I smile shyly. “Thanks.”
My therapist has helped me deal with my mom issues. And this new job—despite my office bloopers—has challenged me and gotten me excited about work. There are still things going on, but I feel happier.
“Your mom has put you through the wringer, Mira. No one could go through what you’ve had to and not be affected by it. But I’m really proud of you for getting help. You’ve been cool about Lewis spending time with Gen.”
I’m not proud of how I behaved when Lewis first started dating Gen, and it sucks to have the reminders. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad he’s with her. At least he picked a good one.”
“True. You never know with those guys.” Nessa’s mouth firms and she grabs her soda, taking a sip.
The only guy left in our crew is Zach. Is she saying she doubts Zach’s ability to pick a nice girl?
I can’t argue with her there. Zach is a flighty one. At first I thought he might have a thing for Nessa, but it never went anywhere. In fact, they seem more buddy-buddy than ever.
“I don’t think you should give up on a happy ending,” she says. “Focus on good things, and good things will happen.” She giggles. “Deep, huh?”
“Maybe not, but I think you’re on to something.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I arrive home from work after dinner with Nessa, and a black sedan with tinted windows pulls away from the front of our house. It’s out of place in our neighborhood, and it reminds me of another time when something was out of place. Deep in the woods, when the men popped up out of nowhere.
I wrap my arms around my chest and walk quickly up the driveway. Once inside, I lock the front door, unsettled. I’ve grown used to having Tyler around. There’s a sense of security to it. I can’t help but feel disappointed he’s not here, especially after what happened in the copy room. I’m not sure what the kiss meant today, or if his absence now says anything, but I’d like to know.
I take a shower and shave my legs. I’m totally not preparing for anything. It’s just that my legs are a forest. Basic girl hygiene is all this is. I smooth on vanilla-scented lotion and grab a pair of low-slung sleep shorts from the bedroom dresser, along with a sleep cami.
Towel-drying my hair, I leave it down. I could blow-dry it, but what if Tyler walks in and thinks I’m primping? The last thing I want is for him to think I’ve cleaned myself up for his benefit. His ego is inflated as it is. I don’t want him to think I’m waiting for him.
When he walks in, I’ll act as if he didn’t kiss the sense out of my head. That way, if he’s changed his mind about this kissing business, there’s no discomfort. On the outside I will be totally cool.
Inside, not so much.
I pull on ugly, fluffy sleep socks and kick my legs up on the couch, phone in hand. I could watch TV, but I need something to take my mind off Tyler. I open my poker app and check to see if SuperMom is connected. She’s an Oklahoma stay-at-home mom who kicks my ass weekly.
SuperMom is online, which is no surprise. I think she plays poker with whoever will participate while she takes care of the kids. I don’t let the “mom” in SuperMom fool me anymore. She’s sweet, but she’s a shark, so I’ll have to concentrate. Which is what I need. A good mind-number.
Six or seven hands in, I recognize the sound of Tyler’s Land Cruiser pulling into the drive. There goes my concentration.
Me: Gotta go, SuperMom.
SuperMom: Okay. Kids finally down. Stop by later if you have time for another ass-whooping.
She’s so modest. I needed another ass-kicking like I need more reasons to make an idiot of myself at work, but at least SuperMom is nice. I bet she’s a really cool mom. Mine hasn’t gotten in touch with me, and it’s what I expected. I was prepared for her silence, but it still hurts. This time, though, I’m not letting my pain take me down the wrong road. If my mother wants a relationship, she needs to meet me on fair terms.
I don’t move from my spot sprawled lengthwise on the couch, my legs crossed and resting above the armrest on the opposite end. I check my email, some Yahoo! sensational news posts, which I’m too distracted to focus on. Finally, the sound of the front door cracking open has my shoulders tensing. I immediately loosen them and click through another news article. I almost dropped my monthly data plan, but it’s the only extravagance I allow myself. My only connection to the outside world. I couldn’t let that go.
I hear Tyler close the door and sense him approaching the couch.
Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I glance up—and can’t look away.
Tyler is standing above me in jeans and a T-shirt, staring at my bare legs. His gaze skims to my eyes.
Mayday, mayday—It’s on.
Tyler tosses his keys on the counter—same spot he always leaves them—without removing his gaze from my face.
He leans down and grips my ankle above my fluffy socks. I stare at his large, hot, electrifying hand as it slowly slides up my leg. My heart is racing, about to catapult from my chest, which is seesawing up and down because I can’t control my breathing. With his other hand, he reaches for my phone, which I realize I’m clutching like a knife, and gently pulls it away from me and sets it on the floor.
The hand on my leg makes its way to my hip, and a puff of air escapes my mouth. The urge to reach for him is excruciating, but if he wants this, he needs to make it happen. I won’t be the one to seduce him this time.
