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“You said you wanted to play the field when you were young. But you’re only twenty-two.”
He chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to it. “Well, I feel old. I guess certain things age you.”
I reach over and take his hand, knowing he’s talking about mom and dad. “Go and spend some time with Tina. You deserve it.”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “Once this trial period’s over, you’ll be able to halve your hours at the restaurant. You’ll have more time for your studies.”
I gasp. “Hudson, you can’t….”
“Don’t look so shocked. I’ll be earning a lot more. In that case, it doesn’t make sense for you to walk around like a sleep-deprived zombie.”
Hope flutters through me. “We’ll talk about it after the trial period. But thank you.”
* * *
He earned it, Eli’s text reads.
I’m lying in bed, on my back, my body trying to drag me to sleep, but my mind is buzzing with energy just to read my man’s words.
I wouldn’t have given him the job if he didn’t deserve it. I want to help you both any way I can, but it wouldn’t be fair to the kids to hire somebody who was incapable. I’m confident he’ll pass the trial period.
I think he will too, I reply.You don’t know how much this means to him.
He made it clear how thankful he was. He’s a good man. But I have to admit, I felt like a liar just a little. I didn’t outright tell him there was nothing going on between us. But it’s not like he asked.
I swallow, thinking of the day he finds out.We’ll have to be careful with how we tell him.
I leave out the part where I askwhatwe’ll tell him, that my math tutor and I have been texting.
We’ve kissed once. We’ve shared more emotion over the phone, with words, than I have with any man ever.
I understand.Della, I’m aching to see you. To be alone with you. I know you don’t want to rush things, and neither do I. I want our first time to be special.
Ourfirst time. It takes away some of the pressure, knowing he’s never done it before either, knowing we’ll be going through it together.
I want to see you too.I wish you were here.
I’m starting to feel like a gunslinger with my finger primed over the trigger every time I type out a message like this, willing myself to send it.
I know it could lead to us being together….
It provokes butterflies that the cliched type people talk about in their bellies. Except mine have got razors for wings, and they’re slicing me up.
I press send, then bite down, waiting for his response.
Give me your address. I’ll drive over there right now.
I think about Hudson, out with Tina. They’re going for a few drinks, then to a club, and Hudson even mentioned that I shouldn’t wait up, meaning he might not be home tonight. It would be nice to have company here, especially my man, with his warmth and his firmness.
What would I say to somebody I was counseling?
Maybe something like…
“What would you choose to do if your anxiety wasn’t a factor?”
I take a deep breath as I type the message.
Are you sure you don’t mind driving all the way over?
