Page 86 of Wicked Player
It’s just after supper on Sunday night when my cell rings. I’m in the bath, so Christian answers it as he often does.
“I’m good,” I hear him say. “And how are you?”
I smile. He’s such a polite boy.
“I was playing on my mom’s phone,” he goes on.
“We had lasagna,” he’s saying, and I wonder who he’s speaking to. Judy comes to mind. Cassie perhaps.
“My mom is in the bathtub,” he says.
Yes, I’m in the bath, and I have no desire to get out. Whoever it is can call me back later.
“Yes!!!” he cheers. “I would love that. I love fishing.”
What the… Who the heck is he speaking to?
“Okay, I’ll go see if she wants to talk,” he’s saying, “but just so you know, she doesn’t like to talk when she’s in the bath.”
He pops his head in the bathroom. “Mommy, it’s your friend, Colton.”
Fuck.
My toes curl in, and I squeeze the bath loofa in my hand. “Tell him I’m in the bath and I can’t talk.”
“She’s in the bath and she can’t talk,” Christian relays my words, sadness tracing his features. “Maybe she can call you later.”
“Okay, bye,” he finally says before ending the call.
He perks up again. “Colton wants to take us fishing,” he announces. “He says he has a really nice fishing boat.”
Oh, just great.
“I bet he does.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now he’s got Christian entangled in his charming, pretty, sparkling web. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Am I supposed to be the bad guy, and say no? He’s such an inconsiderate asshole, to put me in that position. Or is this just a ploy to lure me back in? I need to give the man a piece of my mind.
My bath is officially over when I jerk the towel off its hook and wrap it around my head. I wipe my body dry with another one, and quickly slip into my pajamas. I grab my phone, and go into my room. Unfortunately, there is no privacy in this cabin, and it’s too chilly to step outside. I will need to whisper my grievances, which I’m sure won’t have the impact I’d like.
“Hello, Clara,” he says, and I detect a dash of sadness in his voice. I don’t care.
“Hi, Colton,” I start, my words soft. “I’d like to ask you not to talk to my son without my permission.”
“What? He answered your phone,” he points out. “I was just making polite chit chat.”
I swear, this man will be the end of me. “Well… you did invite us to go fishing, did you not?” I ask, my words still a whisper.
“Why are you whispering?”
Ugh. I really wish I could scream at him. “I’m whispering because there’s no freaking privacy in this cabin, and I don’t want Christian hearing me tell you to fuck off.”
“Oh… I get you,” he says, and I really want to teleport through the phone line and strangle him.
“So, did you not invite Christian to go fishing?” I ask yet again.
“Well, I did,” he admits. “We talked about it before, when I was at your place.”
They have. It’s true. “Well, now I have to be the bad guy, and tell him we can’t go. How dare you bring Christian in the middle of all this, and use him for your own purposes.”
