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But then, Dad has to ask, “How’s Faith?”
“How would I know?”
“You were married to her.”
“Yeah, I was. I’m not anymore. I haven’t spoken to her in two and a half years.” Which he knows! Why would I keep in contact with an ex-wife when I have no reason to?
The air is silent and tense the rest of the drive home. I should probably ask Brittany if she wants to stay, but at this point, I need her to. I need her here. I need her, plain and simple. When we get to my house, I lock the door and then face Dad and Amy.
“We’re going to head to bed. Make yourselves at home, and we’ll see y’all in the morning.”
“Good night,” Amy says.
Dad only nods. I take Brittany’s hand and lead her to my room. She takes a deep breath once I close the door behind us.
“I promise he’s not usually this much of a dick. I’m sorry.”
She walks over to her bags to withdraw some items. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” I call after her as she disappears into my bathroom. I find my own pajamas and begin to change. I h
onestly don’t know what’s gotten into him. When he was alone after Mom’s death and I was already living in North Carolina, he never begged me to visit. He never asked, except for the holidays. Now, he’s married to Amy and he’s making unannounced trips across the country to my house because I didn’t go home for Christmas? I join her in the bathroom for the mundane nightly pre-bed routines.
“He’s probably just worried about you,” Brittany shrugs. “You moved, didn’t visit, and now you’re dating a college student.”
I pull my toothbrush from my mouth long enough to speak. “And that’s a good reason to be like he was?”
“No, but it’s an explanation.” She leaves the room, not waiting for a response.
The more I replay the night in my mind, the angrier I get. His treatment of Brittany was uncalled for, his showing up was rude, and it’s insulting to think he would question me to see if I’m a cheater.
“I guess it was pointless for Rebecca to replace my pajamas with this,” I hear Brittany say with a laugh.
I walk out of the bathroom to see her sitting on the edge of my bed in some sheer, black lacy nightie, or whatever the hell they’re called. My feet move quick to carry me to her. My eyes don’t know what to settle on. Her legs? Her breasts? There’s too much to look at and appreciate. The tips of my fingers trail over the tops of her thighs.
“Trace?”
I lift my eyes to hers, finally processing what she said. “Why is it pointless?” Because she’s not going to be wearing it for much longer? We hear the door to the bedroom across the hall close.
“That’s why.”
All I can do is shake my head. I drag my gaze over her again, over her cleavage, where the nightie rests at the top of those legs which are begging to be wrapped around my waist. I finger the material at the hem. This can not go to waste. I lean down and kiss her neck, but she grabs my shoulders and pushes me backward just enough so she can see me.
“Are you going to just kiss me?” she asks. I shake my head. “Trace.” Her eyes widen and I can’t help but grin. “We can’t.”
“Do you want me?”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s a trick question.”
I laugh. “Yes or no, Britt?”
The silence stretches, her eyes looking too clouded and conflicted. I take a seat next to her and hold her hand.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She begins to move, so she can get under the covers. “Let’s go to bed and maybe I’ll let ya cop a feel,” she grins.
I follow after her, unsure if I should push it. Her grin was legit, so I don’t know. I decide to let it go. “Define ‘cop a feel,’” I say as I pull her against me and let my hands roam all over her body.
