Page 47 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

His mouth twists. “You think you’re going to do better than me?”

I laugh once, refusing to show him how nervous I am. “That’s a low bar, Nate.”

His fingers drum once on the table. “You’re not exactly a prize, Athena.”

The sting doesn’t hurt as much as it would have a month ago. “Good thing I’m not trying to win you.”

His gaze sharpens then, searching my face. “You’re seeing someone.”

It isn’t a question. I keep my expression neutral, but I’m almost certain my eyes give it away. “That’s none of your business.”

“Right,” he says slowly. “So there is someone.”

I don’t answer. Nate leans forward, elbows on the table, his voice dropping. “You know I’ll find out who it is.”

My feet begin tapping lightly against the floor, but I do my best to keep my voice level. “Why would you care?”

“Because,” he says, smiling in a way that feels more like a warning than humor, “if some guy thinks he can step into my place, I’d like to meet him.”

I hold his stare. “You don’t have a place anymore.”

“Maybe not,” he replies lightly. “But I can make life uncomfortable for people pretty quickly.”

Something cold moves through my chest.

“If I wanted to.”

My chair scrapes against the floor as I stand. “This conversation is over.”

“Oh come on.” He looks up at me. “You’re that sensitive?”

“No,” I reply, grabbing my bag. “I’m just done.”

A dull pressure spreads behind my eyes. If he figures out it’s Nathan, hell will break loose. I can see all the accusations swimming in front of me. Conflict of interest. Abuse of authority. Favoritism. Words people in suits love to repeat while they decide how to make an example out of someone. We’d lose our jobs.

Nate leans back again as if this entire thing amuses him. “Tell your mystery boyfriend I said hello.”

I walk out of the café before he can say anything else. The street outside is loud with traffic and midday crowds. I take a few steps toward the corner then stop suddenly when a sharp wave rolls through my stomach. My hand presses against the brick wall beside the café as bend over and groan.

9

ATHENA

The nausea is a violent, oily wave that crests in my throat, forcing me to lean my forehead against the cool, unforgiving brick of the building. I breathe through my nose, counting heartbeats, waiting for the world to stop spinning in nauseating circles.

Nate’s parting words ring in my ears, but the physical rebellion of my own body is louder.

I wait until the bile recedes before pushing off the wall. I don’t look back at the café window. I don’t want to see if he’s watching me. I walk three blocks in the opposite direction, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the pavement, weaving through the midday crowd until I’m certain the sea of scrubs and business suits has swallowed me whole.

There’s a pharmacy on the corner of 4th, its neon sign humming with clinical indifference. I duck inside, the air conditioning hitting my skin like a slap. My hands are trembling as I navigate the aisles, bypassing the rows of vitamins and cold medicine until I reach the family planning section.

The boxes are bright, colorful, and feel like live grenades. I grab a two-pack and bury it under a bottle of water and a pack of gum.

The walk back to my apartment is a blur of hyper-awareness. Every white SUV looks like Nate’s; every tall man with salt-and-pepper hair looks like Nathan. By the time I’m inside my door, stripping off my jacket and kicking aside my shoes, my lungs feel tight.

In the bathroom, the silence is deafening. I follow the instructions with the mechanical precision of a woman who spends her life following hospital protocols. Then, I set the plastic stick on the edge of the sink and walk away.

I stare at the peeling wallpaper in the hallway, counting the seconds.