‘Why are you leaving, Drew? Why didn’t you send Derik?’ she asked.
‘It’s something I need to take care of myself,’ I lied, moving onto my side of the bed.
‘I feel like it’s more than that. Are we okay?’
‘Let’s talk, Morgan.’
‘I sat up, forcing her out of my arm, wanting her to sit as well.’
‘Talk about what?’
‘Things, Morgan. There are things that we need to discuss, things I need to get out.’
‘No you don’t, Drew.’
‘I do. Can you just listen?’
‘Drew, please don’t do this. We’re fine. Don’t, okay?’
‘Morgan, what are you afraid of? What do you think I am going to tell you?’
‘I’m not sure, but you don’t have to say anything. Please, Drew. Just go on your trip and if you still feel the need to talk to me, you can do it when you get back, okay?’
‘Okay, okay,’ I said, calming her. She was really upset. Why? Was she afraid of the unknown? Or did she know?
Thank god, the couple days away from each other seemed to help. I was able to clear my mind and was determined to tell Morgan everything. I had to. She had to know. She needed to know what a piece of shit mother and father she had. She needed to know they sold her to a man that didn’t want her, a man who used and abused her. My mind was made up. I was telling her everything.
It didn’t happen, again. I couldn’t do it. Morgan was so happy to see me. She was so giddy and playful, I decided to wait. Ruining her good mood wasn’t going to happen, not that night anyway. We watched a ballgame together, ate ribs at the little sports bar she’d come to love, okay, I loved it too. They made the best ribs in Vegas. The country music could have been changed but Morgan liked it, so I dealt.
‘Oh, I love this, Drew. Buy it for me,’ Morgan teased as we walked around a pawnshop she’d found and had been browsing.
‘That thing came out of cereal box. What is it anyway? It looks like a pebble.’
‘It’s green sea glass, although I’m sure you’re right. It doesn’t look like an aged piece of sea glass.’
We stared at each other while Morgan remembered something. I hated this shit. I had to tell her.
‘How about a gun?’ she retorted, trying to recover the awkward moment.
I laughed. ‘What are you going to do with a gun?’
‘Shoot Derik between the eyes.’
I laughed again. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I coaxed.
We walked through the streets hand in hand, flirting and being in love. We even seductively shared an ice cream cone. I hadn’t had an ice cream cone in years and watching Morgan lick it from cone to the tip caused my cock to twitch.
‘You act like you’ve done that before,’ I teased.
‘No, just trying to teach you how to do it.’
I gave her an unbelievable look. ‘I never hear you complain when I do it.’
She laughed and licked it again, leaving a cold clump of strawberry on the end of her tongue then she transferred it to my mouth. We stood in the middle of a busy sidewalk making out like a couple teenagers, and I didn’t care. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t do this shit. I had dignity and formality to live up to. I didn’t make out in the middle of the street.
‘Answer your phone,’ Morgan whispered, pulling away from my lips. I didn’t want to answer my phone. I wanted to take her home. The passion that sizzled between us was ridiculous. You’d think we were the only two people on the streets. You remember that night, Morgan?” Drew asked turning to me. I smiled with a slight nod and he continued, “I answered, ‘Hey, Randal.’
‘Where are you?’ he angrily asked.
‘Um, just taking a walk with Morgan, why?’
‘You’re supposed to be here. Remember? The Martins anniversary party? Ringing any bells?’
‘No, that’s tomorrow night.’
‘No, I assure you. It’s tonight. I’m giving you one hour to get my granddaughter over here. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, we’ll be there.’
‘What was that all about?’ Morgan asked.
‘Evidently, we’re supposed to be at a dinner party with Callaway. He told me tomorrow night. I know he did. Come on.’
‘Drew, we’re in jeans.’
‘I know. We have to run home and change and get over there.’
‘Can’t you just tell him we’re not coming?’
‘No, Callaway doesn’t really work that way.’
‘And neither does his son.’
I stopped and turned to look at her. I’d only told her that one time. And it wasn’t post-accident. ‘He’s not my father,’ I coldly replied.