I licked her sweet center in my place of work without any care for consequences. I ate her out like it was my job. I wish. I swear, I can still taste her now. My muscles tighten at the memory.
But that’s never happening again.
I might have entertained a daydream that Cora Bentley wants a man like me, but the reality is too far-fetched. What do I have to offer a woman like her? A successful, beautiful woman like her needs nothing—especially from me. I can barely take care of myself.
Where r u???
My phone buzzes with the incoming text. A glance at the time sends panic into my already shredded nerves. She’s going to kill me. I promised I wouldn’t be late again, and yet that’s exactly what I’ve done. The bus slows for yet another pile-up of traffic and I can’t take it anymore. If I’m any later she’s literally going to kill me!
I pull the handle above, signaling to get off, and exit a mile earlier than my stop. I’ll jog the rest of the way to the apartment. The Metro moves at a snail’s pace in this traffic, but I usually miss it with my hours at the coffee shop. Ignoring the buzz of my phone as it signals more incoming messages, I focus on long strides and keeping my breathing under control as I run toward the complex I’ve called home the past year.
It’s nothing spectacular. Most would call it a shithole, but the utilities are included and it’s close to everything we need.
“Isaac!” Marlena growls, arms crossed, and is outside the front door before I even make it up the stairs.
I glare at her, a silent warning to keep it down. The last thing I need is to piss off the neighbors, or worse, the manager with her screeching.
“I’m gonna be late for work.” She tosses her hair over one shoulder and hikes up her bag.
“Go, I’m here.” I take the steps two at a time and drop a kiss on her cheek.
She doesn’t leave though, instead following me inside the apartment. “You can’t keep doing this. It’s too much. Isaac, when do you even sleep?”
“Sleep is overrated.” I walk to the cupboard and take down a cup to fill with water from the sink before I meet her stare. “Besides, you know I need the money.”
“Isaac.” She sighs, worry heavy on her sinking shoulders.
I put that there, and I hate knowing I bring her down with problems that aren’t even hers. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I was late. I won’t let it happen again.”
“That’s what you said last week.” She places her hands on her hips.
“Because the bus broke down. This is different.”
“Everything okay at work?”
Shit. I don’t like to lie, but there’s no way I’m telling her about Cora or what we did together. “Fine. Jen was late.”
“You should at least find something closer. This is ridiculous. The amount of time you spend riding that bus is valuable.”
“Let me worry about logistics. We’re making this work.” But are we? I’m always rushing from one thing to the next. I’ve kept the coffee shop gig in part because there are hours of down time. Time I’m able to complete homework. Time to breathe, and yes, time with her. But that’s not the most important thing. I’ll take on everything, move mountains, or at least try to, when it comes to my kid. “How was he last night?” The night terrors have been getting worse again—or at least it feels that way.
“No nightmares.” She narrows her stare. “You really need to get him in counseling. Call his doctor at least. Mamá says he should be talking by now.”
Yeah, as if I haven’t thought of that. But with what money? I lift my brow and nod toward the door. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
“I get that this is hard to hear, but you can’t go on pretending he hasn’t been through hell—”
“Enough.” My sharp tone pinches her lips shut. I understand her concern. It’s not as if I don’t share the same ones, but this isn’t her decision. “I appreciate all you do to help me out. I do. But I can’t hear it from you too. Mamá and Becca are bad enough.”
“We’re just worried about him. You, too. You can’t work yourself into an early grave. David needs his papá.”
The door hinge creaks with the opening of the bedroom door. My son rubs the sleep from his eyes before finding my stare.
“There’s my boy!” The excitement in my voice strains with the thought he’s overheard the conversation with my sister. As much as he’s been through, I refuse to give him anything else to worry about. Closing the space between us, I scoop him up into my arms. “Did Tía Lena take good care of you?”
“Of course I did.” My older sister sasses, her hard tone turning soft as she takes us in. “We had cookies for dessert. David’s favorite.”
He holds up one finger, his face somber and eyes wide as he glances at my sister.
She chuckles. “I know. I know. I only let you have one cookie.”
“Good.” I kiss the top of his head, and allow the feeling that comes with holding my son in my arms to chase the remaining worry and anxiety from my mind. “Tía’s following Papá’s rules.” I glance over his head to meet my sister’s stare. “Thank you, Marlena.”
“I’ll see you Sunday?” she asks, and while I know she’d like to say more, she doesn’t. She stays over during the weeknights I’m at the coffee shop, and for that I’m grateful. Both my sisters still live at home, and thankfully volunteer to sleep over when I need them. Our parents can’t really handle David for more than an hour or two. I don’t know what I’d do without Marlena or Rebecca. Probably live at home still, which our mother would love. I don’t like to think about that for many reasons.
After I lock the door behind Marlena, I turn my attention back on my son. “You hungry, buddy?”
His sleepy, much-too-big-for-his-head eyes meet my gaze and he shakes his head in the negative.
“You wanna snuggle first?”
He doesn’t answer, but his grip around my neck tightens.
“Yeah.” I glance at my phone to check the time. Even though we don’t have one second to waste and he’s probably getting too old for this, I don’t have it in me to refuse him. “I think we have time for a quick snuggle.” Walking to the recliner, I sink into the well-worn fabric, and lean back as David’s body molds to mine. He buries his face into my chest, and I use my feet to glide us back and forth in a steady rocking motion despite how the chair creaks with age.
He doesn’t know what peace these moments give me. How could he? He’s only three years old. It’s bittersweet in that I can’t help but long for all the times I should have been there for him. The times I didn’t get to hold him. My conscience and the guilt for missing important milestones threatens to steal my joy. I shove it away. I would have been there if I could.
My pulse slows along with my breath and his body goes heavy as he drifts back off. Even though I’m tired, there’s no way I’ll give in to sleep. These moments—just the two of us—they’re everything.
There is nothing I won’t do for him. For us.
It’s the encouragement I need to get through this day. Every day. It’s why I work so damn hard. It’s why I’m going to make a life for us, one he’ll be proud of. It’s all I need.