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Cici
“How does Wednesday look?” I spoke into the phone, pinning the device between my ear and my shoulder as I danced around my kitchen.
“Wednesday is great.” Brady’s deep voice did funny things to my belly as I threw some seasoning over the chicken in my skillet. It had absolutely nothing to do with my food poisoning. It was the way he spoke. The way he watched me. The way he’d given me time.
Brady Martinez was a goddamn revelation.
And I wanted to give him a chance. So I’d agreed to dinner, set to happen in two more days, at my favorite steak place.
“I can’t wait,” I said into the phone. The heat of his mumbled agreement made my body hum. It hadn’t forgotten the way he’d felt against me.
I heard a slight commotion over the line. “Sorry, Cecelia. I need to go. But I’ll see you soon. Text if you get bored. Or lonely.” The last words were low and deep.
I shivered. Miles apart, and I was still maddingly attracted to the man.
“Goodnight, Brady.” My voice sounded winded, almost strained. I stabbed at the end button before I said anything else ridiculous. Like “come over” or even “I missed you this weekend.” I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length blonde strands, affixing them back from my face in a bun.
“Alright, chicken, prepare to be delicious,” I crooned at my dinner as I stirred in my vegetables. It’d been a rough few days last week, but honestly, I was feeling much better now. I hadn’t even gotten through most of the crackers Brady had brought over. But since it was such a cute gesture, I’d stashed them away for snacks down the line.
I smiled stupidly at the steaming dinner in front of me. I’d thought he was crazy, all those weeks ago. But maybe he’d been right. It felt good, having this little passion project going on the side. And Ashlyn had been right. He was used to working like I did. Hopefully he wouldn’t be threatened all the time like Kevin had.
I sniffed, grabbing my phone off the counter once again.
Cici: Hey, can you chat?
Beth: Five minutes? Putting the crotch goblins to bed.
Cici: No prob.
I finished up my dinner, pouring the entire concoction onto a platter, and headed into the living room, where I turned on the news and sat back to graze on my meal. About fifteen minutes later, my phone vibrated against the coffee table.
“Yo,” I said, my mouth still half-full of less-than-charming veggies.
“Sorry, it’s been a night,” Beth sighed into my ear, making me grin.
“No worries. Just over here stuffing my face.”
“Don’t make me jealous. I ate dino nuggets off Macy’s plate and nothing else.”
I snorted into a zucchini. “Stop it. You’re so fancy.”
“You have no idea. So tell me, what are you up to tonight? Want to come over and split a bottle of wine? Or five?”
“I shouldn’t.” And then I cringed through my next swallow. Wine still didn’t sound great after Peter’s meatball sub incident. “I’ve got to get back to work tomorrow. As in, in work clothes, at my desk, in my office, like an adult.”
Beth grumbled, “Meh. Sounds overrated.”
“It probably is. But I’ve got to keep the hustle going.” I took another bite, the salty taste soothing my soul with every bite.
“Girl, you're always hustling. It’s impressive.”
“You’re easily impressed.”
“I’m a stay-at-home mom. No offense meant, but it doesn't take much to impress me. My kids make it through the day without peeing on me or themselves, and I’m ready to give them the key to the city.”
I laughed into the phone, coughing when a bit of food went down the wrong pipe.
