25. A Sex Schedule #3
Tyler once said he didn’t feel the sparks with her, but he must have felt something. She’s smart and capable and a good mom, and even if she’s not into sports…she’s got her act together.
I bet she doesn’t bang her boss.
I swallow down the unexpected shame. “There were so many bad calls, we couldn’t stop,” I say as footsteps echo in the hall, and a few seconds later, Tyler rounds the corner.
I can’t help it. My eyes roam straight to his jeans, hunting for a bulge.
It’s all gone, and maybe—maybe I take a little bit of pride that it took five minutes to deflate. Even though I should not be feeling any kind of boastfulness about banging my boss. On a schedule no less.
In fact, as I say goodbye to let them have their co-parenting talk about what the kids are up to this week, I’m not actually sure where I should be.
I’m off for the rest of the night.
But I didn’t make any plans.
The longer he talks to her in the doorway, the tighter my chest feels. I shouldn’t care. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling like an outsider. So, I do what any rational adult woman does when she’s getting way too in her head—I lean on a friend.
I message Trevyn, and invite myself on a dog walk.
Before I go, I swing past Luna in the kitchen and tell her I’ll be out if her dad asks. Then I make myself scarce, meeting Trevyn at a nearby park with his Lab mutt.
“What’s gotten into you, sweetie?” my friend asks suspiciously as I fall into step next to him and his dog.
“Just missed you.”
He arches a dubious and well-groomed brow. “I can see the lie radiating off you…just like I can tell you almost fucked your boss today.”
I swat his arm. “Shut up.”
“And you didn’t deny it.”
“I mean, I wanted to see Barbara-dor, not you,” I say as we wander into the park, lit by streetlamps.
“Understandable,” he says, but then shoots me another side-eye glance. “So…did you almost fuck him?”
I groan. “How is it obvious?”
And Trevyn cracks up, doubling over. “Sweetie, I guess I know you well.”
With a sigh of admission, I say, “You do.”
But when I return after we’ve done a few laps of the park, ducking into my apartment, there’s a knock on my door a minute later—and concern on Tyler’s face when I answer. “You okay?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you go?” It’s asked with only concern, not accusation.
Dishes clink in the kitchen. The kids must have had dinner already. “I went for a walk,” I say, answering where not why.
Tyler shoots me a look that says bullshit. “You took off right away.”
“I told Luna I was going,” I point out, but now I feel stupid in a new way.
Was I rude to him? Should I have told him too?
We might have a game plan for sex—we might be mostly sticking to it—but what’s the game plan for…well, life?
“Was it seeing Elle?” he asks gently.
My chest tightens. Am I this obvious to everyone? I hesitate.
“I had to talk to her about Thanksgiving and Christmas,” he says, and the first of those is coming up soon. “Just a lot to figure out.”
“Oh. Sure, of course.”
“Did it bother you?” he asks quietly, and I am see-through.
“Not really.”
“But a little?”
“There’s no reason for me to even be bothered,” I say, raising my chin, staying strong.
“Don’t be bothered,” he says, then cups my cheek and sighs longingly. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says in a low, hot whisper.
And I’m not bothered anymore.
Wait, that’s a lie.
I’m hot and bothered.
“I saved some dinner for you. Come upstairs,” he says, and it’s hardly a demand. It’s a thoughtful invitation.
So I say yes.
And then I enjoy the hell out of the mushroom and lentil dish he made.
* * *
We’re two floors apart. Me in my bed. Him in his.
Is he even asleep?
But that question is answered a minute later when my phone buzzes.
Tyler: Watching your videos again. Swore I wouldn’t. But I can’t stop. And I’m so fucking turned on. And it’s All. Your. Fault.
I gasp as heat rolls through me.
Sabrina: Which one?
Tyler: The last one you posted. I can’t stop watching it. Your lips. Your hair. Everything. Just everything.
His text comes out frantic. Bitten off. Like maybe he’s dictating it while fucking his fist. Then another one comes.
Tyler: Tell me you’re fucking yourself too.
Tyler: Tell me your fingers are in your panties.
Tyler: Tell me now.
I type out a desperate yes, then slide my hand into my panties and finish what we started in his car.
* * *
When I see Elena the next day, I don’t mention the sex diary, or the football game, or the night with Tyler. Instead I focus on a new skating student who’s eager to compete at the highest levels. I ask questions about how I can coach her differently than I was coached.
And really, that’s a good use of this hour. Maybe even a better one than if I’d spent the time confessing my sins. Since I’m not exactly sure how I’d tell her that I’m sleeping with my boss, but don’t worry, we have a game plan on how not to fall.
It’s one thing to tell my friends. It’s entirely another to tell someone who’s been helping me navigate complicated emotions for the last six years.
But maybe if I can keep this thing with Tyler entirely un-complicated I’ll be just fine.