I can’t do this. My hands are shaking, even if it’s too dark for him to notice. Passenger seat, music turned down, moonlight and headlamps catching those high cheekbones and the stubble on his jaw. Nine years vanish out the cracked window as I flick a dropped French fry into the void. I want him. Maybe if I offer him a blowjob, I’ll get it out of my system. I’m only here because it’s different. A single, shining exception to my routine, which has stretched out for months unbroken: work, home, microwave dinner, sleep, get Mom up, housework or errands, work, home, microwave dinner…
My sister’s here this week to help take some of the load off, so I can wander into the night with my high school boyfriend. He’ll be gone tomorrow, and I can scratch apologizing to him off my bucket list. I ghosted him. Anxiety, youthful uncertainty, a check from his grandpa… I know I hurt him. Not that it’s held back his career or kept him from at least one society page divorce. But still. I’ve had guys throw my trust back in my face. I did the same thing to him, once.
Every time I try to explain myself, another bad joke or stupid topic comes out. Maybe outside, away from everyone else…
Maybe then.
Or I’ll find out he’s a serial killer here to murder me. As bad as this month has gone, that doesn’t seem implausible. At least if I get murdered, no one is going to ask me about next month’s mortgage…
I grin at him and swing the SUV door open. “Come on. The stars are gorgeous out here, city boy. When was the last time you just hung out and found constellations?”
“It’s been a while.” His voice sounds heavy, but he follows me out of the car.