Page 83 of Bottles & Blades

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“You call back and I’ll hang up,” I say.

“I—”

“You do it again and I’ll hang up again,” I tell her. “And I can do it all fucking night because what Ican’tdo is let someone treat Tiff like shit. Get yourself a fucking bowl of cereal or hell, eat that shit dry, but don’t call back unless it’s for a real reason.”

“I want to talk to my daughter.” She speaking more quietly this time.

Small fucking victories.

“I’ll have her call you when she wakes up.”

There’s a long moment of quiet.

Then, thank fuck, she says, “Okay.”

“Great.” I hang up.

Drop Tiff’s phone onto the bathroom counter and grip the honed edge of the granite, hanging my head and breathing deep and slow until I no longer want to punch something.

Then I flick off the light, grab her phone, and quietly make my way back into the bedroom.

Phone on the nightstand.

Body in bed.

I exhale silently, close my eyes, and then?—

Tiff is climbing on top of me.

“Wh—?”

I don’t get to finish the question.

Because then her mouth is on mine.

Twenty-Five

Tiff

I heardhim in the bathroom.

I didn’t mean to, and certainly I didn’t realize who exactly he was talking to.

Not until he told my mom to have a fucking bowl of cereal.

Then…

The pieces had aligned.

And…

Christ, it’s only been a few days and I’m falling deep, falling hard.

I’m not a piece of steel.

I’m not impermeable.

And how can I resist this man?

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