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Anger flaring, I push that to the side and try to reason with her. “I’m telling you now that you do. I want this job more than I want to play pro ball. But I’ll respect your wishes. You call the shots, neighbor.”
“Neighbor first,” she props open the screen door with her hip, and I hold it for her while she palms the door handle. “Then we’ll see.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I don’t want to give this to you, but you’ve given me no choice.”
“And you’ve done the same. Does I’m sorry matter?”
“No.”
I exhale a heavy breath. “Didn’t think so.”
The pulse point at her neck jumps as I crowd her a little at the door. “Eventually, maybe, we could be friends? It wouldn’t hurt to try.”
She snorts out her disgust. “You can’t be serious.”
“Right,” I nod and take a step back. “I’ll go.”
With the door open an inch, she pauses, seeming to run through her thoughts. Hopeful, I step back into her space as she leans over in a whisper. “He could use some new shoes. Boys size seven and a half.”
I chuckle. “Big feet, huh?”
She glares at me.
“Sorry. Okay, what else?”
She bites her lips, and I know it’s her pride keeping her silent. “Nothing.”
“Clarissa, please.”
Her shoulders drop. “I wasn’t able to get him many new school clothes. I’ll text you his sizes.”
“Thank you.”
“I should have known better.” She seems lost in her thoughts. “Speak, or even think of the devil, and he shows up at your door.”
“So, you’ve been thinking about me?”
My comment snaps her back into the present. “Get over yourself, Troy. This is for him.”
“I know.”
I have no fucking idea how I’m going to dress my son because I just gave the last few hundreds I had to my new roommate. Her voice cuts through my rambling thoughts.
“I’ll never forgive you.”
Lifting my eyes to hers, I see the hurt there. It’s residual. And it’s then I know she does remember that night, and exactly how good it was, and it strikes me hard just how badly I fumbled with her.
“I don’t expect you to.”
She hesitates briefly before she opens the door and shuts it soundly behind her.
The ball lodged in my throat as I cross the grass is nothing compared to the voice screaming inside my head.
Don’t fuck this up.
Erica’s Crockpot Fiesta Chicken
