Page 20 of Limbo

“I’m listening.”

“Rejection.”

That smile appears as he stops, letting me continue on without him.

My last class for the day releases early, and an irritating new habit surfaces as I leave—my eyes scan for Jordan. Only no Jordan leaning against the tree or jogging over. Still no sighting of him by the time I reach the parking lot. Nothing when I toss my messenger bag in the backseat with my other bag for the weekend.

I start the car and put it in gear. Then I think about him waiting outside the building like a sad little puppy and put it right back in park.

Damn it.

I pick up my phone, intending to text Felicia so that she can take care of him for me, but a random thought pops into my head. Even though I never added the number he gave me, I search my contacts. Always a step ahead of me,Jordan the Irresistibleshows up. Obnoxious yet amazing.

Sorry. Waited as long as I could. Gone until Monday.

I hit send on the message, officially giving him my number before I pull out of the parking lot.

Every weekend, I drive the same road, and every weekend, I space out almost the entire time. Autopilot kicks on, music plays, the scenery blurs by out the windows, and three hours pass with no conscious effort on my part.

At about six o’clock, I turn off the highway at the sign welcoming me to Waymore, Pennsylvania. The town of thirteen hundred people dwarfs our hometown of Sutterville fifteen miles farther up the road. Even so, the only real differences, other than population, are the paved streets and a lone red light blinking on top of a stop sign they installed after someone hit a cat.

I never know what to expect from my weekends at Lauren’s house, but when I spot the Mustang GT sitting in the driveway, motor running, I have a decent idea.

My much-less-intimidating black Prius parks next to the blue two-door. I take a deep breath before getting out to grab my bags from the other side. A few pieces of mail fall onto the ground when the bags bump them, and I bend over to pick them up. The second I do, I hear the hum of an electric window rolling down behind me.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes glued to my ass, no doubt. “Trying to make me hard? Because fuck, babe, it’s working.”

I straighten up and ignore him.

One of the joys of a thirty-four-year-old mother rediscovering her freedom after sixteen years in a sham of a marriage? The twenty-two-year-old douche named Tyler she dates, who hits on me anytime she steps out of the room.

The appeal of a guy screwing my mother rates about a negative twelve on the dreamboat scale. Unfortunately, this fact does little to dissuade him from eyeing my chest or watching me walk through the house. Ill-fitted clothes help to an extent, but at the end of the day, he’s still a horny frat boy dishing out crude comments.

The door to the house shuts at the same time as my car door. Lauren prances down the steps, wearing one of my more revealing tops from high school and skinny jeans. With her dark hair layered and half up, enough of her neck shows to put her fresh hickey on display. Besides her purse, she carries a bag.

“Tyler wants me to stay with him for the weekend. His parents are out of town.” She beams at the blond tool whose eyes are still on me. “You’ll be fine watching the kids?”

She climbs in without my answer, and Tyler winks, rolling up his window. He revs the engine a few times to verify the size of his dick and throws the car in reverse.

“Sure. No problem. Have a great time,” I say to the car disappearing down the road.

I check my phone and see two texts, one from a few hours ago.

No worries. I’ll be waiting.

And,Did you arrive safely?

The guy trying to trick me into screwing him shows more interest in my well-being than my mother. I laugh at the dysfunction and send a,Yes,on my way to the house.

I hesitate before going inside. For the next forty-eight hours, I won’t be Callie.

I’ll be Cal.

Cate sits through one basketball game without issue, but during the second, her fidgeting graduates to full-on acrobatics. She hangs halfway under the bleachers, upside down and about to fall on her ass—or head.

“Catelynn Renee, get up here.”

She wiggles her way out of the precarious position and plops onto the seat. Her blue doll eyes pout at me. “Caaaal. I. Am. So. Bored.”

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