Page 82 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
“I’m still really sorry,” I say with a sigh. I can’t deny my relief, though.
“Don’t worry about it. All it means is that Jude might find out I’m living here in town, and it’s not the end of the world. Now,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “The kiss, please. Tell me about the kiss! Also, I still can’t believe you fell on top of Grandma Cynthia.”
“Ugh, I feel so bad!” I say, burying my face in my hands. “I broke an old lady’s hip!”
“Meh, Cynthia is tough. She’ll be fine.” She pauses and then says, “She’s actually the one who told me about the custodial job opening. I wouldn’t be working at Sunset Horizons if not for her.”
“Great,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “She brought me my best friend and I repaid her by breaking her hip.”
“She might have even been the one to tell Dex about the job opening for his position,” Scarlett points out thoughtfully. “That’s just the kind of thing she does.”
“Scarlett, you’re making me feel even worse!”
She laughs, rubbing one hand up and down Archer’s back as he squirms on his tummy. “Seriously, don’t worry about it, Maya. She’ll be fine. Like I said, she’s a tough old woman.”
“I guess,” I say, biting my lip.
“Now the kiss,” Scarlett says. “Details.”
“Right. Okay. So I’m not actually sure if it was even a real kiss. He said he was going to kiss me, and he looked like he wanted to,” I admit, “but he also called me ‘fake girlfriend’ in the same breath, and I know he was also kissing me because his ex wouldn’t stop bugging him.”
“But he looked like he wanted to?” Scarlett says, her voice eager, her face excited.
I can feel my cheeks heat, feel my breath quicken as I remember Dex’s deep, rasping voice when he told me he might kiss me. “Uh, yeah,” I say, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “I’d say so. Yes.”
“Excellent!” Scarlett says, smiling. “Maya, you need to go on a date with this man.”
A date with Dex. What would that even be like? Chet never really took me on “dates.” We hung out a lot, of course, but there was never anything formal. Dex, I know, would be a perfect gentleman, opening the door for me, pulling my chair out at the table.
Chet just honked a few times when he got to my driveway. I was never particularly impressed by that.
“We’ll see,” I say instead of telling all this to Scarlett. “The last thing I want to do is get ahead of myself, making plans or hoping for things that might not happen.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “But youwantto go out with him, correct?”
I sigh. “Yes. I really do. Now can we drop it?”
Scarlett nods reluctantly, and though I can tell she wants to keep talking about it, I’m glad when she changes the subject.
A few hours later, though, when she’s gone, I find my mind still stuck on the subject of dates—and on the strange, fluttery excitement I feel at the thought of going out with Dex.
Twenty
Dex
I’m not a particularlyconfrontational man, but I have no problem chewing my mother out for her treatment of Maya. That phone conversation lasts ten minutes, and most of it is Nancy Anthony trying to explain why she doesn’t think I should date a single mother. All of her points—the potential involvement of the father, the responsibility of raising a child, the emotional baggage that single mothers often carry—they all go in one ear and out the other. Or not even that—they all bounce off the side of my head. In the end I tell her to mind her own business and then hang up perhaps more aggressively than is necessary, glad to be off the phone.
It’s later that evening that I dig out my laptop and pull up my work notes. I want Monday to be productive, and if I’m being honest, I need something to get my mind off of my irritation and anger with my mother. I don’t like being upset or angry; I’m not the kind of person who relishes in those feelings. So I get to work instead, my eyes scanning the open document in front of me as I try to find some menial task I can knock off my to-do list.
Ah-ha.
I need to go up to the community center and get hold of the security footage for the exercise room, where the lockers are located. I’m not sure what kind of view the camera will catch, because I don’t remember where in that room it’s positioned, but it’s the only option we’ve got. I was hoping to have found something in locker twelve by now. I suppose if the security tapes don’t show anything I’ll have to put a note in there myself, then see who responds. I’d rather stay away from all that though; playing games isn’t something I enjoy.
Glancing over at the clock, I deliberate. I could invite Maya along. She might not be able to come—it’s eight o’clock, and I’m not sure what her evenings look like with Archer—but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?
So I pick up the phone and give her a call.
“Hi, fake boyfriend,” she says upon answering. The term “boyfriend” sends an undeniable thrill of pleasure through me, and I have to remind myself that I’m not actually her boyfriend—or even taking her on dates.
