Page 14 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

No. No no no no no.

So much for my boundaries.

Damn you, wine.

_

Darling Molly,

* * *

This is why people don’t write letters anymore. I feel like a douche. But here I am, in all my douche glory, writing you a letter I am never going to send.

* * *

I’m glad my sister was too into Jamie to notice us. I’m glad you like burgers with extra cheese and extra bacon. I’m glad you gave me your phone number.

* * *

I’m not sorry I’ve already called you twice just to hear your voice.

* * *

So since you’re never going to read this, I guess it’s safe to tell you I had the best date of my life with you tonight. I don’t know if you’d call it a date. But I’m calling it a date.

* * *

Watch out, Molly Todd. I just might have to marry you.

* * *

Yours,

Finn

Two

Molly

I was scrambling around the side of the bed, racing for the bathroom, when my feet got tangled in something on the floor. My knees crashed onto the rug. My hair flew into my face as my arms shot out to catch my fall.

“Sonofabitch,” I whispered, pushing the hair out of my face to see what had tripped me.

Panties. My feet were tangled in the panties I’d pulled on yesterday morning and Finn had ripped off last night.

I kicked my feet free, then scooped up the gray cotton briefs, balling them up in a fist. If Finn woke up before I made it to the bathroom, there was no way I wanted him inspecting my comfortable, sexless underwear. With them hidden, I hurried—more carefully this time—for the bathroom, collecting discarded clothing as I shuffled along.

At the door, I risked a glance over my shoulder. Finn was still asleep. No surprise. The man had slept like the dead when we’d been together. When the kids were newborns, I’d have to kick him repeatedly to rouse him for his feedings.

I shut the door to the bathroom, leaned back against the white paneled wood and breathed a sigh.

I slept with Finn.

This was a disaster. What the damn hell had I been thinking? Finn and I had spent years getting to a place of friendship. I was happily single, I bought my own car, and I ran my own life. I’d even considered dating again. Why? Why am I so stupid?

I was shaking when I pushed off the door. I threw my clothes in the hamper, then turned on the shower. I spent a few extra seconds breathing in the steam and my rosemary and mint shampoo. Neither helped calm my trembling.

“So stupid,” I told the spray. “I’m not doing this again.”