Page 6 of Riptide

I’m leaning toward awful.

“Hard pass,” I say, even though I’m still staring at the screen.

Hudson leans forward, adjusting Rosie on his thighs. “You say that now, but I bet you download it within the next hour.”

“Please.” I toss my phone on the counter out of temptation. “I have more self-control than that.”

He gives me a pointed look. And that’s fair, considering my hookups are usually whoever shows me the most interest on any given night. I’ve been out and bi since high school, so whoever caught my eye on apps while I was traveling was how I’d roll. “Think about it; you might even make a friend out of it. No strings, no pressure. Just something to pass the time.”

No strings. No pressure.

That actually sounds…perfect.

I shake my head. “I don’t know, man.”

Rosie lets out a small coo from his lap, almost like she’s telling me something.

Hudson laughs. “Just think about it, Finny.”

I roll my eyes again. “The nickname isn’t sticking, by the way. It’s Finn. I’ll start calling you Daddy if you keep that shit up.”

He scowls and pouts at me. “Daphne is the only one—”

She slams a hand over his mouth, stifling the rest of that sentence. Thank God. I might be their nanny, but I do not need to know about their sex life. There’s a limit here.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” She releases his mouth with a hard glare. Hudson just smirks and blows her a kiss.

“Come on, Rosie girl. Let’s get you in the bath and to bed so Daddy can have some alone time with Mommy.”

“Sweet Jesus, save me,” I mutter, tipping my head back and looking up to the ceiling.

“Hudson!” Daphne chastises, following him, but I can hear her stifling a laugh.

The moment he and Daphne disappear into the bathroom with Rosie, I grab my phone again.

The neon pink-and-blue logo glares at me through the screen as I pull up the app store.

I hover over the download button. It’s just hookups. Fun.

And then, before I can talk myself out of it…I’m tapping to sign up.

Chapter four

Foxx

Istareatmyopen laptop. My eyes burn behind my lenses as the half-finished lecture slides on probability for my freshman class glare back at me. I should be working, should be doing something productive, but my brain refuses to cooperate.

With a sigh, I shut it, conceding that tonight isn’t my night for working at home. Pulling off my glasses, I rub my eyes, feeling the strain of a long day, and clean them before putting them back on.

Eugene’s comments from last week have been bugging me, and since I’ve been home, I can’t shake this restlessness. I mean, it’s lame enough that it’s a Friday night, and I’m sitting in my too-quiet apartment, surrounded by neatly stacked books and a cat that isn’t even mine.

Poppy, Eugene’s grumpy excuse for a pet, lounges in my armchair, watching me like she knows I have no social life. She’d be correct. All of my ex-husband’s friends picked him in the divorce because they grew up together. I was left with a few people who I met here with him, but last year, even they movedaway. I sometimes go out with work colleagues, but it’s not often enough to call them friends. Now, after thinking about it, I didn’t realize how much of my life, social and otherwise, was linked to my ex. Ryan was always the more outgoing of us.

Poppy purrs loudly, gaining my attention again.

When I ran into Eugene this afternoon, he had the audacity to ask me to babysit his cat because he had plans. My eighty-year-old neighbor needed a cat babysitter. And I said yes, because what else did I have planned? I have a stack of ungraded assignments and a freezer meal waiting for me, and I think he did it all to prove some kind of point.

I stare at Poppy, wondering what she thinks.

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