TAKE TWO_ Who says you can't ma - Heather M. Orgeron Page 0,26
seats.
“He kissed me…or maybe I kissed him. I can’t really remember how it all went down, but there was definitely kissing.” I touch the pads of my fingers to my lips that are still a little swollen and tingling.
Hannah’s eyes widen, and she continues to stare like she’s waiting for more.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?” She gawks at me in disbelief. “A kiss sent you running all the way to the hospital?”
“Well,” I hedge, opening and closing my hand in my lap beneath the table. I swear I can still feel the weight of his ghost dick in my palm. “I umm… I sort of touched it.”
“It?” It takes her a minute, but I see the shock on her face the moment it clicks. “Ohhh… it, it.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Well, how was it?”
With an audible gulp, I pull the collar of my shirt away from my neck. “Big.” My hand clenches around the phantom penis. “So big…” Desire flames in my cheeks. “And—and hard.” Jesus, I’m hot everywhere. I pick up a medical pamphlet from the pile that’s sitting in the middle of our table and begin fanning myself with it. “Neatly trimmed and just—just fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him.”
“Oh my God,” she squeals, drumming her feet on the floor and her hands on the table simultaneously. “I feel like such a proud momma. Well, you know, if mothers got proud over these kinds of things…”
“Stop it.”
“I bet your momma would be proud though. I should call and tell her the good news.”
“Ew. For real. That’s enough.”
“Okay, fine.” She looks around to make sure no one is eavesdropping before leaning in closer. “You touched it…then what happened?”
“Not what you’re thinking. Ellie walked in from school.” I hang my head, shaking it from side to side. “We completely lost track of time.”
The look of utter delight on her face is unnecessary. “Oh, ho hooo,” she hoots. “Did she see you playing in her daddy’s pants?” My friend looks like she’s about to piss herself.
It’s my turn to huff. “No, idiot. She’s eleven… and our daughter. That would not have been funny. Shit. It would have been the worst moment of my life. Probably hers, too.”
The highly amused blonde side-eyes me. “Seriously?”
“It was so irresponsible! What if she had seen? I’ve got to get a grip on this attraction.”
“No, ma’am. You most certainly do not need to get a grip on anything… well, other than maybe his…you know.” Hannah cracks up laughing at her own joke, and I can’t help but to giggle a little myself. “Yeah, so, she could have seen, but she didn’t. And if she had, you’d have made up some genius lie on the spot to excuse it like you always do, because you’re a damn good mother. I’ve never seen anyone come up with more believable covers for Santa or the Tooth Fairy…” She trails off, and her eyes about bug out of her head. “Ohhh, do you remember the dildo?”
I snort and shake my head, still remembering that feeling of panic.
“When she found it in your underwear drawer, and you told her it was a penis diagram for my anatomy class.” Hannah’s getting wound up again, giggling and waving her hands around.
Why did I come here again?
“This isn’t helping. The last thing I need is to be reminded of my past screw-ups.”
“Oh, right.” She shrugs her shoulders in apology. “You want to know how I think you should handle the situation? Pick up right where you guys left off when you go to bed tonight. And instead of erecting that ridiculous pillow fort, try erecting something else, if you know what I’m sayin’…” She waggles her brows.
“Real advice. Jesus, be serious!”
“Fine.” Hannah covers my hands with both of hers and squeezes, which releases at least a small bit of the tension I’m feeling. “Stop fighting this so hard. You’re married. Married people do freaky-deaky married things all the time, and I guaran-damn-tee you are not the first couple to almost get caught in a compromising position by your child.”
“Just because we aren’t the first doesn’t make it any less traumatizing.”
“I think I read a study once that said affectionate parents raise more well-rounded adults, or something.”
I smell bullshit. “Where was that study?”
“One of my clinical books… or maybe social media…” She waves away my concern. “I don’t really know, but I remember it, so it has to count for something, right?”
“I guess.” Maybe there’s some truth to what she’s saying. I’ve busted