Page 51 of Unexpected Hero

I’m starting to get used to that where James is concerned.

“Great indeed,” I offer with a hint of playfulness.

That was a dumb thing to say. I’m dorking out. Did Anastasia dork out when she was talking to Mr. Grey? I think she did. Maybe this will work out for me. I’ll embrace my inner nervous dork. “Well, I look forward to seeing you at eight tonight.”

“Okay.”

And then he hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone and trying to figure out if I fell and hit my head. This could all be a concussion-based illusion.

Once again, I’m left wondering if he hates me, likes me, or is annoyed by my general state of being.

But he’s got a proposition for me. That’s got to be a good thing.

Before I drop my phone again — odds of it happening are good — I open up my text threads, intending to message Stella. Instead of finding her name in my text list, my eyes are drawn elsewhere.

Without thinking, I open the one I’ve been avoiding the last few days and re-read the most recent message. The same one I’ve nearly replied to no less than seventeen times.

Mama

Hey, darling. Just checking in. Is there anything you need? I’d love to hear how things in Florida are going. I miss you.

She sounds so sweet, but I know the real her under the fluff.

I should reply. She knows I read the message. But it’s not unusual for several days to pass before I respond.

She used to guilt trip me for not replying immediately. For a while, she’d start calling if I waited more than a day and wouldn’t stop until I answered.

Once my ADHD was officially diagnosed and I started learning about the condition, I realized I wasn’t necessarily a bad person for involuntarily ghosting people. It’s part of my executive dysfunction. Forgetfulness, procrastination, and being easily distracted are my best friends. Proper phone usage is not.

One time, she saw how many little red icons were on my home screen and blew a gasket. Her chances of a brain aneurysm increased by a factor roughly equivalent to the number of unread notifications I had.

Eventually, she learned to accept that I’d get to things in my own time.

Well, accept might be too generous of a phrase. But at least she stopped going into full hissy fit mode when I went off the grid for a few days. In time, she came to see it as one of my many faults.

And I blame that last thought for what I type in my overdue reply.

Me

Hey, Mama. I’m doing great in Florida. I’ve got a fantastic new job. I should be starting in the next few days. I’m loving my rental. All is well here.

A metaphorical guilt monster kicks in my hotel room door, pops open a can of Natty Light, and unbuckles his pants before letting out a belch.

I don’t have to wait long for her reply.

Mama

That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear it. What’s the job? Tell me everything.

No. Not happening.

Me

Actually, I have to run. My friend just showed up. We’re going to supper. I’ll catch up with you later.

She may or may not reply, but I can’t see it through the wall of lies I’ve just erected.

I glance at the clock, seeing I have three more hours until I need to start getting ready for my supper date slash proposition with my very own slightly awkward Mr. Grey. I guess now is as good a time as any to do some research into BDSM so I don’t come off like a total virgin when he tells me all his sordid fantasies and shows me his red room.

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