Page 77 of Getting Over You

Cade smirks. Those dimples… They’re weapons. And they’re capable of hurting me.

I enjoy the occasional pin prick of pain. The tattoo on my collarbone is evidence of that.

“You’re allowed to say we fuck, Gigi,” Cade whispers, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re allowed to tell me,Hey Cade, I enjoy fucking you.”

“I know.” I’m enamored with my coffee. I run my thumb carefully around the rim of the cup.

“So, why don’t you?”

“It’s weird to me,” I admit. “Very out there, vulgar.”

“Is there something you’d prefer?”

Making love. Sleeping together.

I meet his gaze, dark and stormy. And worth the risk.

“Fucking is fine,” I mutter, heat rising, white hot, to my hair.

When he asks me to say it louder, I glare.

“I just wanted to check in. Because I know I’m usually there with you a lot. So—”

“Gigi Nicole,” my mom says. “I promise you, I’m doing okay. No casting for an antidepressant commercial here. Besides, my sadness is much more sad dog in a shelter than antidepressant commercial.”

I sigh. “Mom.”

“Gigi. You called yesterday, the day before that, probably the day before that, too. I have nothing more to update you on. I cleaned the cat’s litter box. Maybe that’s an update?”

“But you swear you’re fine?”

“You’re home in a month,” Mom says. “I’ll be just fine. I’m baffled that Mollie would tell you I was wallowing.”

“Eating ice cream and watchingThe Bachelorwithout me counts.”

“Well, then.” A pause, too long. “Maybe I’ve wallowed a little. But then Mollie has, too. I don’t watch alone.”

“Home in a month,” I say.

“I’ll try to save a few episodes,” Mom says with a nervous laugh. “The ice cream is replenish-able. I love you.”

She hangs up before I can say it back. She doesn’t need to hear me say I love her to know that I do.

I love that about her. I could never say that about Belinda. Which makes me love Mom all the more.

I decided to call on my break during an evening shift at the diner. Cade isn’t working tonight, but I don’t need him here physically to feel him everywhere I go. It’s like I can feel the storm clouds of his eyes looming over me every second of the day. And now that I don’t have avoiding him and his sex appeal on my list of priorities, I need something else.

Cue worrying about my mom and her apparent sadness at my absence.

Drinking coffee in the kitchen before work, Cade’s texting me.

Good morning, my girl.

At work, he’s sneaking handfuls of my ass in his palm during the moments I wander into the kitchen, pretending to need clean glasses. Then texting me:

I wish I could touch you.

In the rare circumstance that we aren’t together after work, I’m craving him. Itching to feel his touch on my skin.

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