Page 9 of Sleepover

Chapter 5

Elle

It’s him.

And—once again, I babbled like my mouth was on autopilot and my brain was disengaged.

It’s something about him. It’s because he doesn’t talk. He’s just this big, silent presence, and I feel like I have to provide all the words to fill the empty space.

I can’t believe the one stranger I’ve had sex with in my entire life is now living next door to me.

How does stuff like this even happen?

I get the boys set up with their movie, and then I sit down at the kitchen table with a big glass of wine and text Hattie. You are not going to believe this.It’s him.The rebound guy. Living next door.What do I do?

OMG are you serious?

Dead serious.

Long silence.

Fuck him again?

I laugh. Because that’s so Hattie.

No way! Our kids are friends! He said it was a one-time thing! I babbled my whole angsty story in one big drunken word-vomit! I could barely look him in the eye today!

Okay. Don’t panic. Did he say anything about it?

Just “Well, we meet again.” And then we pretty much pretended it never happened.

That doesn’t sound so bad. Do you think you can pretend it never happened?

Do I have a choice?

Long silence.

No, probably not.Do you want me to come over?

No, I’m OK. I’ll be OK. It’s probably not really such a big deal. I just wish I’d known before I let Madden fall in friend-love with his son.

You wouldn’t have been able to keep them apart anyway. Two eight-year-old boys living next door? Fat chance.

They’re having a sleepover.

Awkward! But you can probably mostly avoid him. Communicate by text and by boy-message.

Yeah.

Text if you need me.

I set my phone down and lean my head in my hands.

It makes me mad at Trevor all over again, because if he hadn’t broken my heart, I wouldn’t have been looking for action in a bar, and if I hadn’t been looking for action in a bar, I wouldn’t have slept with Sawyer, and if I hadn’t had sex with Sawyer, I wouldn’t be living next door to a guy I can picture naked with his eyes closed and his head tipped back and the cords in his neck straining—

White-hot need flares in my stomach.

Shit!

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