I can’t believe what’s happening. I’m locked in my office sexting with Weston. I’ve never done anything like this before. He brings something out of me that’s never surfaced. When he sends me a short video of him stroking his cock, I lick my lips, remembering how it felt taking him in my mouth.

In return, I send him a clip of my fingers sliding in and out of my pussy.

Weston: Where are you? I need to be inside you. Now.

Brooke: Patience.

Weston: Jesus, I can’t stop watching that. I just came on my hand.

Brooke: I wish it was my mouth.

Weston: If you’d agreed to dinner tonight, we wouldn’t have to wait…

Brooke: It’s a tempting offer…but we have an agreement.

Weston: Care to renegotiate your terms?

Brooke. Now who sounds like a lawyer? I’ll see you tomorrow. xx

Weston doesn’t message me back and I’m ready to get home.

As I leave the office my phone goes off. Part of me lights up and hope blooms in my chest at the idea that it’s Weston.

I dig my phone out of my purse when I get in my car.

My hope fades. It’s my mom. I never called her after my flight.

Mom: Haven’t heard from you since last year. Wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten about us. You know…your parents?

I roll my eyes at her dramatics.

Instead of texting I call her like a good daughter would.

She picks up on the second ring. “So nice to finally hear from you.”

“I know I should’ve called sooner. I’ve just been busy with work.” I leave out the part about staying the night with Weston and all the orgasms.

“You work too hard, Pookie.”

I groan. “I know.”

“Good thing I’m in town to make sure you get out and live a little. Your father and I are staying at the Four Seasons. We have dinner reservations at six-thirty at Wynega’s.”

“Fine.” I look down at my phone, It’s already half past five. There’s no way I can make it home to change and be on time for dinner. I was already regretting not taking Weston up on his invitation. Now, it’s even worse. I could’ve said I had a date. That might be the one excuse Mom wouldn’t question.

She’s been after me to find a new man since I broke up with my ex.

She’d never understand the arrangement with Weston. She thinks a woman should be settled and having kids at twenty-five. I’m past my expiration date to find a suitable husband in her eyes. She’s highly old fashioned when it comes to marriage. She’d probably have a heart attack if I told her I was fucking a guy and didn’t even know his last name.

* * *

Wynega’s is crowded and with good reason; they serve amazing food. It’s one of the main reasons I didn’t come up with an excuse not to do dinner with my parents. It may sound like I don’t love them. I do. I love them more than life, but I can only handle them in small doses. My mom can be very, umm, overbearing. She’s a helicopter parent and can’t help it.

My parents are already seated at their table and Mom has taken the liberty of ordering for me.

“I got you a nice salad, but I told them to leave off the meat. You’re looking a little thick around the hips. It’s ‘cause you take after me, and our family has always had dominating birthing hips.” She winks and pats my hand.

I stand there and shake my head, then finally take a seat.

Dad frowns but doesn’t say anything. He can never get a word in when the three of us are together.

“Have you met any nice men? I was telling your father he should set you up with one of the guys at the club. There’s bound to be someone who’d want to date you. You’re a catch.”

“Actually, I met someone. We had a date on Sunday and we’re doing dinner tomorrow. I was supposed to see him tonight, but I chose to spend time with you instead.” It’s not totally untrue.

“Well.” She grins. “Why didn’t you say so?”

I roll my eyes. Like she gives anyone a chance to speak.

“Is he a nice career man? Because your father has a lot of contacts.”

I shake my head and down my wine. I’m going to need a miracle to survive this meal.

Our food arrives, and Mom finally stops talking to chew her food. Dad hasn’t spoken one word. She means well, really, but tonight she’s in rare form. It’s been a non-stop onslaught since I sat down.

My phone vibrates from my purse, but I don’t dare take the call or message at the table. Lord knows what my mother would have to say about my poor manners.

I excuse myself to the restroom praying she doesn’t suggest we go together. When I get up from my seat and she doesn’t budge I say a silent thank you.