Free Ally Hughes Has Sex Sometimes by Jules Moulin

“I’m sure you deserve it.”
    Ally smiled. “I feel like I do. First vacation in twenty years.”
    â€œMore paid vacation, less sick leave. Especially for women. Isn’t that right?” Jake then said.
    Ally turned and stared at him. In May she’d had a story in
Elle
saying just that. Almost verbatim. “I agree,” she said and nodded.
    â€”
    At the table, Lizzie leaned in and lowered her voice. “Who will deal with your hanky there?” She was thinking about Ted’s appetite. His hygiene.
    Ted looked up and licked his lips. “What?”
    â€œWho will pick up your wet little hanky? Maybe you should clear your own place.”
    Lizzie had tried for six long months to dig up dirt or worse on Ted. She’d tried her best to hack his accounts, his phone, his iCloud account. She’d tried to crack his Wi-Fi at home. Nothing worked. He was walled in. Too well. Too protected.
    â€œSure,” he said. “But your mom likes to—”
    â€œNo,” Lizzie said. She was tipsy. “Not my mom. You’re a big boy. You can clean up. My mom’s so—
fragile
—these days. You don’t—want to get her sick.”
    Ted said nothing.
    Lizzie had checked his real estate records, probate court records, registrations, and 13Ds. She’d found nothing. “She doesn’t want your cold,” she said. “No one—no one wants your cold.”
    Ted paused and put down his fork. He picked up his handkerchief, leaned back, and slid it into his khakis pocket. “You’re right when you’re right.”
    Lizzie nodded. “We shouldn’t pass our diseases around.” They stared at each other meaningfully.
    â€œToo true,” he said. “Too true.”

“ IS SHE THERE EVERY weekend? Your daughter?” Jake asked, lying on the bed in the dark.
    Ally stood there, phone in hand. “No. Hardly ever.”
    â€œShe can handle it. Can she?”
    â€œMaybe. Maybe she can. Maybe she can’t. My mother is . . . What’s the word?
Exacting
, I guess.” She shrugged. “I think I should head to New York tonight.”
    Jake looked surprised.
    â€œNot that I don’t want to do this. I do. I’m just . . . a little . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œConflicted.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œI’m a mom.” She tried to explain. “My daughter comes first. Before work, before me, and, of course, before any man I meet.”
    â€œShe sounds like she needs a good night’s sleep.”
    â€œMaybe, but—”
    â€œTwice in ten years? Ally. Twice?”
    â€œYes to all that. I know, I know. But single mothers . . . It’s hard to explain.” She took a deep breath. She was embarrassed. “And you know what? The real thing is . . . I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Even if you
weren’t
in my class, which you are, which you were—even if you weren’t twenty-one, which you
are . . .
I’m not into . . . flings.”
    Jake shook his head. “This isn’t a fling.”
    â€œIt’s not?”
    â€œNo.” He lifted up to sitting, slid off his watch, and handed it to her. “Take it,” he said.
    â€œWhy?” She did. She took his watch.
    He turned and arranged the pillows behind him. He leaned back and said, “Two minutes each. Life-defining moments. Top ten. You got the clock. I’ll go first.”
    Ally smiled and hesitated. She looked at his watch, then at Jake.
    â€œLet’s get to know each other, Ally Hughes.”
    In the dark, she could barely see the hands. Jake leaned toward her. “The face lights up. Button on the . . .” He showed her the button and his fingertips grazed hers. Ally looked up. This brief contact made her heart race.
    She pressed the button and the face lit up. Reluctantly she watched the second hand