I nod, happy to make that promise. I don’t want any more lies or games in my life, especially not from a guy like Dev. I can’t afford to be emotionally devastated right now. I have kids, barely a job, and a mortgage, not to mention a bruised heart. “I will if you will.”
“Deal.” He leans in and gives me a very thorough kiss before leaning back. “Stay there,” he says, opening his door and launching himself out of the backseat. He’s surprisingly agile considering his size and the fact that his pants are still half undone.
He comes around the back of the car and opens my door, offering me his hand. He’s all put together, with his pants zipped up and his shirt tucked in, and except for the sweating, you’d never know he just had hot sex in the backseat. I take his extended hand in mine and step out like I’m a princess about to be presented to her subjects. A princess who just got it on like Donkey Kong in the back of a Phoenix, yo!
Standing in front of him properly dressed again and smelling like hot slippery bodies, I look up and smile. “Thank you for the sex.”
He smiles slowly, devastating me all over again with that dimple. “You’re welcome. And thank you for the sex, too.”
“You’re welcome. See you at work?” I walk off slowly, leaving my awkward farewell on the table. I don’t know how to be cool when I’m falling in love, and I’m a little afraid of what this might mean for my life and my children, but I’m still willing to take the risk. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and there’s so much to gain with this gorgeous man who just had awesome sex with me in the back of his Pontiac.
“Yeah. See you real soon.”
I wonder if he’s going to reach out and pull me back, but he doesn’t. He lets me go, and that’s okay. I’m happy, content, still coming down off my sexy high. I walk over to my car, my head up, my body appreciating the fresh evening air, even though it’s muggy and warm, and my thoughts floating lazily around my brain. I feel enveloped in something nice. Maybe real, true, rock-my-entire-world love. Whatever it is, I like it, and I’m not going to ruin it by over-analyzing it right now.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I can’t believe Halloween has arrived. I just got the last bits of our costumes together yesterday, and here we are, waiting for Dev and Jacob to arrive at our house.
“When are they gonna be here?” Sammy whines. His little finger starts lifting toward his face.
I grab his hand, stopping him before he can smear his makeup. He didn’t want to wear his mask, so I had to improvise a Spider-Man face with lots of eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. We’ll be lucky if he makes it out the door without destroying it.
“They’ll be here soon. Just relax. I still have to put my costume on.” I stood in front of the Halloween section of the local craft store yesterday for a half an hour, trying to decide if I was going to go with the standard witch look, or kick it up a notch. There was a French maid’s costume that was particularly tempting, but in the end, I decided it was probably better to be a little more subtle. Sophie’s already suspicious enough of my motives toward Dev. I think her father getting a girlfriend has been a real problem for her. Another issue for me to deal with.
Thankfully, even though Sophie is poised for a breakdown, I found Sammy a permanent daycare that I think we’re going to like better than the last one, so at least I have that off my plate. One crisis at a time, I can handle.
The doorbell rings, and then the stampede begins. Sammy disappears in a flash.
“I’ll get it!” yells Sophie as she runs pell-mell down the stairs. I imagine she’s at the head of the pack, with Melody and Sammy hot on her heels.
“No! I’ll get it. You still have to put your cape on!” Yep, that’s Melody, the first one dressed for Halloween as usual. She’s the last one down the stairs any other day of the year, but not today. She’s a princess, for the third year in a row. I can always count on my middle child to make my life easier.
I hear voices at the front door, but I’m not quite ready to come down. “I’ll be right there!” I yell.
I lean in closer to the mirror, putting on another layer of mascara. Just because I’m not a sexy French maid doesn’t mean I can’t do a little somethin’-somethin’ with this witch costume.