Page 10 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“Well, I needed this, so thank you.”
She shrugs. “You’re welcome.”
“I mean thanks for last night, and for breakfast. Lunch, whatever. Everything.” I lapse into silence for a few moments, take a few bites of soup. “I haven’t cried like that in…god, years. Not since Craig died. I guess I…I’ve held it in so long I’d almost forgotten how to…” I sigh, unable to articulate it any further.
“How to express emotions?” I nod, and Laurel rests a hand on my forearm. “You once joked that you’re a cold-hearted bitch. I don’t think you are, Nova, I think you’re just pretending to be one because it feels safer after what you’ve been through.”
I dip the sandwich into the soup, and take a bite. “I’m not sure how pretend it is, Laurel. Most of the time I really, truly, genuinely just don’t want to connect with anyone, and don’t care about much of anything.”
“You’ve trained yourself not to.”
I shrug. “You may be right. I needed to vent, and you were here for me, so thank you. That’s my point.”
“I’m sorry about Nate’s comment. He’s not usually that kind of kid. I feel terrible.” Laurel winces as she says this. “He definitely knows better.”
I chuckle. “I mean, I was essentially naked. The poor kid is probably traumatized for life.”
Laurel snickered. “I dunno about that—he walked in on me in the shower more than a few times before I lost weight. If that didn’t traumatize him, seeing a beautiful, fit, well-endowed woman in a T-shirt and underwear certainly isn’t going to.”
I snort. “You’re well-endowed—I’m a freak of nature.”
Laurel bit her lower lip, a pained expression crossing her face—as if trying to hold back a comment that was bursting to emerge.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t say it, Laurel.”
“I’m not.”
I glare at her—she’s still biting down on her lip as if literally biting down on the joke. “You want to, though.”
“So bad.” She grimaces. “Sorry.”
I set the sandwich down and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine. Go ahead. You’re clearly about to burst.”
“James was walking kinda funny when he left,” Laurel says in a rush. “And the only way he could’ve gotten out any faster is if he’d run.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, I have that effect on men.”
She tilts her head toward me with a droll stare. “Not what I meant.”
“I know, Laurel.”
“I meant he was running because he was worried you’d come back down and see him trying to hide his erection.”
I groan. “I know what you meant, Laurel. God.”
She grins. “Had to be said. The man is wildly attracted to you.”
“So is my department head at the hospital, but I don’t date him, or sleep with him.”
“Probably because he’s eighty, bald, and overweight,” Laurel says.
“Actually, he’s a fit fifty, and a silver fox.” I pause for effect. “And an obnoxiously arrogant, self-important, sexist douchebag, but that’s beside the point.”
Laurel finishes her coffee. “I mean, did you see the look on James’s face when you came down?”
“He choked on his coffee.”
“Because all the blood in his body ran south, leaving him without enough brainpower to breathe, look at you, and swallow coffee all at the same time, and clearly looking at you won that contest.”
“Laurel.” I shake my head. “I’m not gonna keep having this discussion, not with you, not with anyone. James and I are not a thing, and we never will be.”
She shakes her head again. “Shame.” She eyes me. “So, you’re gonna stay celibate the rest of your life, then?”
“Maybe,” I say. “I’m a lot more productive this way. Men just get in the way and distract me.”
Laurel stares at me thoughtfully for a moment, and then throws up her hands. “I’m obviously not going to change your mind, so I’ll stop bugging you about it. But let it be known, my dear Nova, it is my firm belief that you and James are meant for each other, and you’re only delaying the inevitable, and depriving yourself of something amazing in the meantime.” She holds up her hands and brings them down in an X motion. “And that’s my final word on the subject forevermore. I support you regardless of whether or not I think you’re being an idiot.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Wow, okay. Delaying the inevitable, depriving myself of something amazing, and an idiot. Anything else?”
She shrugs cutely and leans in to hug me—which is awkward for me because I’m not a hugger. At all. Or much for any kind of affection, really.
“Only that I love you,” she says.
“Love you too, Laurel.” I can’t be mad at her—she’s too sweet, too well-meaning. I hug her back, briefly, rigidly, and then stand up. “By the way, I have one question for you.”
She stands up with me and walks me to the door. “What’s that?”
“Why does your son call breasts no-no’s?”
