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I don’t bother reading the messages following that. My reply to her question is too imperative for small talk.
Me:
Tell him we lost contact.
Considering the early hour, it’s no surprise that an ellipsis trickles below my received message.
Amelia:
I’d have a better chance of drilling off a massive chunk of the chip on his shoulder. Besties 4 life!
Her reply makes me laugh so hard that I snort.
Beau is my ex. He’s arrogant and uptight and believes his shit doesn’t stink. I’ve left him four times over the past two years. My returns weren’t my choice, and this time, I’ve placed a ton of distance between us with the hope this break will be final.
I exhale a big breath when my phone vibrates with an incoming message.
Amelia:
So… the new guy. Is he “daddy” material?
My fingers fly over my phone screen.
Me:
Don’t make it weird. You know I’m here for his daughter, not him.
I flick on the television, pick at the varnish on my nails, and twirl my hair before I eventually give in and type the remainder of my reply within a shamefully short time.
Me:
But yes, he’s seriously fucking hot.
I stab at the volume button with my thumb when the FaceTime ringtone bellows up the stairwell.
“Are you insane?” I say after connecting Amelia’s call. “The volume was up full bore.”
Springs of black curls bounce around the screen along with her smile. “You can’t tell me he’s ‘seriously fucking hot’ and not offer a sneak peek. You only swear when referencing guys who are gods. Beau only got a damn, and you had to bat women off him at every event you attended as his plus one.”
A long breath eases out. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She only takes in my eyeroll for half a second before asking, “What the hell are you wearing? Is that a Fluro pink bra under a see-through midriff top?”
“No.” I tug down my shirt like it might suddenly gain three inches in length. “I didn’t know how welcoming he’d be, so I tried what forever worked for Beau.”
“You need to stop watching Pretty Woman.” Amelia roars with laughter. “Not even deadbeat dads want their kids raised by a hooker.”
“I didn’t realize Lucy would get me over the line, so I tried to…” I stop talking, too embarrassed to continue.
Amelia will never let me off so easily. “So you…” When I remain quiet, she fills in the gaps. “Seduced him with your body?”
“It was pointless,” I say with a huff, incapable of denying the truth. “He seemed more impressed when I called him out for age discrimination than my outfit.”
“You didn’t?” Amelia says, her mouth gaping.
I sit straighter, sighing. “I did. He was being an ass.” Her laughter is infectious, but I try to play it cool. “Why are you laughing? We’re always treated like idiots because we’re not thirty.” We gag at the same time. “But we probably have a higher IQ than the combined ages of the people judging us.”
Finally she climbs over to my side of the fence. “This is true. Especially for you. Your brain is almost as big as that massive heart of yours.” I could kiss her until she demands, “Now give me a look at the hunk you’re hogging to yourself so I can hit the night scene early.”
“You’re going out tonight?” I ask, jealousy weighing heavily on my limbs.
Missing my forlorn look, she nods. “Mario and some guys want to check out a new band. They’re playing at The Fort.” After inspecting her lipstick and scrunching her curls, she shifts her eyes to me. “Give me a sneak peek, and I’ll take you with me.”
As much as I’m desperate to get to know Brodie better, I can’t spy on him.
When I say that to Amelia, she replies, “Uh… yeah, you can. Just slowly meander past him while holding your phone out in front of you. Easy peasy.”
“I’m not—” A grunt cuts me off. “Hold on. I think Lucy is awake.”
I take the stairs two at a time, breaking up Amelia’s reply so well I can’t decipher it.
My lips twist when I spot Lucy in the middle of her bed, sound asleep.
Amelia’s face fills the screen when a second grunt is loud enough for her to hear this time. “How short did you hack your jeans?” I’m lost on what she means until she asks, “Are they spank bank length?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Another grunt dampens the assurance in my tone. It is throaty and delicious and forces my knees to pull together.
“What direction are they coming from?” Amelia asks before demanding me to spin my camera around.
The frantic beat of my heart cuts through my reply. “From the bathroom. It’s one of those two-way designs.” I don’t know why I’m whispering. “Should I make sure he’s okay?”
“Uh… duh! Of course you should!”
“Shush,” I plead, glaring at her gorgeous face even with the camera facing the portraits lining the hallway.
