Page 7 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

The bed is messy, sheets twisted, blanket halfway on the floor, which is strange, because I made the bed this morning in a brief burst of adult responsibility.

Then my eyes move toward the center of the mattress, and the scene rearranges itself into something my brain finally understands.

Nate… Nathan Jr… my boyfriend.

Shirtless. Very awake. Very much not alone.

Because the woman tangled in my sheets beside him is Lila. My best friend.

For one second nobody moves, and the room feels oddly quiet even though my heart is suddenly pounding hard enough to drown out everything else. Nathan’s eyes widen like he’s surprised I exist, and Lila jerks the blanket up to her chest like modesty suddenly matters.

The silence stretches just long enough to become unbearable.

“Well,” I say, because apparently sarcasm is the only survival instinct my brain has left. “This seems like a productive use of my bedding.”

Nate pushes himself upright immediately, and the sheet slides down his waist while he scrubs a hand through his hair like that will somehow reset the situation. Lila doesn’t speak. She just watches me with a tight expression.

“You’re home early,” Nate says, in a surprisingly jaunty tone. I’m almost impressed at his ability to hold his shit together when I’m losing mine.

I stare at him.

“I texted you three hours ago that I was coming home early,” I reply in a high voice I immediately hate. “So if you weren’t too busy shagging my best friend to read it, you’d know we’re right on schedule.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he sets his lips into that thin line that tells me he’s about to make a lot of excuses for what he’s just done. “Look, Athena⁠—”

“No,” I say quickly. “Actually you look.”

I gesture toward the hallway. “I bought dinner, for both of us. Which feels very on brand for this evening.”

Lila finally speaks. “Athena, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” The sound of her voice snaps something tight in my chest. I was the one who introduced them, back when she made a very theatrical speech about how my boyfriend would have to clear several moral and intellectual hurdles before she’d consider him worthy of me.

I huff out a laugh. “Oh good,” I say. “So there was a better way planned.”

Nate swings his legs off the bed and stands up, completely unconcerned about the fact that he’s still half naked. His expression shifts from uncomfortable to defensive in about three seconds. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I cock my head at him and glance pointedly downward. “You’re in my bed,” I say. “With my best friend. I’m honestly amazed you managed to satisfy her with that, because you’ve never exactly been known for your commitment to foreplay.”

It’s mean, but it still feels like restraint considering I wasted years on this man. Years of never finishing, years of lying there thinking maybe next time would be different, years of discovering that his definition of romance was finishing first and congratulating himself.

Lila blushes bright red. Nate just blinks at me like a confused goldfish. “It just happened.”

“Did gravity also happen, or did you both actively participate in the decision-making process?”

Lila winces.

Nate’s mouth twists into something annoyed, and suddenly the man who has been charming donors and shaking hands at hospital galas all year disappears. The person standing in front of me now looks irritated that I’ve interrupted his evening. “You’re overreacting.”

That sentence lands like gasoline on an open flame.

“Overreacting.” I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from charging forward and slapping him.

“Yes,” he says sharply. “You’re making this dramatic.”

My hands start shaking, and I curl them into fists before he can see it. “You’re in the bed I bought for the two of us with my best friend, and you have the fucking nerve to call this dramatic?”

“You and I have had problems for months,” he shoots back. “You’re never home, you’re always working late, and when you are here you’re exhausted.”

I stare at him. “I work at a trauma hospital.”