Tuesday’s gut started to churn unpleasantly. She wondered desperately how long her mom planned to stay. She was tired and way too vulnerable to have this conversation. “Do you need me to come over and help you box things up?”
“Oh, no, I already sorted through everything.” Her mother turned and finished emptying the basket. “I’ll head on out of here.”
“Aren’t you going to stay and eat with me?”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
Tuesday debated arguing, but her mother’s hand was shaking slightly and she didn’t want to upset her further. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for lunch, Mom. It looks awesome. Let me know if you need anything.”
Her mother turned and then frowned. “Those shorts look terrible on you. Where did you get them?”
Willing her cheeks not to turn pink, Tuesday shrugged. “I was at the gym. They’re comfortable.” That much was true at least if not the first part.
“Alright. Love you.” Her mother waved.
“Love you, too.”
“Oh, and I’m having a mass said for your father for the two-month anniversary . . . it was the soonest one I could get. Can you make it?”
Trying not to blanch, Tuesday nodded. “Of course.” She’d rather tear out all her eyelashes, but for her mother, she’d force herself to go.
With a smile, like the past ten minutes had been therapeutic for her, her mother waved again and left. Tuesday just felt drained. Avoiding the manila envelopes and her computer, she flopped facedown on the couch. But images just kept assaulting her, first of her father on that fishing trip, then him sick, and on his deathbed. Then even worse, she thought about Diesel and how hot sex with him had been, and what a nice guy he was, and then she felt like an appalling human being. Who is so selfish as to think about getting their rocks off when they had just lost a parent?
She was, clearly.
Forcing herself to the computer, she checked on the live race standings. Neither Kendall nor Evan seemed to be having a particularly good run out there on the track. Elec Monroe was in first place with two hundred laps down. She started to type her blog, making her predictions for finishes when she did it again, found herself just staring at the screen.
She wondered if Diesel missed racing. Wondered if he rethought through his accident, thinking he could have done something different. She suspected she would do just that. But maybe not Diesel. He didn’t seem like the type for regrets. Then again, how well did she really know him?
Not as well as she thought she would like to know him.
Banging her head on the keyboard, she wondered exactly how long she would have to wait for him to call her.
Because it had only been two hours and she was exhausted.
DIESEL almost never agreed to go on the golf outings his old friends were constantly inviting him to, but today he’d said yes, even though his knee was acting up. Today, he felt a little lonely. His house suddenly felt empty since Tuesday had spent the night, and he was annoyed by that feeling. So despite the fact that it was about a thousand degrees outside and he’d had to take two pain pills, he was standing on the green next to Ryder Jefferson and Ty McCordle, who managed to look a little bit redneck even on the golf course.
“Where are the Monroe boys?” he asked.
“Evan got a call that the girl he knocked boots with, Nikki’s friend Sara, is giving birth right now in Kentucky.”
Diesel whistled. “That’s a big deal. He sure it’s his?” Last Diesel had heard, there was some whispering going on that maybe it wasn’t.
“No. Sara admitted she wasn’t sure. That’s why she went back home, to sort some things out and have her baby with family around. She seemed like a nice enough girl,” Ty said. “She and Evan were both a little bit drunk that night and I think they’re handling the situation as best they can. Evan wants to make sure she and the baby are okay then he’s sending off his DNA.”
“That’s a tough spot to be in.” One Diesel was glad he had never encountered. Though he had been damn irresponsible the other night, he had to admit. Since when was he stupid enough to just trust a woman who said she was on birth control?
But he did trust Tuesday. Which did make him stupid.
“I feel kinda responsible,” Ryder said.
“How the hell do you figure that?” Ty asked. “You didn’t stick his dick in her, did you?”
There was an image.
Ryder studied his shot, taking multiple swings. “Don’t be disgusting. No, I just mean we were all on that camping trip. Sara was there because Nikki came to check on Jonas. And Suzanne got roped into being there and we went off alone together . . . and you and Imogen went off into your tent. Nikki and Jonas likewise. I mean, what was the poor guy supposed to do?”
“Carry condoms. I always did in my single days. I imagine you do the same, Lange.”
Hardly. Before last week, Diesel hadn’t been getting any, and when he finally had, he hadn’t used a condom any more than Evan Monroe apparently had. Which made him suddenly anxious. What if Tuesday had gotten pregnant? But he just nodded because it was the expected response.
“You know, my wife got pregnant on that same camping trip. How bizarre is that? Something in the air that night. I’m surprised Imogen didn’t pop up pregnant, too.”
Ty blanched. “We haven’t even walked down the aisle yet. I am not ready for a baby.”
Neither was Diesel, he had to say. It was a risk, but he decided to run a question past his friends. They might mock him, but he was needing some advice and reassurance. “So hey, say you asked a girl out for the weekend and she said yes. How soon do you call her to make some definite plans?” Because suddenly he was experiencing all kinds of irritating doubts.
“Well, I’ll be dipped. Diesel has a girl.” Ryder grinned. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Is she hot?” Ty asked. “I think that factors in to how soon you call her.”
“Of course she’s hot. You think he’d be getting this worked up if she was butt ugly?”
“I don’t know. He could just be desperate.”
“This isn’t helping.” Diesel rolled his eyes.
“Who is it? Anyone we know?”
Shifting in his golf shoes, Diesel debated for a solid sixty seconds whether or not he should tell them the truth.
“Oh, come on.” Ryder narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you trust us, man?”