remembered I was the adult, the parent, the employer. I knew moving to Manhattan was a big change for my daughters and they didn’t need to freak out over me being gone all night. I gave Lena a hard look.
“I went to the charity event, like I told all of you. Then I got home around two,” I straight-up lied. But I wasn’t backing down on this one.
“Hmm,” she said.
Was I being judged by a twenty-four-year-old? I reached down and grabbed the plate holding Willow’s abandoned pancake. I stabbed it with a fork and shoved half a pancake into my mouth. I didn’t want to say something I would regret.
This was why dating was impossible.
At least I’d had last night. I glanced at my phone again.
Nothing.
I slept late. Really late. But Brandon had kept me up until after three.
Reaching for my phone, which I usually kept on the windowsill behind my bed, I didn’t find it in its usual spot. It also occurred to me that I hadn’t gotten his number and he hadn’t asked for mine. I had a vague memory of him saying he’d left his number, so I stumbled out of bed.
He had cleaned up the mess we’d left out the night before. And he’d left a note with his number and money for the ridiculous amount of food and wine we’d ordered. God, he was actually perfect.
I was slightly embarrassed I had told him being with him was easy. It might have been too eager, too revealing. I wasn’t sure. But I obviously hadn’t scared him off because he’d left his contact information.
After showering, I spent the next few hours on the couch watching TV and eating leftover rice, marveling at how sore I was and how many orgasms I’d had. Finally, I decided it would be cool to text him.
I squinted at the numbers on the envelope Brandon had scribbled on. I had waited an appropriate amount of time to reach out. Post-lunch, pre-dinner. Time for both of us to eat, shower, do a few Saturday errands. I did not want to look overly eager. Clingy wasn’t a good look, but if I waited too long, he would think I was rude and/or not interested. I already felt guilty about being a lousy hostess. I hadn’t offered him coffee or a shower or anything. But to be fair, I had barely even realized he was leaving. I had been almost entirely asleep still.
Which was technically his fault for keeping me up so late.
Lounging on my couch, I typed the numbers into my phone. I wanted to see him again, without question. He was intense, considerate, and really damn good in bed.
You know what I don’t like? Mornings. But I had fun last night.
I had told Brandon the night we met that I liked everything. I did like sleeping in. But I had to admit I wasn’t a fan of getting out of bed before eight.
The bubble popped up. He was texting me back. I wondered what a single dad did on a Saturday with his kids. Movies? Was he walking a dog with them right now? It was an intriguing visual. I pictured him with a bulldog. That seemed to fit.
Same. Are you still in bed?
No.
Damn. I want a nude from you.
Huh. Okay. That didn’t seem like a Brandon request. At least not in those terms. But then again, how well did I know him?
Haha, forget it. What are you planning to do today?
Jacking off to the pic you send.
What? I sat up, unsure how to respond to that. Then I went for the comedic deflection. I sent him a picture of a bulldog.
That’s bullshit. Wait, does that mean you’re a guy? That dog has a dick.
It took me a second, then I realized what was happening. Oh, great. I was texting a stranger.
Seriously. Are you a dude? Because fuck off if you are.
I groaned and wished I had a pastry. Thank God I hadn’t seriously contemplated sending this jerk a nude. Not really. Only sort of. I would have if it had sounded more like Brandon. But it hadn’t seemed exactly him.
I didn’t even respond to the stranger’s last stupid comment. Instead I opened up a food service app and ordered a six-pack of donuts delivered to my apartment. Then I eyed the phone number written down on the envelope again. It was possible I had either entered the number wrong or that eight was really a six.
Except I did have the number right