Page 131 of The Tryst

“That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“You can also tell her I give you multiple orgasms,” he deadpans as the elevator arrives.

“I’ll for sure let her know you love to eat my kitty,” I say when we step inside the empty car.

He cups my chin. “Fair’s fair. Tell her you love to suck my dick too.”

Laughing, I say, “How about I just tell her my boyfriend has a filthy mouth and leave it at that?”

“You know who else has a filthy mouth?”

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend’s girlfriend,” he says in a low, sexy voice. He kisses my neck, first adoringly, then roughly like he’s going to leave a mark. So very him.

But I push him away. “No hickeys. That will not impress Mama Mayweather.”

He stops then takes my hand as we leave, his tone turning serious. “Someday, I’ll impress her.For you.”

My chest flutters. Nick doesn’t like to play the who’s who game. He doesn’t need to impress people for himself. He’d only want to make a good impression someday for my benefit. So Mom can breathe more easily, knowing I’m with someone who adores me.

I hold that sentiment close to my heart on the way to Randall’s Island.

* * *

On the court, I bounce on my toes, waiting for Mom’s serve. Like she was born to decimate people at this game, she lifts her racket and sends the ball screaming my way.

I lunge, but I don’t stand a chance. The ball flies past me to the edge of the court.

Game. Set. Match.

Beads of sweat roll down my chest as I jog to the net and shake hands with her. “Good game.”

She points her racquet at me. “Tell the truth. Did you let me win again?”

“No. You are just a beast.”

With a closed-mouth smile, she walks to the bench at the side of the court and grabs her water bottle. After a long gulp, she nods to the club. “Shower and lunch?”

I glance around. The court is surprisingly empty. No one’s waiting for it. I seize my chance. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I say, feeling ready and eager.

It’s time. It’s just finally time.

“Sure. What is it, darling?”

There’s no way to dip a toe into this water. I jump. “I’m not going out with Kip next week. He reached out this morning to set up a time, and I told him I’m seeing someone.”

“You are?”

“Yes. But even if I weren’t seeing him, I don’t want to be set up anymore, Mom. I don’t like any of those guys. They’re all self-centered, egotistical, pampered dude bros.”

She winces, setting down her water bottle on the bench beside the court. “What even is that? A dude bro?”

“The opposite of Dad.” That’s the easiest way to put it.

“I see,” she says calmly, fingering the wedding band she still wears. Maybe it’s subconscious. Maybe it’s intentional—a connection to her lost love. She’s done it for years, touching it absently, when she’s knocked off-kilter.

“But I met someone, and he’s incredible,” I continue, and I don’t try to hide the hearts and flowers in my voice. Ican’thide the way I feel.

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