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“Remember the one Dad made? All my friends loved it.”
My mind tumbles back to freshman year of high school. While my stepfather built me a private studio, Ford had an area in the basement where he could practice hockey and lift weights. If there was something they wanted that wasn’t sold on the market, Crawford built it himself. Like hooking up a thick tarp to the basketball hoop where Ford could shoot pucks without worrying about them sailing fifty yards into the backyard. One broken window of the pool house was more than enough impetus to engineer just such a product.
It’s not the worst idea in the world.
“Sure.”
He flashes a grin. “See how well we work together?”
“Yeah…let’s not get carried away.”
Although, secretly, I suspect he isn’t wrong. Especially when he stops trying to provoke me at every turn.
Needing to refocus my attention, I glance at the rubric before jotting down a few notes. “So, the next step would be to research the market and see if there are similar products and what their price points are.”
“Yup. Sounds like a plan.”
For the next thirty minutes, we do a deep dive on the internet. There are a few similar inventions, but all have slight variations. We take notes of the differences and brainstorm some ideas about how we can make ours stand out against its competitors.
When my back begins to ache, I rise to my feet and stretch. Ford sets his computer on the other side of the bed and rolls toward me before patting the mattress next to him.
“Come here.”
My arms gradually fall back to my sides. Allowing myself to get too close to him is a shit idea. Especially after what happened the other day. I don’t need our relationship to become any more complicated than it already is. My feelings for him have always been tangled and murky.
When he pats the comforter for a second time, I find myself gravitating toward him. It’s gingerly that I settle at the far end of the bed. A smile twitches on his lips as if he understands my need for distance.
He sits up and inches closer. “How’s Pamela doing?”
The question throws me off guard. I thought for sure he would bring up the kiss from the other day. That just shows you how much it’s been taking up space in the back of my brain. And how much I need to exorcise him from my head.
Thoughts of my mother are enough to douse any flames that have been smoldering.
I jerk my shoulders. “Fine, I guess.”
Ever since the divorce, Mom has flitted from one rich man to another in an effort to live her best life now that she no longer works for a living or takes care of me. It’s embarrassing that she’s so content to live off her alimony payments. She even asked Crawford for extra money when she wanted to jet off to Berlin with new friends.
Of course he gave it to her, no questions asked.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
With a frown, I swivel toward him.
If I’m being perfectly honest—this is exactly how I prefer my relationship with Mom to be.
One of absence.
So, it’s not like I’m marking time, waiting for her to pop up and act all motherly.
I search my brain, wondering when I saw her last.
“I don’t know…a couple months ago.”
I think.
Maybe.
His hand rises to scratch his shadowed jaw. “Huh.”
