Page 74 of Smut

I try to breathe in deep but it’s hard. My whole chest feels thick, like I’m drowning on the inside. No matter what, they still have this fucking noose around my neck.

“What did we do wrong?” my mother asks my father, shaking her head slightly. “After Dahlia threw her life away, I had such high hopes for this one.”

“One night my girlfriend stole some barbiturates from her mother,” Aunt Sylvia continues, finishing her martini. “Boy, did we have a wild night. I had rug burns on my knees for days.”

I pause mid-chew. Now she has my attention.

“Amanda,” my father says. “Just promise me that you’ll think about it. About taking him back. Or at least letting us set you up with one of the Birmingham boys. All of them are going to law school now.”

I don’t say anything. There’s no point.

Aunt Sylvia sighs dreamily. “Sometimes I wished I had run off with her to Mexico like we’d planned. I would have never had to marry Seth.”

“What?” Uncle Seth says.

“Yeah, what?” I repeat.

Surprised, Aunt Sylvia looks up at us with glazed eyes. “What were we talking about?”

“Never mind,” my father grumbles. “Let’s just try and eat the rest of the meal in peace.

And that’s how lunch went with my parents. Not only do I think Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Seth are getting a divorce now, but I’ve learned just how much my parents don’t believe in me.

It makes me realize how badly I want this book to succeed, to prove them wrong, even if in secret.

It also makes me realize that there’s no guy I want to be set up with, none that I would be interested in dating. There’s only one guy for me at the moment.

And after last night, the thought of him scares me more than anything.

By the time I get back home, I’ve pushed my parents out of my mind and Blake’s found his way back in. I’m a nervous wreck again. Fortunately, I have the place to myself so I have time to stew over shit in silence.

Blake hasn’t stopped texting me.

Let me know when you’re free to talk – Turd Ferguson.

Give a shout when you can – Homer Sexual.

I just booked the editor for this weekend – Yuri Nater

Seriously, I’m not good at this game. We need to talk books. I promise I won’t kiss you – Hugh Jass.

Call me for the sake of your future – Mike Rotch.

The last one has me laughing, even though I can’t take a threat from Mike Rotch seriously.

I text him back.

What up?

He calls me.

I knew it.

I pick up the phone. “Why can’t you just text me?”

“Why can’t you use your mouth?” he answers smoothly.

Tread carefully. “I’m better at writing things out than saying them.”

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