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Unfortunately, she tells me the truth even when I don’t want to hear it.
“Let’s recap. He wants to fuck you and he was the best dick of your life.” It’s not a question, so I don’t answer, but I tilt my head, looking at her with exasperation because she always gets stuck on the sex part.
“So, that’s a yes. He wants to date you. He wants to get to know you. He wants to fall in love with you. He wants to make you fall in love with him. And barring all that, he’s willing to just fuck you senseless because you need some good dick. I’m not seeing any downside here, girl. Get out of your own way and live a little.” The last part is an order if ever I’ve heard one.
“Yes, ma’am, Boss Bitch!” I bark it out with a salute, ending with a middle finger that’s not one hundred percent a joke, but maybe ninety-five-ish, so that’s not too bad.
Michelle laughs and pushes my finger down, her tone turning serious. “Allyson, give him a shot. Give yourself a shot. Be a little reckless, do date-y things and get to know each other again. See what comes of it. Just make sure it’s you. At least three times.” She holds three fingers up, wiggling them emphatically.
I laugh. “You have such a one-track mind.” Standing up, I spin. “How do I look?”
Bruce didn’t say what we’re doing or where we’re going, so I’m trying to cover all the bases. My floaty sundress seems perfect. It hits below my knees, but the deep crisscross V neckline is flattering to my breasts, and the small blue flowers are the same color as my eyes. It feels fresh and light, making me feel the same.
Michelle traces a circle in the air, and I spin, the dress swirling out around me a bit. When I face her again, she’s smiling. Actually, it’s more of a devious grin. “He’s not going to know what hit him, Allyson.”
“Who are you hitting, Mom?” Cooper’s voice squeaks out from the door. “Ooh, you look pretty. Where are we going?”
Shit.
I was hoping to avoid this until a conversation became necessary, like if this thing with Bruce actually goes somewhere other than just sex. But I won’t lie to Cooper.
I sit on the bed, patting it so Cooper will come over. Once he’s settled, his blue eyes looking at me, I take a breath for strength. “Honey, you know I love you so much, but sometimes, adults like to hang out with other adults. That’s what I’m doing tonight, having dinner with Bruce.”
The words should be casual, but they’re definitely not, and Cooper’s such a smart kid, he knows it. “Mom, are you talking about a date?”
I mess with his hair, combing my fingers through the tangles. “Yes. I’m going on a date with Bruce.”
“Are you gonna have sex with him?”
I choke on my own spit. “What? Where did you hear that?”
His eyes dart to Michelle and he shrugs. “Liam says that’s what his parents do when his dad comes home and they send him over here for the night. Go on a date and have sex.”
I glare at Michelle, but even on her olive skin, I can tell that she’s blushing big time so I let her off the hook. To Cooper, I say, “That’s between Bruce and me, and Michelle and Michael. We’ll have a bigger discussion about sex later, but for now, I just want to make sure you’re okay with my going out to dinner with Bruce.”
My tongue feels too big in my mouth. I’m very open and honest with Cooper, but I’m not prepared to have the birds and the bees talk right this second, moments before I leave on my first date in years.
Thankfully, his smile is mega-watt bright and his words ridiculously casual for how important this is. “Yeah, Coach B is cool.”
I feel like I just ran an obstacle course over Legos blindfolded, barefoot, and with one hand tied behind my back.
Michelle hops up. “On that note, let’s get you boys loaded up. We’ve got pizzas to make, popcorn to pop, and movies to watch.” As she ushers Cooper out of my bedroom, she mouths back, “Oh, my God!” Her eyes are filled with horror, and I expect she’s going to have an awkward conversation with Liam too.
“Holy fuck, Al.” It’s not a flowery compliment, but it swirls through my veins like warm honey as Bruce’s eyes appraise me from my curled hair, over my sundress, to my red-painted toes in high wedge-heeled sandals.
“Thank you,” I say, giving a little curtsy.
“These are for you.” He holds out a bundle of flowers tied with twine. They’re not roses from a florist but a riot of colorful wildflowers. They’re perfect.
“Thank you,” I say again. Do I sound like a broken record? Am I already fucking this up?
