Page 49 of The Tryst

“There’s a rat in my apartment. It’s the size of a racoon.”

I don’t think twice. “Move out. I’ve got an extra bedroom.”

He doesn’t need time to think twice either. “I’ll be there tonight.”

* * *

The next morning, David’s conked out on the guest room’s bed when I hit the pool a few floors below. After a long workout in the gym, I return to the penthouse and he’s still snoozing.

I shower and get dressed for the day then head to the kitchen to make an omelet. As I’m dropping in mushrooms, he saunters out of his room, holding his phone, stretching his arms, then lifting his nose to the sky. “Smells good.”

“Want me to teach you how to cook an omelet? My dad taught me when I was seven.”

“That’s young.”

“He made me his sous chef.”

“What about Finn?”

“He had to take out the trash,” I say.

“Bennies of being the youngest,” David says, then leans against the kitchen counter as I cook. “You got better chores.”

He returns to his screen. I swear he’s obsessed with that thing. “I need to give Layla a hard time about her date,” he says, offhand.

I tense at the stove. A sharp bolt of jealousy slams into me. But I try to keep my cool as I say, “Oh yeah?”

Inside I’m thinking,who the fuck is she dating already?

David laughs. “She had a date last night with some dude she was into. She was telling me about it at the diner. I have to see if it was as good as she was hoping.”

Oh.

Oh, hell yes.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Even with my back to him, I don’t want to smile or scowl. Don’t want to reveal I was supposed to be the hot date—the man she bought the underthings for. “Cool,” I mutter. I can’t think of a single other word.

When we eat, I don’t ask if she responded. I don’t want to appear interested in her dating life. Because my son and my former lover are tight. If he knew she was supposed to go on a date withsome dude, he’ll probably know the next time she goes out with some other dude.

But that guy won’t be me.

On that bitter note, I down some coffee then tell him that, tomorrow, I’m going to teach him to cook.

“If you insist,” he says.

“I do.”

It’ll be fun, and it’ll take my mind off Layla’s dating life.

* * *

One more lap.

My lungs burn, my shoulders scream, but I power through another lap, freestyling to the end of the pool in my building, trying to let go of the night that didn’t happen, the woman I can’t have.

I finish my fifty-fifth lap, then smack the concrete edge.

I hoist myself out of the water, scanning for the towel I left on a chair beside my building’s indoor pool. But it’s nowhere to be seen.

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