Feeling guilty, I find my phone and send a message while it’s on my mind. Trouble is, I’m running out of excuses too.
Adam: would you believe my dog got sick?
Vinnie: No. What’s your deal, man?
Adam:... no deal. I’m just not feeling up to much
Vinnie: It’s late. I don’t want to do this now. Call me tomorrow
Adam: yeah
I won’t, though. He’ll probably forget about it if I leave it a few days. Vinnie’s never been one to hold a grudge. This is the furthest I’ve ever pushed the friendship, though. I feel bad for him. I know I’ve got clients who will only work for me. I just can’t face them right now.
I sink onto the sofa again, grabbing my dick just to reassure myself everything is still intact. It all feels normal thanks to Jen’s handiwork. I thought things had been going well. I thought it was promising that she wanted to get therapy. Just goes to show how much I know about it.
It was always this way between us. I’d come home thinking we’d have a nice evening, put my feet up, and wait for her so we could make plans, and by the time she got home she’d already be mad about something and things would kick off from there.
When I broke up with her, I thought I’d be happier. I figured keeping a girlfriend happy was mission impossible and I’d be better off without. Funnily enough, I don’t feel better off. I just feel like the whole girlfriend thing is a puzzle I haven’t worked out how to solve. Maybe Jen’s right. Maybe I do need therapy. If that’s what it takes to find the key to unlock her, maybe it’ll be worth it.
With that in mind, I grab her laptop and start googling. By morning I have a list of local therapists who work with couples arranged in order of the reviews I read and their next available appointment.
I sneak into the kitchen at five thirty, set the coffee brewing, and quietly chop an avocado and put two slices of whole-grain bread in the toaster for Jen’s breakfast. I boil her an egg too. She’s not eating enough protein.
When Jen emerges from the bedroom she gives me a weird look. “Hey, about last night…”
I hold up a finger and turn to push down the toast, pour the coffee, and then hand her the mug. “I made a list of therapists with some notes about who I think we should book.”
She frowns. “Therap—Oh! Listen I have to run. Early shift. Maybe I’ll look at it later.” She snatches the coffee, transfers it into a travel mug, and dashes out the door, leaving me standingthere holding the empty mug. It’s still warm. I put it in the sink as the toast pops and run a sink full of water to wash up with.
I guess maybe I’ll send her the link to look at on her lunch break, then.
NINE
Jen
I feel like such a schmuck running out the door without even thanking Adam for making me breakfast or researching a therapist. Frankly, I’m shocked he did that. I wasn’t really expecting him to take me seriously last night.
That, coupled with the toe-curling orgasm I had, is giving me too many confusing warm and fuzzy feelings that I do not need to be feeling for my walking red flag of an ex. I need to stay strong and remember all the reasons we do not work together. Keep my head in the game and find a way to make him leave—and soon.
Because I definitely can’t go getting feelings for him again. I’ve been there once. I know how it happened, so surely I’m too smart to fall for that this time.
I’m so distracted on the train, I almost miss my stop and have to run for the door and slide through as it closes, snatching my handbag through behind me. Even that doesn’t stop me daydreaming about the perfect way Adam’s dick fits inside me or the deep, needy groans he made while I fucked myself with it.
I can’t believe I did that.
At least I used a condom. Though come to think of it, are zombies immune to sexually transmitted infections? I might need to do a little research.
I mentally check myself. I will not be doing any research, because it doesn’t matter. Last night was a one-off. I will not be going back there, so there’s no need to find out if you can catch venereal disease when you’re already dead.
Besides, we don’t even know how long zombies stay zombies for. What if he only gets a few more years before whatever weird-ass magic that reanimated him stops working? The thought chills me more than it has a right to, and I stare down balefully at my feet for the rest of my walk to work.
My stomach rumbles aggressively when I pass the cafeteria on the way into work, and since I’m half an hour early, I stop for a bagel. I have regrets about that almost immediately. It’s dry and crumbly, but I don’t have time to order something else, so I’m trying to wash it down with my coffee when Annie stops in front of my table. She’s still in her scrubs, holding an extra-large to-go cup. “Hi, Jen. Eight o’clock shift today?”
I nod. “Hey, Annie. How was last night? Long one?”
“Oh yeah. Did you see they’re looking for more shift supervisors? You should apply. I think you’d be good at it.”
I beam. A word of praise from Annie means a lot. “Thank you. I’ll have to check it out.” I’m not truly sure if I’m ready forthat kind of responsibility, but if Annie thinks I’d do a good job, maybe I’m underselling myself.
