Page 41 of Time for Change

Caden’s sister, Scarlet, is six years older than my friend and has been dealt a rough hand these last few years. Her husband of sixteen years has cheated on her numerous times, including the most recent affair with his secretary. The young twenty-one-year-old woman took the liberty to call Scarletherself to tell her about their sexcapades. On his desk at work. A very short time before the call was made. When Scarlet’s husband, Warner, got home, reeking of his secretary’s perfume, he merely shrugged off the accusation without so much as a denial or apology.

“I can’t believe they’re still together,” I say, even though it’s none of my business.

His snort is filled with disgust. “One of these days, she’ll tire of being his fucking doormat. I think she’s hanging on until Joshua’s out of school. At least, that’s my hope,” Caden says quietly so no one in our vicinity—or my son’s young ears—can overhear. Thankfully, Christian is too busy watching the action on the court to worry about what we’re saying.

I know Caden can’t stand the asshole who continually hurts his sister, but he also feels she holds a little blame too, at this point, for repeatedly forgiving him for his transgressions after he buys her something nice and swears it’ll never happen again. This is why I’ve been so hesitant to date. This world is a crazy place. It’s also a big part of why Caden refuses to settle down. I think he’s watched his sister go through hell and pretend everything is okay. Heck, it was only a few years ago his parents’ marriage blew up with infidelity accusations. Not to mention, I was divorced at twenty-six with two young kids, so it’s no wonder he’s a little gun-shy where commitment is concerned.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I carefully slip it out and take a look. I hide my smile when I spot Stevie’s name on the screen.

Stevie:Today has been absolutely crazy and I didn’t even work.

My fingers can’t fly across the keyboard fast enough.

Me:Sorry to hear that. It must be a full moon or something. A weird day for us too.

Stevie:I kinda want to tell you about it, and you mentioned another date later this week. Any chance you’re available Thursday?

Hell yes!

Me:I am absolutely available Thursday and really looking forward to it. Also, just so you know, I want you to be comfortable telling me anything. If you need ears, I’ll listen.

Stevie:I definitely need ears.

I set my phone down long enough to watch the tip off, where Joshua is passed the ball immediately, and with his quickness and athleticism, moves easily around two defenders to make a quick layup. The crowd cheers, including Christian, who stands up and throws his arms in the air.

Me:Where would you like to go?

Stevie:Anywhere.

My mind starts to spin ideas around, everything from a nice steak dinner to a quiet night at my place, but considering this is only our second date, I think I’ll stick with something in the middle. Taking her back to my house seems like more of a third date, despite the fact I’d really love to do just that. I don’t want her to feel like I’m expecting something when we’re at my home, even if my fantasies are already running wild.

Me:How about six o’clock? I’ll pick you up and we can go have dinner.

Stevie:Sounds good.

Me:Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?

“That phone got naked chicks on it?”

I startle and turn over the screen so no one can see it, but by the way my buddy is grinning from ear to ear, I’m going to assume he caught sight of it before he spoke. “No.”

He chuckles, clapping his hands as we score another basket. “That her?” he asks softly.

Glancing down, I notice Christian is completely focused on the action on the court, so I give a small nod and confirm, “Yeah.”

“How’s that going?”

Watching our boys play defense as the time winds down on the first quarter, I murmur, “Second date on Thursday.”

“Nice,” he replies as we clap for the end of the first quarter. The home team cheerleaders take the court to perform as my friend leans over and makes a circle with his thumb and index finger, and uses the index finger on his left hand to push inside the hole. “Maybe a little somethin’-somethin’,” he whispers.

“Jesus,” I mutter, turning away from his crude gesture. “Stop it.”

“I’m just saying, it’s been a while since you’ve hadsomethin’-somethin’,” he says without missing a beat.

“It’s always about that with you,” I grumble, keeping my eyes forward as the cheerleaders start to build their pyramid thingy.

“Always,” he confirms. “That going okay?” he asks after a few seconds as the players retake the court, and even though he’s vague, I know what—or who—he’s referring to.

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