I clear my throat and sit back. Since when did this old Honda become a confessional? Still, it’s not like I’ll be able to talk about this with anyone else. “Yeah,” I croak, before chugging half my water in one long gulp.
“Hm. Was it not good, or…?” She sounds like she’s trying to diagnose the problem.
“Oh, my God, it wasso good.” I slouch down in the seat and watch the city roll by. “Too good.Fuck.The man was so… unselfish.” That’s the part nobody warns you about. Bad decisions would be so much easier if they weren’t attached to people who make you feel seen. I sink even lower. I don’t want to regret what happened, but I don’t have any intention of losing my job over it, either. This was one mistake. I can come back from this.
Unless Owen starts bragging to his friends. Or, worse, what if he uses this as leverage against me? Should I tell Ezra now, or should I talk to Owen first? If Owen goes to Dante, then…
“Ah.” The driver nods. “Wrong guy, huh?”
That would be easier too. If he were just some arrogant asshole with nice abs and a decent mouth.
“Yeah.” I close my eyes.
She whistles. “That’s the worst.”
I get the feeling that she wants me to ask about the dirty details of whatever she’s been through, but I just don’t have it in me. I try to make up for my indifference by leaving a sizeable tip when she drops me off by my car. I need to go home and shower. Maybe when the evidence of my terrible choices is washed down the drain, I’ll feel clean again.
* * *
The first shower doesn’t help. Because the problem isn’t physical. It’s that every inch of me remembers him. The second just leaves my skin pruney. I dump my clothes in the hamper,then the washing machine. As they cycle through the initial rinse, I consider burning them.
Every time I close my eyes, I imagine Owen’s hands. Owen’s mouth. Owen’s hiss of relief when I came all over him.
“Thank God we didn’t go all the way,” I mutter to myself. We may be irresponsible, but at least we’re not complete idiots. Emotionally? Jury’s still out.
At last, around five o’clock, I decide to take a melatonin and crash. I wake up three hours later to the sound of my phone ringing in the next room. My first disoriented thought is that Ezra has somehow found out and is calling to tell me that I’m fired.
The reality is worse. It’s myfather.And I must surely be in hell, because he’s FaceTiming.
“Dad?” I ask in a voice that sounds like death warmed over. Absolutely not. I do not have the emotional stability for this conversation right now. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for me to look any worse than I feel, but I would generously call my appearance this morningghoul-adjacent.“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Dad grins.Helooks like he just stepped out of a skincare commercial. It’s very rude of him to be so fresh-faced on today of all days.
“I missed you, Remster. Hadn’t heard from you lately, and my Dad Senses told me something was up.”
I somehow manage to keep my eye from twitching. “Yeah? That’s weird.” I sound like I inhaled an entire helium balloon. I’m much too tired to be acting normal right now.
“You sure you’re okay? I know you, kiddo, you work too much. You need to get out. Make some friends.” He takes a big gulp of his coffee from the chippedNumber One Dadmug I gave him in the seventh grade.
“I have friends, Dad.”
“Friends, plural?” He raises an eyebrow. “You only ever mention Cara.”
“I made new friends. There’s—”Oh, hell.“There’s Knova, and Violet, and… and Adler…” I barely manage to stop myself from saying Owen’s name, but that might actually be worse.
“Adler?” Dad repeats. “As in, amale friend?As in—”
“Nope. Absolutely not.” I don’t have to fake my grimace. “He’s not my type. Please never suggest that.”
Hips engaged, thrust, recalibrate, thrust thrust.
“Okay, okay, kid. I don’t want you to be lonely, that’s all.” His expression softens. “Just, you know. Take care of your heart, okay? You deserve to do more than work.”
Poor timing, Dad.
My dad has never pushed me to date, or to have kids, or any of that. I’m grateful for it, though I think a large part of his reluctance to do so comes from avoiding the topic of my mother. After all, if we talked about capital-L Love, we’d have to acknowledge what we’ve lost.
“Same to you, Dad. I love you.” I’m suddenly weepy for no reason at all. What he went through with Mom is so much worse than the stupid situation I’ve stumbled into.
