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At least he hasn’t brought up the subject of us being more than just fuck buddies. I don’t want to have to tell him that I can’t have children then have him dump me like all the rest. I think that might be something I wouldn’t be able to come back from. Though there is a teeny tiny part of me in the very back of my brain that tells me he might not care. I ignore that voice and shove it away. Every past experience I’ve had tells me it’s a deal breaker.
I’m doing my best to keep walls up between us. We fuck like rabbits, but I’ve never spent the night with him. That feels like a line, once crossed, I won’t be able to come back from. Of course, I did spend the night when Oliver had the nightmare but that was different.
It’s getting harder and harder to go home every night, whether it’s when I say goodbye and see that look in his eyes that tells me he wishes I would stay or when I sneak out of his bed while he’s still sleeping. I want to stay there and wake up next to him in the morning. I just know that once I do, my heart is going to be lost for good. This is better.
Jenna elbows me and I realize I haven’t answered her. “Nothing’s going on, really,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “He’s amazing in bed and we’re fuck buddies. That’s it.”
“Oh, that’s it?” She asks like she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying which she probably shouldn’t.
“Yes, that’s it.” I say firmly. “Have you ever seen me get all googly eyed over some guy before?”
“Nope, never. That means you’re long overdue.”
I shake my head at her and try for a change of subject. “What happened to you and Clark Kent anyway?”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe I haven’t told you!” I let Jenna go on about her hook-up that seems to be sticking around and I’m glad this seems to have gotten her off the subject of Carson for the moment. He and I are not something I want to think about right now. It feels like our situation is coming to a head and a decision is going to have to be made soon. I’m just not sure I’m ready for that or what will happen when it does.
And what if he doesn’t want to see me anymore? Does that mean I can’t see Oliver? I think that would break my heart and I’m pretty sure Oliver wouldn’t be happy about it either. No, I don’t think Carson is that cruel. When this thing between us ends, I can’t see him keeping me away from the kid. At least I hope he won’t.
***
“Can you push me on the swings?”
“Of course.” The blanket I brought for us to sit on is covered with the healthy, Carson approved, snacks I brought. Though that didn’t stop me from getting us each a little something when the ice-cream truck came around. I mean, I understand where he’s coming from with the health food, but sometimes you’ve just got to live a little.
He climbs up onto the swing and I start to give him gentle pushes while he yells at me to make him go higher. I can’t help but laugh. Was I ever as carefree as this kid is? I’m sure I was at some point, but as you get older things just get more and more complicated and you can lose that enthusiasm for life.
After the swings he wants to go across the monkey bars so I hold him up while his tiny hands move from rung to rung.We repeat this about twenty times and before long my arms are shaking. “Let’s head back to the blanket and get something to eat, then we’ll pack up and head home.”
“Do we have to?” He whines at me.
“Yup, it’s starting to get dark, it’s not safe to be out in the park this late.” Well, look at that. Carson may be rubbing off on me after all. It could also be that I’m much more concerned about Oliver’s safety than I am my own which is an interesting revelation.
We’re walking back over to the blanket when I see an older man slumped against a tree near our picnic spot. I grab onto Oliver’s hand and pull him closer to me. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice the figure wrapped in a heavy coat and a hat pulled down low over his face. He’s got to be in his fifties and his hands are shaking while he leans against the tree which immediately says to me he’s either a junkie or an alcoholic, either way I don’t want Oliver anywhere near him.
Not to bethatover dramatic bitch, but he gives off sinister vibes. I’m not sure I’ve ever used those words to describe a person before. Cats? Sure. But never a person.
We have to pass within ten feet of him to get to our stuff. If my car keys weren’t tucked away in the picnic basket I would just abandon everything and take off. Sure, the man hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t even given me any indication that he’s paying attention to us, but something about him is giving me the creeps, even though I can’t see his eyes I can practically feel them on me.
When we’re within a few feet of him, I make sure to turn my head and blatantly stare at him. I don’t want him to think I’m some weakling that’s not aware of my surroundings. If he has anything nefarious planned, he should know I’m ready, alert, and waiting for him. I know I’m probably being melodramatic, but I don’t want anything to happen to Oliver. Is this thatmaternal instinct women talk about having? It’s got to be, because I feel like I would fight this guy to the death if he got anywhere near him. It’s a weird feeling but I’m going to embrace it for now.
Luckily, it doesn’t seem a fight to the death is on tonight’s agenda. Apparently, my staring has unnerved him as much as his lurking unnerved me. He turns and slowly starts making his way across the park to a clump of picnic tables.
Between Oliver and I, we get everything packed up quickly and I’ve got him buckled into his car seat within minutes. Before I pull out of the spot I look around and don’t see the man anywhere. I knew I was being paranoid but it’s better safe than sorry. God, I’m going to become an overly anxious basket case if I hang out with Carson much longer.
We’re back at Oliver’s within ten minutes, and I walk him inside the house. I’ve got my own key now to their place. It’s not for some relationship reason or anything, I’ve just been watching Oliver a lot lately when Carson’s been at work. At least I don’t think it’s some kind of relationship milestone. Come to think of it, Carson didn’t really say anything when he handed it to me, but we’re not in a relationship so it has to be because of Oliver, right?
Carson’s in the kitchen leaning over a pot of something on the stove. When he hears us come in, he looks up and smiles. “How are my two favorite people? Did you guys have fun at the park?”
I’m not normally a person who blushes but whenever Carson pays me an offhanded compliment like saying I’m one of his favorite people, I can’t help but feel two burning patches of pink on my cheeks.
“It was so much fun, Dad. Bianca pushed me on the swings and then we went on the monkey bars, and she even got me a popsicle.” He’s so excited that I don’t think he even took a breaththrough that. I cringe a little at that end part about the popsicle, especially since he seems to be a little hopped up on sugar.
Carson just looks at me with a raised eyebrow and I give him a shrug. “We ate the healthy stuff first.”
“I’m making whole wheat pesto pasta for dinner. Are you staying?”
Ugh, why do I feel upset about missing whole wheat pasta? “I can’t tonight. I’m having dinner with my mom and we’re going to swing by Dad’s place and see if he wants to come with us. I’ll take a rain check though. Preferably, when you’re making real pasta,” I tease.
