I nod, sitting down on a barstool. “It was a really fun night. Drank a little too much. They’re sleeping it off.”
“Well, you go rest, but shower first. You smell.”
I gasp. “Mom! That is so rude.”
“What? You do. I wouldn’t be a good mother if I didn’t tell you the truth. I can smell the alcohol from here. Now, go. I’ll start making your favorite. Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
I know it’s a toddler’s favorite meal, but something about it is so comforting. “Thanks for coming over, Mom. You always know when I need you.”
She places her hands on her hips, looking sassy in her short frame. I’m built just like her. Her red hair is fading into blonde with age, which I try hard not to think about. She has a few wrinkles around her eyes and exhaustion in her face that I haven’t really noticed before.
“You always need me,” she says.
“You aren’t wrong.” I slide off the stool and head for my bedroom to take a shower. “Hey, Mom?”
She doesn’t lift her head as she begins to chop the tomatoes. “Yeah, sweetie?”
“Are you okay?”
Finally, she raises her head, frowning at the question. “Of course I am. Why?”
I shrug my shoulder, not knowing how to explain what I’m feeling. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”
Her gaze softens. “I always do.”
She’s still not telling me. She isn’t ready to talk. When she is, I’ll be here.
I slip into the hot shower, loving how good the hot water feels sliding over my skin. I’m not sure how long I stay in there, but my fingers and toes become prunes, steam is heavy, and the water begins to turn cold.
Drying off and getting dressed into sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, I check my phone to see if Mr. Wrong Number has texted me back.
Nothing.
“Oh, well.” I toss my phone onto the bed, not wanting to overthink the happy accident of messaging him.
Even as I walk into the delicious-smelling kitchen, I hate to admit that he is all I can think about. I don’t think much of our age difference. We’re both adults. That’s all that matters to me.
What’s a seventeen-year age gap if someone makes you happy?
Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I’m too positive about things?
Maybe happiness is hard, and not as simple as I make it out to be in my head.
3
ELIAS
It’s killedme not to message her for the last few days. It’s all I’ve wanted to do. Every few minutes, I bring up our messages, and I read them over again. Every single night, I’ve stroked myself to her videos. I haven’t been able to delete them like I said I would.
I will. Eventually.
I haven’t had enough of her yet to be rid of her. I’m not sure if I ever will. There’s something about her. She charmed her way into my mind effortlessly. No other woman has ever done that for me. I haven’t been able to stop listening to her beg for me.
God.
The way she fuckingbeggedfor me. I can’t get enough. I turn up the volume of her begging for my cock.
“I wish your thick cock was splitting me open and making me scream. Would you want me to scream your name? I would. I’d let everyone know who was fucking me.”
