So, I took a poll in my Facebook group to see if anyone was interested in reading the whopping 300 words I had so far of my super top secret Leftovers With Benefits sequel and while the feedback was minimal, I did promise to post it if I reached 40 members. Well now that I’m at SIXTY, I’ve just gotten around to posting it and brace yourselves– I’ve added a bit more to it and managed to double my word count. We’re talking 700 words, people. Don’t read it all in one sitting! All kidding aside, thanks so much for reading, and please accept this small token of appreciation.

Kenya blew visible, hot breath between her hands as she got back in the car, waiting for her gas to finish filling up. She indulged in the comfort of the heated seats and the burst of hot air from the vents as she listened to the Webster playlist hooked up to her Bluetooth. She had a bad habit of keeping her car running while pumping gas, but she was grateful for it today, as temperatures were rapidly dropping this afternoon. Early for this time of year.

Besides, ever since Chloe was born the running car had been her primary crib. So it certainly wouldn’t be the last time Kenya had to choose between a shortened nap or a gas tank explosion. She glanced in the rearview mirror at the peaceful, motionless toddler behind her in the back seat.

Yeah. It probably made her a bad mom, but she chose explosion every time.

Once the gas nozzle clicked, she hesitantly hopped back out into the chilly air, her phone beeping rapid-fire notifications as she did so. Distantly she wondered who could be texting her like that, knowing within nanoseconds that it wasn’t Kevin. Even if he was being run over by a car in real-time, he wouldn’t send her three rapid texts in a row.

She quickly replaced the nozzle and hopped back into her car, checking her rearview to see if she remembered to replace the gas cap and close the small metal opening. She had.

She looked down at her phone again. Three messages in total, all from an unsaved number that she recognized all the same. Like the back of her hand.

Cecil.

She hastily unlocked her phone, curiosity getting the better of her. If she’d thought about him at all in the past three years, she would’ve known immediately it was him. But she hadn’t.

What bullshit could he possibly be bothering her with? And why did he still have her phone number saved? And why hadn’t she changed it yet?

She hoped they were short enough that she didn’t have to officially open them, thus notifying him back.

Look at u, the first one said.

Cold as shit, pumpin your own gas, the second one said.

Ur new nigga cant pump the gas for u? smdh, the last one said.

Obviously, the texts meant that he’d driven by and seen her just now. If he’d been some abusive mastermind whose actions still tortured her psychologically, she may have done a quick paranoid scan of her surroundings.

But alas, he was just a dumbass that’d wasted seven years of her life. So instead she chuckled. A little unconscious smile bloomed as she read. Because it was so dumb and petty and not worth the energy it took to answer. And it made her so, so thankful to be rid of him. And thankful that he was virtually incapable of doing anything to make her miss him.

But she had to admit, it was funny. He used to make her sides actively burn relentlessly. He was a comedy genius. It got him out of many a jam.

It also meant he was in town for some reason. Probably mom-related. Last she’d heard of it he was in Texas. Indeed with Lindsey’s sister as it was later confirmed. Her family was still here too as far as she knew so maybe it was for her.

But Kenya was already tired of wondering about it. She considered giving him the dignity of letting him know that she’d seen the messages, but in the end, she thought better of it. It would only encourage him in some delusional way. She opened the messaging app and pressed her finger on the messages in bold until the phone vibrated to attention, giving her the option to download, delete, or block messages from this number.

She searched herself. It wasn’t that blocking seemed harsh, but it did seem drastic. Blocking meant that she somehow saw him as a threat and he wasn’t. At all. And he likely wouldn’t do it again. In three years neither she nor Kevin had ever run into their exes, despite being somewhat still connected.

She settled for the middle ground, clicking on the small icon in the corner that looked like a trash can. Then she put the car in drive and made the short trek home to start dinner.

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