Page 32 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“What’d they say?”
“Oh, just that you showed up and you guys talked in the basement, but then you left all upset.”
“I was not upset. He didn’t want to talk about personal stuff at work, and we decided to meet for dinner.”
Imogen looks surprised. “Dinner? Like…a date?”
She’s shocked because I rarely ever go on anything resembling a date. I will meet for drinks to ensure we don’t end up at my place, but that’s about it. Dinner, coffee, breakfast? Nah. Not likely. Dates are the way you get to know someone, and I’m not interested.
Or I wasn’t.
Until I met Franco.
I sigh. “Yeah. Dinner, at Callihan’s. A date.”
“With Franco?”
I snort again. “No, Imogen, with Jimmy Buffet. Yes, with Franco.”
“Well, no need for sarcasm,” she says, getting up to make another drink for us—we alternate, and I made the last round, so it’s her turn. “I was just surprised, is all. Considering the last time we talked about him you were all like, ‘eeew, feelings, ICKY!’” She says this last part in a faux childish whine.
“I wish I could be mad at you for that, but I can’t.” I take the drink and sip at it—I’m now starting to feel the effects of the alcohol pretty nicely. “It wasn’t supposed to be a date. It was supposed to be meeting to let him explain why he ghosted on me. And then…it just turned into a date.”
She frowns. “Um, so…you guys had already slept together, and you were meeting for dinner…”
“And he picked me up here.” I say this with a wince, knowing what’s coming. “And I let him pay for dinner.”
She just blinks at me. “But yet you didn’t expect it to be a date.”
“I got confused!” I wail. “He’s so sexy and easy to talk to, and we flirt without even trying, and…he makes me…god, I don’t know. I don’t know which way is up when I’m around him. Or, I do, but it’s not until afterward that I even realize what’s happened. It was just…we were driving home, and then we were up here, and then he was going down on me, and then suddenly it wasn’t just fucking anymore.”
“I just want to be perfectly clear. He brought you home and you slept with him… here, after a date?”
“Yes, Imogen.”
Imogen looks confused. “You’re breaking all your rules for Franco.”
“I know!”
“Did you kiss him?” she asks, knowing about my Pretty Woman rule.
“No, thank god.” I sigh. “But the last time we had sex, right before I called you…it was…we didn’t kiss, but somehow, we didn’t need to. The whole thing was like a kiss, but it was our whole bodies kissing. And before that, we’d been talking about how we weren’t going to continue the thing.”
“Continue the thing?”
“Keep fucking,” I clarify. “We agreed we’d stop seeing each other, in your old lady parlance.”
“And then you slept together again.”
“And it was…” I struggle for words. “We…he…I…”
Her expression as she watches me is soft and knowing. “When you came, you felt it in your soul?”
“Yeah, except I felt the whole damn thing in my soul, not just when I came.” I whisper the next part. “And I couldn’t tell the difference between him coming and me coming…where he began and I…and I ended.”
Her eyes go wide. “Audra…” she breathes. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Don’t tell me. Please.”
“It means you made love.”
“YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY WHORE MOUTH!” I shout.
She just laughs. “You did! That’s what that is, babe. Hate to break it to you.”
“I need a drink,” I say.
Imogen laughs. “You’ve had four, and you have one in your hand.”
“I need more.”
I stand up, drain my glass, and go into the kitchen. I feel Imogen watching me as I pour two…ish…fingers of vodka into my glass, drain it, hiss, and chase it with flavored sparkling water, and then pour another more rationally proportioned mixed drink. And hooooo, I’m feeling it now.
“You’re so gonna regret this in the morning.” Imogen laughs.
“My first client isn’t until noon,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
Imogen snorts. “Yeah…you won’t be going to work tomorrow.”
There’s a long pause as I sip and feel the alcohol numbing me. Sweet, sweet oblivion.
Yes, this is irresponsible, and stupid, and will only prolong me having to deal with my feelings. But I just don’t know how to deal with this. How to handle my emotions at all, much less regarding Franco.
“Audra, honey, listen—”
“If you’re about to bring up The Incident, you can just shut up.”
“You called me over here for a reason, Audra. And it wasn’t just so I could enable your dealing with this situation through alcohol.”
“It wasn’t making love,” I insist.
She sighs. “What happened with Jared was twenty years ago, Audra.”
“You said his name,” I hiss.
“Yes, Audra, I did. It’s time you got over that. Jared, Jared, Jared.” She stands up and paces around me, gesticulating. “Jared Robert Ellis.” She glares down at me. “Say his name.”
