe frowns, like she’s realized who she’s talking to. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I just hate it. Please come home.”

“I’ll be home for the weekend,” I promise her. “And we’ll go out to the diner. You can eat anything you like, as long as it doesn’t have garlic on it.”

She looks slightly mollified. “I want a burger. Melissa doesn’t like red meat. She says it’s full of toxins. Even dad’s turning into a health freak.”

I’d love to see that. Jared never did anything that involved breaking a sweat when we were married. And he loves burgers, the same way Zoe does.

If she was at home, I’d order her Door Dash, get her a burger. But one thing I promised myself after the divorce was that I’d respect her dad’s wishes when it was his parenting time.

I’ve seen too many kids torn apart by the parents they love to do it to her. No matter how hard it is sometimes.

“How’s school?” I ask her, changing the subject.

“Boring. We’re doing algebra in math. I hate it. And Ella’s having a sleepover on Friday but Dad says I can’t go, because it’s family game night.”

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