“Shit.” She looks away, her mind obviously working to try to find a solution. “Sage probably has his number. We can ask him for it.”

I don’t want to ask Sage for his number. No way do I want to answer any questions, but what choice do I have?

“Okay,” I agree.

She pulls her phone out then quickly types a message. I wait then hear her phone ping. When her face lights with a smile, I don’t know if I should be nervous or excited.

“I got his number. Get your phone.”

I pick up my cell and type in the number she shoots off. When he’s added to my list of contacts, a small sense of relief fills me.

“Now text him.”

“Right.” I nibble the inside of my cheek as I type out a text to him. I read the words three times to make sure everything is spelled correctly and sounds believable before I press Send.

I hope you don’t mind I got your number from Sage. I’m sorry I left without a word, but I got a message from my sister this morning and had to take off. Thank you for being so sweet and taking care of me last night.

December

A moment later, a bubble appears and I look at April. “He’s typing.”

“He’s not making you wait a year for a return text. That’s a good sign.” She smiles.

“Hopefully,” I agree with a small smile of my own.

I drop my eyes back to my phone when it dings. My smile slides away and chest gets heavy as I read his reply.

Funny, was awake when you got up and know you didn’t even look at your cell. Glad you’re good, but don’t message again. I don’t have time for high school bullshit and games.

“What?” April questions, probably reading the look on my face. I don’t answer, so she slides my phone out of my hand and reads the message herself. “Oh shit.” She stands, still holding my phone, then she starts to pace. “I can’t.... I cannot believe he said that to you.” She pauses, looking pissed at the phone then me. “I’m going to message him back.”

“What? No!” I shout as I shoot off the couch and launch myself at her over my coffee table. I land against her, and we end up getting into a wrestling match that ends with us both on the floor and me straddling her. When I finally get ahold of my phone and have it above my head, we’re both breathing heavily. “He obviously wants nothing to do with me. And I understand why.”

“But—” April starts, but I shake my head, my hair flying as I do.

“I should have... I should have….” Really, I don’t know what I should have done differently. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“I’m sorry.” She sits up, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I should have kept my mouth closed. I just thought when I saw you looking at him that if I provoked you, you’d make a move on him. I knew you thought he was hot, and I—”

“I’m an idiot.” I get up before she can finish, pulling my hair out of my face and holding it back with one hand as she pushes up off the ground to stand before me.

“You’re not.” She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to really focus on her. “Seriously, if he was awake when you got up, he should have said something. He should have done something to make you stay. If anyone is an idiot, it’s him for letting you walk away.”

I pull in a breath. Maybe she’s right. Maybe he should have said something when he saw I was sneaking out. Then again, I probably would have done the same thing he did if the roles were reversed. With only one long-term relationship in my history that seemed to just happen without much intention on my part, I have no idea how to navigate the whole “getting to know you” side of things. Who am I kidding? I know nothing about men unless it’s written in a book. And unfortunately, with time, I have come to find that the guys I read about do not exist in real life. Not only because it’s rare to meet a multi-millionaire who will whisk you away on his private jet and confess his undying love, but because men are mostly jerks.

On that thought, I look into April’s eyes, and declare, “Whatever. It’s done.”

We hold each other’s stare for a long time before she finally agrees with me, looking disappointed about my statement.

Two

Gareth

WITH MY HAND around my rock hard cock and my face turned into my pillow, breathing deep, I stroke. Pulling hard at the tip and then back down. The visual in my mind is one that’s kept me company for the last few mornings. Blonde hair, gorgeous features, and a body made up of nothing but beautiful curves that seemed never ending. I stroke faster, imagining December whispering my name in her soft, sweet voice. I come, and streams of hot cum shoot against my stomach. My strokes turn lazy until the tension has left my stomach and my cock has gone limp.

Feeling relaxed, I stare at the ceiling, thinking about the woman I just got off on, hating the fact that she wasn’t what I thought she was. The morning she took off on me, I watched her walk away, even though everything in me demanded I do something to force her to stay. I just couldn’t. As I saw her sneaking out of my room, all I could think about was how many times I witnessed Beth do the same thing.

How many times had I attempted to get her to stick around? How many times had I begged her to stay, not for me but for our boys?

I know the circumstances aren’t even close to the same, but that didn’t have an effect on the disappointment I felt settling in my gut when the door closed behind December.

“Fuck,” I hiss, getting up and heading to my bathroom. I try to block out thoughts of December and how I might have fucked things up between us because of my past, as I shower and then move to get dressed in my walk-in closet. Only when I’m dressed and have my boots on do I come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter; it’s done. My message to her after her explanation made it final.

With that thought, I pause at the bedroom door and make a last-second decision. I strip the sheets off the bed along with the cases on the pillows. Maybe... fucking hopefully, if December’s scent is gone, I’ll finally be able to wake up without a fucking hard-on from her sultry perfume that’s clung to my bedding the last few days. Maybe I’ll be able to wake up without thinking about her and the ways I might have fucked things up because of my past.

I dump the load in my arms into the washer just off the kitchen and pick up the bottle of soap, dump that in, and then start up the machine. With that done, I start a pot of coffee then go down the hallway.

My boys would sleep all day if I let them—something I’m grateful for on the weekends and in the summer, but something that is a pain in the ass to deal with during the school year. I open my nine-year-old’s door first, since it normally takes Max longer to get up. His alarm is going off, but he’s pulled his pillow over his head to block out the blaring noise. I flip on the light then walk across the clean space to his bed and tug his foot. “Time to get up, Max.”

He groans, pulling his foot away. “Isn’t it the weekend yet?”

“Dude, it’s Tuesday.”

“Ugh, I want to be homeschooled.”

“Get up and in the shower,” I order, leaving his light on and ignoring his groan of annoyance.

I skip one door, which is to the boys’ Jack and Jill bathroom, and open the next. When I flip on the light, my fifteen- going on forty-year-old son, Mitchell, lifts his head off his pillow. “Already?”