Page 13 of Falling Back to You

“Say what?” I grabbed a boot.

“That this is the last time and it’ll never happen again.” His words were said monotone, as if he were reciting a phrase he’d learned by heart.

“I think at this point you and I both know that’s a lie.”

“Dial—”

“Don’t get over your skis. It’s just sex, nothing more.” Flinging the door open, I found the others in the empty living room. Heading over to where Cy stood like a fucking peacock, I punched him in the gut. He doubled over, wheezing. “Oz can stay, but if you lie to me again, that’s your fucking ass. This bullshit meeting is adjourned.”

Insanity was fucking Ozzie every three to five business days and expecting a different result. That was why I was in my bathroom trying to achieve the perfect winged eye for my date.

“You look pretty Momma,” Maple, my biggest fan, complimented me.

“Thanks, sweetie.” I held up two lip shades and allowed her to pick.

“The brown one.”

“I think you’re right.”

The last time I’d been on a date was over a year ago, with Henry Reacher. It had ended back at my place, but he didn’t live up to all the trash he was talking in the car. The dick size was adequate, but my date didn’t know how to use it. In less than five minutes of weak strokes he was done, and I was frustrated. When he left, I had to finish myself off. So, no second date for Henry.

After glossing my lips, I did the same to Maple, who was poking her lips out in anticipation. She was a mini version of me. Maple would talk your ear off with fun facts, and she never backed down from a challenge. She was tough, but I was teaching her she didn’t have to be.

“Why do you have to go out, anyway?” she asked.

“Because sometimes mommies need adult time with friends.”

“But I’m your friend.”

“My BFF. But you have other friends… Janiyah, Charmine.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see them at night.”

“What about sleepovers?”

“Why can’t your friend sleep over?”

“Because going out is better.”

“At sleepovers you can be in your pajamas.”

She made very good points. I’d love nights in my soft robe curled up on the couch with a good book. At least in romance novels there was a happy ending. I was self-sufficient; my mother had drilled into my brain that I should always be able to look after myself because no one was going to have my back if I didn’t. Love was a bonus, or a nice to have, like sunroofs or a mud room. But just because I could do it alone, that didn’t mean I wanted to.

Toughness was required because I had a daughter to raise, but inside, I craved to lean into a soft-girl sensibility. That was part of the reason I found it hard to be around Fancy. She was allowed to be soft, to make mistakes, to ask for help. I’d never been afforded that kind of deference. When people referred to me, it was always Dial can handle it; she’s a tough cookie.

For the record, tough cookies are the least enjoyable.

People didn’t offer to open jars or hold doors when my arms were full. Edison was the exception. But for the most part, people left me to my own devices because I was a hard nut.

“How about this: in the morning, if you’re good, I’ll make you sloppy brown waffles.”

“Can I help you make them?”

“Of course.” I smoothed her soft, fluffy hair. “When Reese gets here, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna listen to her. And when she tells me it’s time for bed, I’ll brush my teeth.”

Touching Maple’s cheek, I said, “That’s my girl.” I’d considered calling Ozzie to see if he was available to watch her, but he’d ask too many questions. Where are you going? Who all’s gonna be there? When will you be back? What I did and with whom was none of his business.