Page 22 of Blitz

“Good morning.”

Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “Good morning,” she manages. Her throat works as she swallows. “You look nice today.”

“Thank you.” My beard is freshly trimmed. I’m wearing dark jeans and a hoodie, same as I do every day.

I round the desk and take my seat beside her. There’s four feet between our computers. That’s not nearly enough distance, and entirely too much all at once. I want to run my fingers through her hair and hold her close. I want to kiss her right here and never let her go.

We have about ten minutes of paperwork and opening duties before the first clients of the day walk in, a woman and her toddler son seeking an adult ADHD diagnosis. Mason shows them over to the kiddie corner, where we have toys and coloring books available for the kid. She crouches down and talks directly to the toddler, giving him her undivided attention. She’s good with kids. I can imagine her with a minivan full of babies one day, her belly round with our child as she runs after a bushy-haired toddler with her eyes and my smile.

Woah. Hold up. We’re not together. We’re not anything. We’re definitely nowhere close to being ready for babies.

But I can see it, and I’m not scared of it. I can see a future with her. A life with her.

Can I get over my pride and admit that I’m still in love with her? We’ve both grown in our time apart. We’re different people now. I like to think that I can be a good partner to her, that we work well together. We balance each other out.

Mason glances up at me, her eyes bright. Her easygoing smile fades from her face. She swallows and stands up, brushing her hands on her leggings.

“I’ll be right at the desk if you need anything,” she tells the woman. She crosses the small lobby and retakes her seat. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” she says.

I love you, I want to say.

“The nine o’clock is a no show,” I say instead.

She clears her throat and shuffles the sign-in sheets. “He called right before you came in, he’s running late. He’ll be here by nine thirty.”

The psychologists’ schedule is always a little light on Fridays. We can shift things around to accommodate his tardiness today.

“Mason…”

She raises her eyebrows expectantly. “Yeah?”

I don’t know what I want to say. I just don’t want our conversation to be over. I want her attention, her affection.

I clear my throat. I have no words to say.

“Tucker, what is it?”

“Forget it.”

“Come on. Tell me.”

“How are you doing in sociology?” I spy her textbook on the counter in front of her. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. “I heard we’re having a pop quiz next week.”

She grimaces. “It’s fine.”

“We could…”

“Hm?”

“Never mind.”

Her eyes narrow, a smile teasing the corner of her mouth. “Tucker Kingsley, are you asking me to study with you?”

My cock twitches in my jeans. My stomach lurches. My mouth goes dry. I hate the physical reaction to her teasing. No matter how badly she hurt me, I still want her, and I have to live with that every day.