The sounds from the television are only upping the ante.
In both timelines, we are almost there.
“You’re going to come while watching me inside of you?” I husk.
“Uh-huh.” She's in a daze of desire. Humans always act differently when an orgasm is at play.
The lids of her eyes hood closed, and my own pace runs hard.
An explosion of screen us and present us happens as we all come within seconds of one another, my heart rate fast as we come down, only for us to look at one another, and reality hits us like a ton of bricks.
* * *
We sit therein silence as the video comes to a stop. That night, she quickly dressed and told me to delete the video; in fact, she watched me delete the video and left.
Now we both try to straighten our clothes after watching our replay because I forgot my phone auto syncs to my cloud, or maybe deep down, I just ignored that piece of knowledge.
“See, we had good angles,” I attempt to joke.
April’s lips quirk out. “I mean, as far as performances go, then I think we hit it out of the park.”
“I guess. I’ve never made a video, so can’t compare.”
Surprise fills her face. “Bullshit.”
“No, really.”
“Oh.”
My shirt that I used to clean my stomach, I form it into a ball and throw it across the room in the direction of the laundry room.
The mood in my house has shifted, as you would assume happens when you decide to watch a sex tape that you made with a woman who costs a lot of energy, yet for some reason, I feel a slither of sympathy for her within me.
April abruptly stands. “We will never speak of this again.”
Before I can even say,"Here we go," she storms out.
There goes any prospect of having a discussion with her tonight.
Which is a shame because if she is going to stay here, then I need to share something else.
I blow out a breath because sometimes I still wonder how in the world I became a dad.
6
SPENCER
Leaning against my closed garage door with my hands in my pockets, I take a deep breath of the autumn morning air. I'm staring at the situation in front of me, the one that I should have had a few more days to prepare for.
My mother gets out of her car. Dana Crews is a force to be reckoned with. She may be pushing sixty, but make no mistake, she is in shape and is probably changing our schedule because she has a hair appointment to color the blonde hair that she's had for years.
“This isn’t what we agreed.” My voice is stern.
“Spence, this shouldn’t even be up for discussion. The baseball season is over, and you know the deal,” she chides as she circles around her car.
“The deal was until next week,” I remind her. A deal is such an odd way to state our situation; there was never a negotiation, therefore it’s more of a request.
She gives me a sympathetic look. “You are already missing so much; you should be relishing these moments.”
