Page 37 of On the Line

It’s Monday, which means it’s my only day off—simply because Orso is closed on Mondays. I should still be sleeping but I’m awake at the ass crack of dawn sitting on my balcony sipping a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette.

It overlooks the parking lot of the fried chicken joint downstairs. At first, I’d liked the idea of living on top of a restaurant, until I realized my entire apartment would smell like fried chicken all the time.

Not a fan of it anymore.

I plan on driving over to the house to see Sophia and Charlie. I usually don’t bother checking up on them this early in the morning but after my dad’s most recent bender, I’ve been keeping a closer eye on their general welfare.

Huxley, as per usual, continues to disappear on me. I haven’t seen him since I paid him to stay with the kids for a few days. As soon as our dad was back and, somewhat, on top of things, he was gone again.

I toy with my phone in my lap, taking a long drag. My fingers itch to pull up James’ phone number andtext her. It hasn’t even been twelve hours since I left her alone in her parent’s kitchen. By the distraught expression that she kept trying to hide from me I’m selfishly, and hopefully, assuming she dumped her piece of shit boyfriend.

She wouldn’t have given me her number if she hadn’t.

But she wasn’t exactly single when we hooked up earlier that night either.

Fuck. Maybe I should have pried more.

But as I sip my now tepid coffee, and recall the way her body felt against mine, how her pussy drenched my fingers—and well … maybe I don’t necessarily care either way, as long as she lets me touch her like that again.

Fuck it.

Caving, I snap a quick picture of my coffee and cigarette and type out a quick text.

Good morning, sweetheart.

Sweetheart? No, maybe just princess.

No. That doesn’t feel right either.

Jesus fucking Christ, Oz, get it together, you dipshit.

I settle for something safer.

Morning, Jimbo.

I promptly send the text along with the picture before the need to throw my phone over the balcony overtakes me.

“Ozzy!”

Charlie is jumping on the ratty couch still in his faded pjs when I walk in. Morning cartoons blare on the TV ashe flashes me a toothy grin but doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, turning the volume down. “You sleep okay?”

His smile fades, abruptly stopping his jumps mid-air, landing on an askew cushion with a pout. I guess the ear-piercing volume of the TV was an important factor in whatever he was up to. “Yeah,” he says with a shrug, jumping off the couch, seemingly already moving on to something else.

When he scampers down the hallway, I yell, “Great talk!”

A muffled laugh from somewhere in the house is answer enough. In the kitchen, I start unloading the bag of groceries I brought with me into the fridge.

“You’re doing it again,” I hear Sophia say behind me.

“Doing what, miss Soph?” My tone is innocent but I already know what she’s about to say as I put the last of the food in before facing her.

“Hovering,” she says with a yawn, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. “You’re like the big brother version of a helicopter mom.”

I scoff. “Thanks.” Giving her a small shove to the shoulder.

She laughs, pouring orange juice into her glass before sitting down at the table.

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