“Do you want me to invite him over?”
“No.”
“Drive by hishouse real slow?”
“I will jump out of this moving vehicle.”
Amber laughs, warm and loud, filling the car. She continues teasing me the whole drive home—asking if our couple name would be Renah or Jonée, if I’ve imagined where we will honeymoon.
I threaten her.
She dares me to text him.
I almost do.
Somewhere between the third red light and our street, the knot in my chest loosens. I feel lighter, like we’re teenagers whispering secrets in the dark, daring each other to make the first move, and pretending this stuff isn’t terrifying.
When we get home, we relieve Tracy of her babysitting duties and she rejects my money as always.
A hot shower isn’t necessary because I didn’t work up any kind of sweat. I didn’t even take off my dress. Said dress is hung back in my closet and I peel out of my armor that did jackshit protecting me tonight. I pop on an old nightgown and slip into bed.
In the privacy of my room and steel vault of my mind, I think of my former student. Cocksure and irritating.
I think of the stripper. Magnificent and talented.
I think of my neighbor. Generous and kind.
Wetness forms at the crux of my thighs for the first time tonight, and when my fingers slide through, I dream of his tongue. Of his broad, muscular shoulders under my legs—steady and grounding.
The house is silent, but I can’t hear anything over the blood rushing through my ears when I come fast and hard to the image of me riding him, teasing him, forcing his arms down and taking what’s mine—mine—mine.
And when I come again, all I picture is that smile.
1. Bad Things by Cailin Russo
Chapter 20
A Small Request
Jonah
On the Monday morning after family dinner, I go out to the barn to feed everyone and freshen up their pens. When I see the space where the tractor usually is, I remember it’s still dead and parked a ways back on the trail.
I’m about to call the first tractor repair mechanic the internet offers, but then I think of Dad. He probably knows exactly what to do. And even though he was just here last night, something tells me he wouldn’t mind coming back. He stayed longer than anyone last night to talk to me. We sat on the porch, listening to crickets and talking. I would have stayed up all night if he wanted to. Something’s changed between us. He spoke to me like a friend, man-to-man, not father-to-son.
It made me realize two things: He’s not as concerned about where my life is going as he once was, and he’s lonely. I’m sure it was hard enough when all us kids finally moved out, but now he’s retired.
So, before I press the phone number for Mike’s Deli and Tractor Repair (10.2 miles away with a 4.4 out of 5 star rating), I call Dad instead. He may be retired from his corporate life, but he still takes odd engine repair jobs.
Two hours later, he pulls into my driveway.
The dogs mill about the trees in search of squirrels while the pair of us stand over the front wheel wells. Dad knows what he’s looking at. I do not.
Shocking, I know.
“That’s what I thought,” he sighs, but he doesn’t sound grim. “It’s overheating,” he explains. “You’ve gotta be careful with these older tractors. Your coolant is low. I’m guessing you haven’t topped it off with any new fluids since you bought this place?”
I shake my head.
