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But what she’ll hear is that I’ve fucked prostitutes. That I’ve paid for sex, used them, and left them to pick up the pieces.
Until I can figure out how to explain this to her in a way that doesn’t break her, in a way that doesn’t destroy us, I don’t know what to say.
So, I’ve blamed it on practice. On my players. On needing to get up early, needing a good night’s rest, and knowing there’s no resting when she’s in my bed.
The real pisser is that without her in my bed, I can’t sleep for shit.
Hence the triple Americano that I’m currently stirring milk into.
“Derek?” A familiar voice catches my attention from behind me.
I turn around and blink, surprised to see Karlie standing right there, holding a cup of coffee that smells like pumpkin pie.
“Hi…” I trail off, not wanting to call her by the name she’s given me.
“Good to see you,” she says, leaning in for a hug.
I hug her lightly because I suppose that’s the polite thing to do.
“You too.”
“Are you here alone?” she asks, looking around.
I frown and then realize she’s looking for Megan. Who she met the last time I bumped into her when we were getting ice cream on the other side of the river.
“Yeah,” I say, returning to stirring my coffee. I pop a lid on and make to leave, but she stops me.
“Do you want to chat? For just a minute? It’s been a long time since we caught up. March, right?”
I hesitate. It feels weird. I haven’t used her services since I met Megan.
That’s been a long time that she’s gone without a regular customer. I used to call her at least once or twice a week. And that was for a solid two years. It’s strange to think that someone who I saw so regularly has been gone, and I haven’t missed them. It’s shitty of me.
“Sure,” I say.
She nods to where her jacket is sitting at a table along the back window, and I follow. We sit, awkwardly sipping our coffees.
“How is Megan?”
It feels wrong to hear her saying Megan’s name. But it would be shitty to say so. I just smile and nod.
“Good. Healthy. She’s getting big.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says, her smile wide and genuine.
Karlie was always pretty. If I had met her in a bar, I might have been interested.
“How are you?”
“Oh, I’m good. You know, busy.”
“That’s good. Busy is… good… right?”
“Yes, of course,” she says with an easy smile.
“I just—well, I saw you here, and I hadn’t seen you in so long, and—”
“I know,” I say.
