I can’t watch this, and yet my eyes remain fixed on the two ahead of me. To my relief, Zach jerks his head away, disguising his action by calling out one final “thank you” to the kid watching the downstairs entrance.
Finally free of the hypnotic allure of their intimacy, I tip my attention down to my coffee cup. How many times has he kissed her already? How far has this new chapter of their relationship traveled all in the name of appeasing his father?
This week started out so promising.
I just want to curl up in a nice warm blanket and sleep for the next three days. But I have work in thirty minutes and class the next morning. No time for oversleeping and wallowing in regret. I’ll just pour myself into my work and focus on getting the organization up and running. That should take my mind off of things.
My cell phone rings. The name “Oakland Regional Center” flashes across the screen. My chest tightens. I haven’t seen that number in over a year. I forgot I’d even saved it into my phone. They can’t be calling about our medical payments. We’ve been on time with them so far, and they are usually handled through a separate company.
I answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m trying to reach Miss Aly McKenzie.” The calm voice of the receptionist on the other side of the phone unnerves me.
“This is her.”
“This is Oakland Regional Center. We need you to come down to the hospital right away,” she says.
“It’s about your mother.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zach
Aly didn’t show up to class today.
It bothers me how easily this upsets me, but, considering I never have any other time to see her, those few moments when I can make all the difference in the world. Even if it’s just to steal a glance at her from across a crowded room. I message her, but she doesn’t respond back. She’s been avoiding me since yesterday when she saw Chloe and I together.
I can’t blame her. If I saw her with another man I’m not sure how I’d react. I only know it wouldn’t be very sensible.
I stare at the desk in front of me. Images of Aly half-naked on top of it flood my thoughts. Her soft breasts exposed beneath that skin-tight blouse and the pink nipple in the center immediately come to mind. My cock springs to life at the thought of her hands on me, the feel of her silken pussy constricting around it. The sound of her shortened breaths and delicious climax echo in my ears like a siren’s tune. Seductive. Mysterious.
Dangerous.
I can’t imagine Aly sharing that with anyone else. The idea of another man touching her, making love to her, twists in the pit of my stomach like a poisoned dagger.
I can’t imagine myself with another woman. No matter how hard I’ve tried to shake the idea of Aly from my mind, nothing satisfies me. I haven’t even been able to kiss Chloe. I can barely stand to have her touch me, let alone be expected to return the same affections.
This idea of going along with my father’s plans sounded plausible in theory at first. Then after these past two weeks spent apart from Aly, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to withstand a lifetime away.
I love her.
I can admit it to myself for once. I’ve fallen so helplessly in love with Aly McKenzie that no reward seems worth the sacrifice of losing her. My mother can stay in the apartment in San Francisco until we can figure out how to distance her from my father. She could stay there forever, for all I care. If that’s even what she wants.
I haven’t asked her. Either Chloe or my father always seems to wedge in between us. Just like they had last night at dinner. It’s all a part of his plan, I assume.
I pull out my phone and punch in my mother’s number. There’s no harm in calling and seeing if she can talk without my father looming over every word. The video chat sparks to life, and my mother’s smiling face materializes on the other side.
“What do you need?” My mother looks somewhere off camera. She’s out on the pool deck, making something or mixing something. Though I can’t tell what.
“Do I need any other reason to call you other than to check in?”
“Hmm.” She muses to herself. “Well seeing as you rarely check-in, I would say yes. You usually only call when you’re concerned about something or need my advice. And considering how miserable you looked with that woman at dinner last night, I’ll guess that has something to do with it.”
“How insightful of you.”
She flicks a hand in the air. “Call it ‘mother’s intuition’. What’s the story there anyway? Did your father put you up to this?”
“Um…” How the hell do I answer that?