Ann Aguirre - I Want It That Way

I probably radiated the just fucked vibe, so thank God Max was the only person home, and he barely glanced at me. Angus and Lauren would’ve given me the third degree, and I’d bet Max would’ve paid more attention, had Lauren come home looking the same way. In the bedroom, I confirmed it. Yep, sex hair, swollen lips, wow, he marked my neck behind my ear.

A little shiver went through me.

I took a shower, imagining how it would be with Ty, all wet, steamy nakedness, and then sex afterward in a warm bed. For us, those moments were likely to be few and far between. As I stepped out of the tub, I realized they’d be confined to the end of the month. Otherwise, any time we snatched would feel sneaky and furtive. And maybe that would be hot under some conditions, but trying not to get caught by a four-year-old was not one of those scenarios. Plus, my turn-on was watching, not getting caught in the act.

I wrapped a towel around me and opened the bathroom door in time to hear my phone buzzing away. Digging it out of my purse, I already had a message from Ty. A pic, too. My breath caught as I opened it. He wasn’t pervy enough to send me a close-up of his junk, but I got one of his soapy chest, droplets of water on the phone when he took it. Hot as hell. He must’ve taken this in the shower.

The text read, Wish you were here.

The next morning, Angus woke me just past six by collapsing at the foot of my bed with a sigh. Normally, I’d be up on my own since I had to be at work by eight. Shit, I must’ve turned off my alarm. But he didn’t seem to realize he’d done me a favor.

“You okay?”

“I broke up with Josh for good.”

I’d suspected that was coming. If he’d been able to move past it, he probably wouldn’t have spent so long mentally debating the issue. “I’m sorry. Give me a sec.”

After a quick hug, I wriggled my feet out from under him and raced to the bathroom. Once I took care of business, I washed my hands and brushed my teeth before opening the door. We’d chatted many times while I got ready, so this was nothing new. By this point, Angus had stolen the warm spot in my bed. He had no early classes on Thursday, lucky bastard.

“Can we talk now?”

“Go for it.” I rummaged in my closet, trying to find a clean day-care shirt and tan pants.

“If he can’t control himself for three weeks, what will it be like down the line? I don’t want to be tied to a serial cheater, constantly accepting the apologies and lies.”

Since I’d liked Josh, but I didn’t think he was the best guy ever, I supported this move. “I get it. You made the smart choice dumping J-Rod.”

“But I miss him,” he whispered.

I’d never broken up with anyone I truly cared about, so my advice would be worthless. “Did you meet anyone good at the Majestic?”

“I had some fun with the guy I was dancing with, but he was of the shh, don’t speak school of handsome.”

“Yikes. So not relationship material.”

“Not remotely.” He rolled over and snuggled onto his side. “Can I sleep in your bed while you’re gone?”

“Somebody should enjoy it.” Some people might find this weird, I supposed, but Angus had crashed in my room before.

When I unearthed a pair of wrinkled khakis, I punched the air in triumph and got dressed. There was no time for anything but a ponytail and I shoved my feet into a pair of dark blue Converse. Because he needed TLC, I crossed to the bed and kissed Angus on the forehead.

“Thanks.”

“We’ll hang out tonight if you want.”

“Not Project Runway,” he muttered.

“I’ll take you out drinking, and I can be your designated driver.” That should be the perfect distraction from his personal problems.

He pushed up on an elbow. “I haven’t done the stupid drunk break-up phase yet.”

“It’s followed by sitting in the recliner in sweatpants, eating Cheetos, right?”

Angus shuddered. “I’ll skip to the hangover cure and a good workout.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” With one last pat, I ran to the kitchen, where I fried an egg and made toast.

Ten minutes later, as I got in the car, I realized I should be grateful to Angus. Focusing on his issues prevented me from waking up in a cold sweat, wondering if Ty would boomerang into iceberg territory, no contact between us for weeks, like that one time. Of course, now that the possibility had occurred to me, anxiety squatted in my mind, swelling like a tick.

But something else distracted me. This morning, under normal circumstances, Lauren would’ve been part of that discussion. She should’ve woken up and bitched at us for bothering her and then offered to come to the bar tonight. I sorted through a jumble of impressions and I noted that her bed had still been made at six-thirty in the morning.

