Page 130 of The Manny

Has your boss banned you from seeing me?

I frowned.He doesn’t have that right.

He acts like he owns you.

My face warmed and I had no idea what to say back to him. I couldn’t very well admit that I didn’t hate the idea of Jack thinking he owned me. I’d have loved for him to keep me all for himself. But I couldn’t share that with Crispin because then he’d know how pathetic I was where Jack was concerned. Jack didn’t want to be with me. Jack had simply overreacted last night because guys could be territorial, whether they wanted anything serious with you, or not.

He doesn’t own me.

Good. I want to see you again.

I was glad to hear that. I would explore things with Crispin, and if I was lucky, maybe he’d help me get over Jack.

Sounds good to me.

Tonight?

I grimaced.I only have Sundays off.

?

I laughed at his sad-faced emoji.Sorry.

What about when the kid goes to bed?

Technically, I’m still on duty.

Well, that sucks.

I understood his frustration. Most people didn’t understand the amount of responsibility that came with my job.

Can’t you tell Grandpa you’re leaving the house and he’s on duty?

It doesn’t work like that.

One day off a week can’t be legal.

I’m only taking one day by choice at the moment. Don’t worry. I get paid plenty of overtime.

Okay. Save Sunday for me then.

I was relieved he still wanted to plan something with me.Great. I’ll see you Sunday.

I’ll figure out something fun to do. Afterward, plan on coming back to my place. I don’t want another run-in with Grandpa if I kiss you. Because I plan on kissing you. And a lot more.

Excitement warred with apprehension. Why did I feel unsure of sleeping with Crispin? That was what I wanted, right? Someone to help me forget Jack. Hot sex with another man was a surefire way to get Jack out of my head.

I stared at my phone, not sure how to respond. When the front door opened suddenly, I jumped and guiltily set my phone down on the island.

Jack was home early?

He generally arrived just a few minutes before we sat down to eat dinner, and he always went to his bedroom straight away to change. Today, though, he came into the kitchen within minutes of entering the house. His face was tense and he looked tired. My pulse sped up as our eyes met.

“You’re early,” I said.

“Is that a problem?” He frowned.

“No. Of course not.” I picked up the knife and began cutting potatoes again. “I’m making a beef casserole I saw on the internet.”

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