There’s a stirring in my pants at the way she says my name, and I want to punch myself in the face for having that reaction.
“Several.”
“I have a few myself.”
“Perhaps we can discuss things later?”
“9 PM work for you?”
She’s referencing when I said I’d call her earlier, and I nod.
“Good. We’ll talk then.” She turns to the kid. “Xavier, it was great seeing you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Miss Andrews,” he says through a yawn.
I guide my son to the door without another word.
I can’t say anything. I’m too worried about what might come out of my mouth.
The drive home is short, way too short for my liking tonight, and our bedtime routine seems to take half the time it normally does.
Xavie’s conked out by eight thirty and I’m left pacing the small apartment, question after question floating through my mind.
My heart races as I stare the clock down, the minutes ticking by too fast and too slow all at once.
What am I going to say to her? What will she say to me? How in the hell are we going to fix this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into?
At nine on the dot, my phone rings.
“Hey,” she says quietly when I pick up.
I fall back onto the couch, all my muscles suddenly so tired I can’t seem to hold myself up any longer. I sigh heavily and take a sip of the beer that’s helping calm my nerves right now.
“We’re a goddamn mess, Monts.”
She laughs lightly. “I know.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do youwantto do?”
“I’m not sure about that either,” she admits.
I don’t know what I want to do.
I don’t want to give her up, but I’ll do whatever makes her feel comfortable.
We sit in silence for a long time, so long I worry she’s fallen asleep on me.
“Are you still there?” I ask in a hushed tone.
“Yes, just thinking.”
“About us?”
“Of course. How can I think about anything else right now?”