Page 5 of The Deadbeat DILF
My tone was firmer than I intended, and something flickered across his face. Was it disappointment? Maybe I was imagining things.
“Well, I can’t force you,” he said with a soft laugh. “But if you ever change your mind, the offer stands. You came through for me. I won’t forget that.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I said.
He stood, towering over me with his broad, fit frame. Today, he wore a plain white t-shirt that clung to his shoulders and showed off his arms in a way that made my chest tighten.
What was wrong with me? Maybe I needed to go on a date if the mere presence of a man was enough to elicit this kind of reaction.
Then again, my most recent dates had been with bankers and doctors in crisp, ironed shirts and black slacks.
None of them had looked likehim.
“Don’t be,” Robert said. “I’ll figure something out.”
For a moment, he shifted forward like he might reach out, but then he stopped, stepping back instead. “I’ll let you get back to work. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
In reality, I doubted it. We hadn’t crossed paths in years before now, so the chances of it happening again seemed slim.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, smiling as he waved goodbye. “Take care, Robert.”
The moment he left my office, a pang of disappointment settled in my chest. I wasn’t sure why.
Maybe it was simply that I appreciated someone being kind to me. Sure, my friends were supportive, and my colleagues praised my work, but something about Robert’s gratitude had touched me.
A memory from our earlier meeting surfaced in my mind: his deep voice, warm and steady.
Angel,he’d called me.
CHAPTER THREE
On Saturday, my solemn reflection peered back at me through the train window as the shiny, busy city faded into the quiet outer suburbs.
I bounced my knees as I checked the time on my phone. An hour and a half of the trip had already passed. It took around two hours to get from the city to my family’s suburb, where my childhood home was tucked among chain-link fences and untrimmed yards.
The state of the area or the cramped, crowded house didn’t bother me, though. It wasn’t what made me flee to the city so quickly when I had the first chance. It was everything that happened in that house.
I sat up, preparing to arrive and get this lunch over with. Typically, I spent my weekends spending time with my friends, attending pilates classes or cozying up at home. It was safe to say this weekend was going to be a doozy.
When the train rolled to a stop with a hiss at the station closest to my parents’ house, I stood from my seat and hooked a cute but casual tote bag on my shoulder. No designer bags or expensive accessories for me today. No luxury-brand clothes or shoes. Whenever I went to my parents’ house, I dressed down. Today, I wore a pair of black jeans and a modest blouse, with a pair of ankle boots. It was the way to go to avoid drawing any extra attention. I had even pulled my hair back into a ponytailand saved my next nail appointment for when I returned to the city.
“Have a good day,” one of the train workers told me as I headed down the aisle toward the closest exit.
“You too!” I said, but my smile evaporated the moment I stepped off the train. I wanted to turn around and head straight back home, but if I missed lunch, it would cause too much drama.
People said the air was clearer out in the suburbs compared to the city, but all I smelled was my childhood: dust, greasy food, and gasoline. Everything reminded me of the past—the old buildings, the laced shoes thrown on power lines, the trash scattered on the street.
I hated thinking about the past.
With a tense jaw, I called an Uber to take me to my family’s home. Once in the car, I watched the passing scenery: the empty parking lots and broken-down cars left on the side of the street. The Uber turned onto my family’s street, taking me past old houses with faded paint, damaged roofs with tarps on them, graffiti-stained concrete sidewalks, and shady people lurking on their porches and street corners.
Not much had changed since I lived here. It was a forgotten part of town, and the local government didn’t want to waste a dime on an area that didn’t offer them any benefits in return.
“You can just stop right here,” I told my driver when he was a few houses down from mine.
“You sure?” he asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
I nodded. “Yes. Please.”
