Page 33 of My Hotshot

“Did you go to bed at a decent hour, or are you going to sleep all afternoon?” I raised an eyebrow.

Lottie shrugged. “I mean, I’m not against taking a little nap later.”

“Lottie,” I warned playfully, “don’t sleep too much today, or you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I need to do my geometry homework, and then… do you want to watch a movie?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to help you with your homework.”

“I wouldn’t think of asking you, Mom.”

I raised a fist in mock triumph. “Death to geometry!” I had been known as one of the smartest girls in high school, but anything math-related had been hard for me.

“Mom,” she laughed and shook her head.

“Go do your homework, and then we’ll watch a movie,” I said. By then, hopefully, the pounding in my head would be dulled by caffeine and a couple of aspirin.

“Are you going to spend some more time with your tow truck drivers until then?” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

“Ha, ha,” I deadpanned. “Go.” I waved my hand toward the hallway.

She grinned and grabbed her bag. I heard her door click shut a few seconds later.

I turned back to my coffee, wrapped both hands around the mug, and let out a soft sigh. I always felt better when she was home. It was like a knot that had been twisted tight in my chest slowly loosened when she walked through the door. Safe. Here. My baby.

I took another sip and let my mind wander back to last night.

Duane.

He’d come over, just like that. After all these years. After all that silence and space and life.

And it had been… nice.

I had passed out halfway through the second episode ofHighway Through Hell. I’d tried so hard to stay awake—mostly because I didn’t want to be that person who fell asleep during a hangout—but between the wine, the food coma, and the warm presence of Duane beside me, my body had tapped out.

He hadn’t made a big deal about it. Hadn’t poked or teased or made me feel stupid. He had just… gently nudged me awake. His hand had touched my shoulder, and I remembered his voice being soft, low. “I’m gonna head out, sweetheart.”

Half-asleep, I’d mumbled something—I had no idea what, probably nonsense—and walked him to the door. I think he said he’d talk to me later. At least, Ithinkthat’s what he said. It had been hazy.

I’d locked the door behind him and gone straight to bed, still warm with the scent of him on the blanket.

Could I have been more… aware? More present? Probably. But I didn’t function like a normal person after just waking up, and he hadn’t seemed to mind. That mattered.

Now he had my phone number. And he knew where I lived.

That should’ve freaked me out more than it did.

It was a little scary, sure. I wasn’t naïve. But it wasn’t like I thought he was going to show up on my doorstep unannounced. He knew about Lottie. He knew I had a life before moving here.

But whatwashe trying to do? Maybe he was asking himself the same question about me because I had been the one to text him.

I wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned my hip against the counter. I stared out the window above the sink. The yard looked the same as it always did yesterday. Faded grass, a wind chime barely tinkling in the still morning air, the bird feeder swinging gently even though I hadn’t seen a bird in days.

It all looked the same, but each day I started to feel different. I was feeling freer.

And now there was Duane.

Was I supposed to tell Lottie?

---