Page 172 of Sexting the Boss

I shake my head once. “Not if I can help it.”

She stares at the card like it’s a lifeline. Then she looks up at me, searching.

There’s so much I want to say. That I still want her. That I haven’t slept properly since I sent her away. That I’m only breathing because I know she’s still out there.

But I don’t say any of it.

Because if I do, I’ll pull her back into my world. And that world is still on fire.

“I hate that you’re good at this,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

“At what?”

“Letting go.”

I take a step back. It’s the hardest step I’ve taken in years.

“I hate it too,” I say.

And then I turn and walk away—before I do something stupid like change my mind. This is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.

And I know why that is.

I’ve fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with her.

29

SASHA

There’s only somuch mac and cheese one woman can eat before she starts to question all her life choices.

I sit cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on a stack of unopened mail, and the world’s cheapest bowl of lunch steaming on the side table. Again. I’ve officially hit the point where I can make a meal out of canned beans, mustard, and desperation.

This is not where I thought I’d be at twenty-three.

Pregnant, unemployed, and watching online job portals load like I’m waiting for a prophecy.

“Did you check that teaching site I sent you?” Melanie calls from her room.

“Yeah,” I lie.

“You said that yesterday.”

“It was true yesterday too.”

She groans. “Sash, I love you, but you’re going to have to apply to at least one thing before your rent eats both of us.”

She’s not wrong. Rent is due in two weeks. I have some savings. Enough to keep me afloat for maybe a month and a half if I live like a minimalist raccoon. Which, coincidentally, I already do.

I click through another job listing that wants five years of experience and the soul of my unborn child, and slam the laptop shut.

Melanie pokes her head in with a banana in hand. “Please tell me you didn’t apply to become a forklift operator again.”

“That was one time. And I didn’t know they required a license.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too smart to be broke.”

I snort. “Tell that to capitalism.”

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