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He and I paused on the front step. “I had a lot of fun last night.” It was true, and it was something I should’ve said in front of Joystick, too.
“Me too. Can I see you again?”
“I’d like that.” I also wanted to see Joystick again. Was that allowed? I also wanted to stay and hash things out. I also never wanted my son to know I was a deviant, or who I was doing things like that with.
Eli pressed his lips to my forehead. It was so sweet and intimate, and also strange coming from someone so much younger.
We said our goodbyes and I headed home. The worst thing about the long drive is it gave me so much time to overanalyze every single moment of the last twelve hours.
For work, being able to examine details from a removed perspective was critical. I had to be objective with my investments and decisions. It had always been the same in my personal life, and I was proud of that. So why weren’t the answers coming now, and why did it feel like staying removed was a mistake?
Because I was letting my hormones do the thinking. A couple of gorgeous men gave me some attention and all the sudden I lost all sense of reason. Not good. Like with the night in Milan, there was no reason to cling to recent events as if they were some sort of bar for future decisions.
I could file away the memories and enjoy them, without having to do more reckless things. There. Problem sorted. Decision made. Time to move on
I repeated that over and over, because I needed to believe it. When I reached Salt Lake, I stopped at my house long enough to take a quick shower and change, then headed to Lucas’s.
I knocked on his apartment door and waited. Seconds ticked away. For someone who had been so panicked a couple hours ago, he was taking a long time to answer. I was about to knock again, when I heard him saying, “Hang on. Just a sec.”
The locks clicked, and he opened the door enough to stick his head into the crack. “Oh. Hey.”
Mentally, I was raising my eyebrows at my perpetually-neat son’s mussed hair, and the fact that his lips were puffy and red. “Hey.”
“You made it.”
“Do you still want to go get brunch?” I kept my tone kind and my expression neutral.
Lucas glanced behind him at something I couldn’t see, because the door wasn’t open wide enough, then looked at me again. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Umm…”
“I can come back if you’re busy.” I wasn’t blind. Apparently betweenmy social life is overand now, he’d found someone to make out with.
“I’m sorry, I…” He managed to squeeze his body through the small opening, and step outside, so he could close the door behind him. His shirt was buttoned crooked, and his belt was missing. “Mitch came back,” he whispered. “Last night his roommate needed him. But now…”
Right. Now the boys could pick up where they left off. The protective Mama Bear in me didn’t like admitting my child was growing up this way, but I was rational. I was a reasonable human being. “Okay. Call me when you need me.”
“Thank you.” Lucas grinned, and vanished back into his apartment.
So much for that. As I walked back to my car, my stomach growled. I didn’t want to go home, but I hated eating out alone. It always felt so awkward. Over the past six or so months, I’d become friends with a couple of the women at work—I hadn’t really had girlfriends before, and I liked it. But Carly lived on the other side of the world with her boyfriends and their daughter, and Daria set weekends aside for time with her kids… and her boyfriends.
Which had me thinking about Eli and Joystick again. The biggest differences were that the two of them seemed to see everything as a competition, and I wasn’t willing to be a prize. Though, in a way the idea was kind of sexy. But only in a fictional way, not in a real-life kind of way. And I wasn’t the kind of woman who landed one guy, let alone two.
Fuck it, I’d go to breakfast alone.
The diner was packed, and no one cared who I was or that no one was with me. The food was good, the staff was fun, and I managed to silence my rambling thoughts for a short while.
As I was on my way out, I passed a group of women about half my age, laughing and waiting for a table. The one had violet and dark teal running through her mess of curls. I paused next to them. “Excuse me. I love your hair.”
She grinned. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure about the blue-green.”
“It’s perfect. A great contrast.”
Her friends chimed in with enthusiastic agreements andI told you so.
“I wish I was brave enough for something like that.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” she asked.
I didn’t have an answer. Pointing out I was older, and had things like business to worry about, felt rude. At least part of it would be a lie, too. Liz went through rainbow hair colors on a regular basis, and most of the other partners rarely batted an eye. The only answer I had was to shrug.