She didn’t come home last night.

As I parked, I got out my phone to text her.

You okay?

Fine, why?

Because you weren’t around when I left. Get lucky?

Woke up superearly. Went to the library to study for midterms.

I stared at my phone, unsure how to handle this. Usually, when Lauren didn’t want to talk about something, she said so. Never in my experience had she lied to me. But in a town the size of Mount Albion, the buses didn’t run at all hours, so how did she get to campus that early? It was theoretically possible that she’d walked; it was three miles. But that didn’t ring true.

Good luck, I finally sent back. If she wanted me to know what was going on with her, she’d tell me. No poking around on my end; I had enough shit on my plate.

My hand was on the door handle when my phone buzzed again, but this time, it was Ty. The message just read, No regrets.

Smiling, I answered, None here. Encore?

Soon.

Sam was already in the classroom when I arrived. He smiled at me, completely recovered from the night’s drama. Mrs. Trent put me to work, and the morning went fast. I actually liked it better than afternoons because keeping nineteen four-year-olds on their cots during nap time wasn’t the easiest job. Mornings were quick-paced with a dynamic mix of activities, lessons, snack and circle time. When noon rolled around, the new floater came in to relieve me.

I hesitated outside Mrs. Keller’s office, troubled, but something had to give. If I kept up at this rate, I’d burn out like my mentor at C-Cool had warned me. Mustering my nerve, I tapped on the door frame and she looked up.

“Come in!”

“I have a couple of things to talk to you about,” I said.

“You’re not quitting, are you?” Her look of alarm was flattering. “Then close the door, sit down, and let’s hear it.”

“The first request is, can I have the Friday after Thanksgiving off? I’m going home for the first time since last Christmas. It’s a sixteen-hour drive,” I added so she’d understand how big a deal it was, not like visiting Ann Arbor.

She nodded, making a note. “Thanks for the advance notice. I can work around it. We’re closed on Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, that’s why I was hoping it wouldn’t be too big a deal.”

“It shouldn’t be. We run a skeleton crew on Black Friday because so many companies offer two days’ holiday, anyway. It’s mostly parents who have retail jobs that need us open.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“That was easy enough. You looked so serious when you came in, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I hate asking for favors. This might be harder to handle but...I need to shave a couple hours off my schedule on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

In a rush, I told her how the practicum was killing me—class at eight and then I had to race straight to C-Cool, where I was helping in the classroom for two hours. Afterward, there was another sprint to the day-care center to get me here by noon and if I was lucky, I might get a convenience-store sandwich along the way.

I concluded, “I just can’t keep going like that.”

“No, obviously not. Would it help if we shifted your hours to late afternoon? I could schedule you from two to six and you’d only lose an hour of paid time, but it should give you more of a lunch break, and I only have one hour to cover daily. I’m sure the new floater wouldn’t mind adding two hours.” Mrs. Keller got out her calendar and started looking at the shifts. “Right now you’re working twenty-three hours a week and she’s got seventeen. With this new division, it would be twenty-one and nineteen.”

“Yeah, that would be better.” Already the tension in my neck and shoulders eased. I could afford to pare down by twenty bucks a week, less with taxes.

She wrote up the sample schedule: Monday, 12–5. Tuesday, 8–12. Wednesday, 2–6. Thursday, 8–12. Friday, 2–6. I looked it over, checked the math. Yep, twenty-one hours a week, but those two trimmed hours would make my life a lot easier. With a grateful smile, I stood up.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. I wish more employees would talk to me instead of calling in until I have no choice but to let them go.”

“They probably don’t like working here as much as I do,” I said. “When will the change kick in?”

“I have to talk to Claire first, but I hope next week.” Claire must be the floater who had my old job.

“Thanks again.” I waved as I let myself out of her office, relief practically swamping me.

Time wasn’t so tight on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I had the leisure to go home and make lunch, eat and change clothes, before heading to campus for afternoon classes. On the downside, I had them back-to-back until six. Which sounded like a lot of classes, but the Tues-Thurs ones ran longer to make up for meeting only twice a week.