Page 8 of Sexting My Ex's Dad
Elio’s expression remains unreadable, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’re a rare breed, Stella,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Very few people stand up to me like you did today. And even fewer succeed in getting what they want.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I ask, my voice wavering despite my best efforts. There’s something about this man - his charm, his magnetism - that makes it impossible for me to keep my guard up.
“Take it as you will,” he replies, finally releasing my arm. The warmth of his touch lingers on my skin, a ghostly reminder of the connection we’d shared - however briefly.
“Thank you for the check,” I say, stumbling over my words.
“You didn’t leave me much of a choice,” he says, handing me a sleek black business card. “Here. If you ever see Owen again, call me. No questions asked.”
“Alright,” I reply hesitantly, slipping the card into my pocket although I doubt I’ll ever see Owen again.
“Unfortunately, I have another meeting scheduled.” Elio checks his watch with a smooth flick of his wrist. “I trust you can find your way out?”
“Of course,” I nod, feeling the sharp sting of dismissal. It’s clear he wants me gone, and I suppose I should be grateful for the reprieve – and the check burning a hole in my purse. But something about leaving now feels oddly anticlimactic.
The cold metal of the doorknob sends a shiver down my spine as I exit Elio’s office, leaving behind the intensity of our encounter. My heels click against the polished marble floor, echoing through the otherwise silent hallway. I can’t help but feel the weight of Elio’s piercing gaze on my back, watching me go.
“Goodbye, Mr. Lombardi,” I had said, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to sound resolute.
“Goodbye, Stella,” he replied, his tone unreadable.
I’d said the same thing to Owen when I left the restaurant the night that we broke up, but with Elio…I can’t help but to feel like this won’t be the last time I see him.
Or maybe that’s just me hoping.
5
STELLA
Home.
The familiar scent of lilacs fills my nostrils as I step out of the car and take in the sight of my childhood home. It looks the same as it always has, but something feels drastically different about it…
Or maybe it’s me who’s changed.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been back to this small town, but I have plenty of time on my hands now without a job…which is the reason I’d decided to stop by.
My brother doesn’t live here anymore, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Mom.
The second that I make it to the front door, the memories start flooding in…unfortunately, most of which are bad.
The door creaks open at my touch and I step inside, noting how little has changed.
“Mom?” I call out tentatively, but all I’m greeted with is silence. The house feels cold, empty, as if it’s become a shell of whatit used to be. I move further inside, and my eyes fall upon the living room.
There she lies, sprawled across the couch with an empty bottle of vodka on the floor beside her.
People say my mom used to be gorgeous, and from some of the old pictures I’ve seen, I agree, but that woman that she used to be is long gone now. Her once vibrant brown eyes are glazed over, unfocused, a clear indication that she’s mixed alcohol with pills again.
“Mom!” My voice rises, disappointment and anger coursing through me like wildfire. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up.
None of this is new, but for some stupid reason, I’d hoped that me moving out would be a realization for her…a revelation that she needed to change.
Of course, I was wrong.
“Seriously? How many times do we have to go through this? You promised you would change, Mom.” My words come out as a choked sob, my frustration evident in every syllable.
I shouldn’t cry over her – she’s the one doing this to herself, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts. She’ll always be my mom.
