Page 3 of Three Pucking Words
Thathobbyis what I spent four years in college studying. I won competitions at art shows with my photographs. I was featured in the New Yorker once. I sold a picture at an exhibit for over two thousand dollars. And where did that money go? To Max, for his game.
Yet, he still calls it a “hobby” as if he’s forgotten.
“What’s the long face for?” Bodhi asks, reminding me I’m in a bar with a complete stranger who isnotmy husband.
My temples ache as I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Work. Life.”Marriage.I don’t add that part in for reasons I’m not sure of. “Have you ever felt like everything piles up on you at once? Like it’s one thing after another and the weight of it all feels…”
“Suffocating?” he finishes for me, polishing off his drink.
Biting on the inside of my cheek, I nod. That’s the perfect way to describe it, actually. “I take it you know how that feels?”
He huffs out a laugh and stands. “You have no idea. But this conversation requires another drink. Can I get you something other than water?”
I’m tempted to tell him wine, but I shake my head. I watch as he goes to the bar and passes the bartender a bill before getting two more drinks. Another beer, and another water.
This time, I don’t accuse him of drugging it.
Bodhi seems contemplative as he drinks at least a quarter of his beer, drags his fingers through his hair, and sighs heavily. “I just found out that I’m going to be a dad,” he tells me.
My eyes widen a fraction. “Wow.” I blink, unsure of what the feeling tugging in my chest is. It can’t be jealousy because I don’t know this man enough to care. “Are you…”
Before I can stop myself, I glance down at his hands to see if I missed a ring or tan line. Not that it would mean much. I’m not wearing one either.
His fingers twitch around his glass. “We’re not together,” he tells me, wiggling the finger I’m gawking at like an idiot. “Maybe we should be, though. For our kid, you know? I never thought I’d be in the position to even think about this sort of thing.”
I have no idea what to say to him. We don’t know each other, so do I have a right to give him advice? I’m not biased to his situation. I have no real opinion of the matter. “Do youwantto be a dad?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he stares into his drink thoughtfully before bringing it to his mouth and taking a large swig. “I’ve never thought about it. I just turned twenty-eight. I barely have my own shit together.”
I watch the torture that lingers in his eyes. “There are people a lot younger than you who’ve dealt with the same thing and managed to get by. If you truly want to be in your kid’s life, then you can’t let anything stop you.”
Bodhi’s head lifts. “You think?”
I nod. “Take it from someone whose relationship with her parents is lacking. I’ve always been a little jealous of people who get to have their mom and dad in their life. Mine are both absent. They always have been. Do you want that for your son or daughter?”
He frowns and shakes his head. “No.”
“Do you want to be with their mom?”
His frown deepens, and his shoulders tighten.
The answer is obvious even without him saying it, and an odd sense of satisfaction, which I quickly brush off, eases the tight grip around my heart.
“Look,” I offer softly, reaching over and touching his hand. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. After tonight, we’re probably never going to see each other again. So say what you want to. Consider me your temporary therapist for the night. Free of charge. Who am I going to tell?”
His eyes spark as he studies me, then our hands on the table. “You really don’t, do you?”
Confusion pinches my brows together. “I don’t—”
His head moves back and forth as his fingers swipe at his jaw. “I probably shouldn’t have come over here,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything as his fingers flex underneath mine. When those annoyingly gorgeous blue eyes flick upward, I can’t help but blush under the scrutiny of them. “It’s hard to believe a pretty girl like you is here all alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
His tongue drags over his lips. “No,” he agrees, eyes dropping to my mouth. “You’re not.”
His touch suddenly feels heated and heavy. Almost as heavy as his lidded expression. It stirs something in my belly as I glance over at my phone. There are no messages and only fifteen percent battery life left. Doesn’t Max care where I am? Doesn’t he want me to know he’s okay?
The answer is easy. No.
