Page 68 of Flirting with Forever

“What are you doing?” Naomi asked. “You’repacking?”

“I’m leaving. I’m going out the back door, and I’m getting on the train, and I’m going home.”

“Mary, you have a guest! You can’t just—”

“No. You have a guest. And I suddenly understand everything. I see exactly how little you think of me, Mom. How little I matter to you. I’m nothing because I don’t have a man or children. To you, I’ll always be half a person until I have those things.”

“Mary—”

“No. Don’t tell me that I’m wrong. I know I’m right. Otherwise you wouldn’t have invited Carver Reinhardt into my childhood home in some sort of sick setup.”

“Oh, forgive me for setting you up with a handsome, successful man.”

“I do not forgive you. For any of this. And I won’t be returning until I have an actual apology from you. Until you understand that I am a person. Full and complete. And so was Tiff. And if I choose to be buried between strangers, that does not make my life less significant than yours. This is beyond fucked up, Mom. I love you, but this is untenable. If you ever want to call me or come to Brooklyn, I’ll take the call. I’ll never turn you away. But I will not be calling you, and I will not be coming back here. Not until you apologize for this.”

Mary zipped her bag with a flourish, kissed her mother on the cheek and sneaked out the back.

THENEXTDAYas he strode down the hall toward his office, John’s mind was deeply mulling the details of Hang Nguyen’s case. Her trial had been in full swing for the last two workdays, and after Hang took the stand this afternoon, things would come to a close. He knew better than to have high hopes, but what he did know was how hard he’d prepped for this case. How many extra hours had gone into it. And how much he truly, deeply believed in her innocence. He’d just come back from a meeting with her where they’d gone over her testimony, and if John did say so himself, he thought that her quiet, polite, eloquent honesty had a good chance of pushing her into the jury’s hearts.

John had his eyes on the email he was reading on his phone. It wasn’t the motion in his office that suddenly drew his eyes upward. No, it was the suddenlackof motion. John had the immediate impression of deer frozen in the headlights as he, one hand on the doorknob to his own office, looked up and absorbed a tableau ofoh, shit.

Because Richie Dear was halfway crawled over top of his own desk, his shirt partially unbuttoned, his hair and reading glasses equally askew. And underneath Richie was a man. A man by the name of Crash Willis.

John took in the scene before him, outwardly placid, inwardly befuddled. Crash Willis? Richie was making out withCrash Willis?

John said nothing aloud, just let his eyes fall to the floor, where he saw a mess of papers and office supplies that had obviously been swept aside in the heat of the moment.

“You better not have broken my stapler again,” John said, almost nonsensical in his battle to understand whatever the hell was happening in front of him. “I had to buy the last one with my own money.”

“Ah. I’m...gonna go.” Crash’s voice was shockingly hoarse. Devoid of all bluster and irritating smugness that was usually sewn into the very fabric of his being.

John had the wherewithal to step into the hallway, give the two debauched men a moment to right themselves in their place of work. He heard a few rushed, intimate whispers, the rustle of clothing, and then Crash was practically sprinting down the hall, the back of his neck an electric pink.

John stepped back into his office and shut the door behind him. “Crash Willis?”

“Oh, shut up,” Richie said, sitting on his desk with his legs swinging in childish circles, one hand sliding down his face.

Richie looked just as chagrined as he did pleased with himself. Rumpled and confused and...thrilled.

“Richie,” John tried again, striding over and taking his friend by the shoulders. “Crash Willis.”

Richie laughed. “I know, John. I was there.”

John folded back into his own squeaky swivel chair and rested his temple on his closed fist, studying his best friend. “You’re what? Sleeping with the enemy?”

Richie’s feet swung in wider circles. “We haven’t quite gotten there yet, but I sure as shit hope that’s where this is heading.”

John groaned. “First a cop and now an ADA? What, do you have some sort of Darth Vader fetish or something?”

Richie laughed, and it was full of relief. John wondered if Richie had thought that he’d actually be mad at him over something like this. Richie looked so relieved that John was joking with him.

“Crash isn’t on the dark side. He’s just a douchebag. A little lost.”

“I didn’t even realize he was gay,” John mused.

“Yap. I’ve known since he started working here.” Richie studied his fingernails for a few seconds. “He doesn’t hide it. You’d know that if you ever did more than trade barbs with him.”

John frowned. What a weird freaking morning. Because here he was, feeling guilty about being a dick to Crash Willis.

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