Page 53 of The Tryst

My pulse surges the second I see the name.

Fucking annoying reaction.

I don’t want to be stupidly excited over a text.

I should ignore it.

I flip the phone over without opening the message, then head to bed, pull down the covers and grab my eReader.

I click on a book I downloaded the other night—a digital economics professor’s theories on how the elite will or won’t survive the future. But one page into the admittedly riveting opening, and I’m powerless to resist the device in the bathroom.

Tossing the covers off, I trudge back to the bathroom counter, grab the phone, and shake my head, annoyed I gave in so easily.

Besides, the text is probably nothing. It’s probably housekeeping stuff about the fundraiser planning this week. I shouldn’t even care so much, want so much. I open it in case it’s something I should deal with.

Her new name blinks up at me, with a double dose of irony. I changed her from Lola toFriendthe night I met her at the diner.

It’s both a reminder and a precaution.

Friend: I meant to reach out yesterday, but I wasn’t sure if I should. But since I’ll see you this week for the fundraiser planning, I wanted to let you know that even though David asked how my date was, and even though he told me he mentioned it to you, he doesn’t know the date was supposed to have been with you. In case you were wondering.

My gut was right. It’s all housekeeping stuff. Housekeepingus. And the trouble is,she’scleaning up the mess. That’s not fair or right, but I don’t see another way around the problem. But I can offer her one thing to help ease the load: gratitude.

Nick: I apologize that you had to deal with that. I wish I could have taken that one for the team.

Friend: Thank you for saying that, but it was fine. David and I are used to talking about dating. So it wasn’t unexpected.

Icouldend the convo at that, but I can’t quite let go. Yes, there’s more I want to know, but I also crave this connection with her. Clutching the phone, I head back to bed, flop down, and ask a question I don’t truly need the answer to.

Nick: What did you tell him?

Friend: That the guy canceled.

Nick: Ouch.

Friend: It was the easiest answer.

Nick: That guy sounds like a dick.

Friend: He missed what would have been an excellent date.

I grip the phone more tightly.

Just shut it down, man.

I should end the exchange here. There’s no need to keep it going. Truly, I should set the phone on the nightstand, return to the futurist’s theories, and stay in a cerebral state till I fall asleep. But that date I missed would have been damn good. I had big plans to catch up with her, learn more about who she is, the friendships she values. I planned to tell her more about my life, and then I wanted to bring her here.Right fucking here.

I am not in a cerebral state whatsoever as I tap out a reply.

Nick: He knows. Trust me, he knows.

I wait too long for a response that never comes, then I turn off my phone for the night. In bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. In just a few days, she’ll be here, visiting, finalizing plans for the fundraiser. How the hell am I going to survive being in my home with my son and his irresistible friend?

No idea.

* * *

In the morning, I find a reply. In the form of a photo. It’s a shot of a black satin something. Then a note. Dear god. I groan for several seconds as I stare shamelessly at the image, then read the delicious words.

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