Page 26 of Pucked Up Plans
*happy emoji*
With a renewed sense of determination—from a simple text exchange—I get back to work, pounding out more charts than usual in twenty-five minutes.
In anticipation of our playdate, I clean the condo while Aubrey’s at school. The boxes yet to be unpacked get relocated to the closet for the time being. I sweep, vacuum, and mop the floors. All the rooms get a dusting and the bathroom receives a thorough bleaching. It’s the most I’ve done since right after we moved in, and probably the most I’ll do for another few weeks.
I attempt to work for an hour but am distracted the entire time. A few charts get finished, but the rest will have to wait until tonight or tomorrow morning. I make a list with an order of priority.
Even before I leave to pick Aubrey up, nerves flutter inside me. It’s another unfamiliar feeling in the sense it’s been so long. I shouldn’t be having these types of feelings for Walsh, the father of Aubrey’s friend. Try telling that to my neglected libido.
Arriving at the preschool way earlier than needed, I struggle to stay focused on the pages of the book I’m reading. Which isn’t such a tremendous problem since the storyline’s making me all hot and bothered. Coupled with what’s happening in my real life, it’s a lethal combination. Instead, I text a friend from home.
Hey, hey. How’s it going? How goes the search for the perfect man?
I don’t expect a response immediately. She’s got class on Thursdays, but hell if I can remember what her schedule is. When my phone jumps on my thigh, I’m a little surprised.
Carley
“Perfect” and “man” do not belong in the same sentence, girl. At least in my experience. And certainly not here in Bumfuck, Idaho.
Her message makes me giggle.
I’ve got ten minutes until preschool pickup. Call me?
The phone rings instantly.
“Is it wrong it still weirds me out when you mention things like ‘preschool’?” is her opening greeting.
“Hello to you too. Was going to confess I miss you, but now I’m not so sure.”
“You know I love your munchkin, but we’re twenty-two, babe. We are way too young to be discussing preschool.”
A shudder runs through me. I always interpret her words to be biting, even if that’s not her intention. Probably because she’s always commenting about me being a teenage mom. And if I didn’t love her the way I do, I wouldn’t stay in touch. But she’s the only person in the world other than members of my family who’d have my back in any situation. And as much as there’s a lot of resentment toward me being a mom this young, she was the first one to defend my choice to others who gave me trouble. As long as I’ve known her, Carley continues to amaze and surprise me, never knowing exactly which way she’s going to swing on a subject.
Holding back what I want to say, I turn it to her. “So, how’s the scene out in Idaho?”
“It sucks. Even off campus, there are little prospects for a one-night stand. Seriously, I’ve gone through all the membersof the male species in a one-hundred-mile radius. How’s Vermont?” she volleys back.
“Beautiful.”
“Everything you imagined?”
My eyes discern Walsh’s truck pulling into the lot.
“And more.” The comment is breathy, my heart rate picking up at the mere sight of his truck. Because it means I’ll get to see him soon. And he’ll be in my space shortly thereafter.
“Hello? Earth to Tate. Where the hell did you just go?”
Shaking out of a Walsh stupor, I answer her. “Sorry. The dad of Aubrey’s friend pulled in.”
“See, that I could get on board with. Is he a DILF? He’s a DILF, right? And how much older?”
Her inquiry hits me rapid-fire, but for a strange reason, I don’t want to divulge details about Walsh, wanting to keep him all to myself. As if she will ever meet him or something. As if he’ll ever be anything more than “Lennon’s dad.”
“I’m not sure of his exact age, but he’s definitely a DILF.” I cringe as the acronym leaves my mouth, objectifying Walsh in that way. But indeed he is a dad I’d love to fuck.
As if reading my mind, he steps out of his truck and glimpses my way. His eyes hide behind his sunglasses, but I’m betting they’re lit up as evidenced by the broad smile plastered on his face. I can’t help but return one of my own.
Gosh, I’ve got it bad for him.
