He collapses on me.

His arms slink around me, and he smothers my face in kisses, and I don’t know who wins the “I love you” game, but we both play it all night long, saying it, telling the other.

As I curl up in his arms, I know I’ve never felt this way with anyone else. I’ve never felt this safe, this content, this wildly, blissfully happy. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but I’ll be able to get through it with him by my side.

When morning comes we shower, learning how fun it is to get clean with my hands against the wall and his on my breasts as he makes me come again.

Then we dress, and I get ready to see Mr. Galloway. I walk Flynn to the door of the building and wave as he heads down the street.

He waves back, the morning sun haloing his handsome face.

I can’t resist.

“Wait!” I call out, racing down the steps and after him.

I run to him, and I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, like a koala. He laughs and pulls me closer.

“I love you, Flynn Parker.”

“I love you, Sabrina Granger.”

“I want to kiss you again.”

“Kiss me again.”

We kiss, and we kiss, and eventually, I let him leave.

As I return to my building, an engine rumbles loudly by the curb. I turn in its direction, spotting an idling red sports car.

As I walk past it, the passenger door opens.

A woman emerges. Red flaming hair. Big sunglasses. Snapping bubblegum. Cowboy boots.

Maureen is here.

30

Sabrina

“Baby!”

I still cringe when she calls me that. When she acts as if she has the right to call me anything other than my name.

Drawing a deep breath, I let it fill me, let it fuel me with calm, with grace. That is the only way I can handle her. “Hello, Maureen.”

She holds her arms out wide, scads of silver and gold bracelets jangling up her wrists. Her jeans are painted onto her legs, and her blouse is unbuttoned low enough to reveal the tops of her breasts. “Give your momma a hug.”

My skin crawls. I don’t want to hug her. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to see her. But I also don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how I feel. I choose blankness with her. That’s how I’ve tried to behave since she left—cool and calm, showing no emotions.

I walk the few feet to her. Steeling myself, I give her a quick hug. The cloying scent of her Britney Spears perfume wafts into my nostrils. She tries to keep me in the embrace, gripping me tight then sniffing my hair.

I peel myself away, smoothing a hand over my blouse—my Up Next uniform. My hair is still wet, pulled back in a looped-over ponytail.

“Tell me all the things. What’s the dealio?” Her eyes drift in the direction that Flynn walked. “Are you going to tell me about your new main squeeze?”