by Mimi Strong
As I draw close to Sweet Caroline Antiques, I see a familiar person locking up the store’s door. It’s Duncan, his sandy brown surfer boy hair almost touching his shoulders. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since my failure of an apology on Wednesday.
The idea of talking to him again makes my throat feel tight, so I slow my pace and then stop, pretending to look in the window of the hardware store, at their collection of welcome mats.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as a fancy-looking silver car pulls up to the sidewalk in front of the antiques shop. Someone approaches me from the opposite side and taps my arm.
“I thought that was you,” Rory says. She joins me in looking in the hardware store window. “Are you buying a welcome mat?”
“Shush, no.” I jerk my head in Duncan’s direction, but in a small, subtle motion. “I’m spying on the owner of the antique shop.”
“Why?” Rory looks amused.
“Because it’s fun to spy on people.”
She shrugs, as if to say that’s a good enough reason for her. She stands next to me, leaning back enough to look past me, at Duncan.
“Oh. He’s really cute,” she says.
“He’s short.”
“I don’t care. I’m short.”
“Wait a minute, Rory. Back the train up. Did you just say that a guy was cute? A real, human being, not a movie star or magazine photo?”
“Shh.” Her golden brown eyes get wide with apprehension.
“He can’t hear us, I assure you.”
She keeps looking past me. “Figures. Of course he has a girlfriend.”
I turn my head and look. A girl is stepping out of the silver car. She’s got long, long legs, and she’s gorgeous. She walks over to Duncan and ruffles his hair with one hand.
“Wow. Go, Duncan,” I mutter.
“That’s a cute name. Duncan.”
“You think? Come on, I’ll introduce you to him.”
Rory’s eyes widen and her mouth puckers into a tiny rosebud. Before I can tell her I’m joking, she turns and does her Disappearing Girl act. I blink, and she’s gone.
I look back over at Duncan, who’s accepting a shopping bag from the beautiful long-legged girl. He pulls out something—a white pair of overalls like the kind house painters wear—and holds it up to himself, laughing.
They certainly are enjoying their little in-joke.
The two of them get back into the car, with the girl sliding into the driver’s side.
As they drive away, my spirits feel like a guttering candle flame. If a big-mouthed dunderhead like Duncan can pull a hot chick who looks like that and drives an expensive car, then the universe is most definitely not fair at all.
Maybe there is no grand plan for everyone, no happy ending waiting in the wings for those who have patience.
Maybe the key to life is to act like it’s a shopping spree and grab what you see.
I run my tongue over my teeth. I think I have a loose filling.
Maybe I should call a dentist.
Maybe I should go home, put on my sexiest underwear, and call a dentist.
In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
My sister would not approve.
Chapter 14
Back home, I monkey around with my teeth for about an hour. Is my filling loose? Or is it the whole tooth? It would be ridiculous for me to call Dr. Drew Morgan’s after-hours answering service with an “emergency” as minor as a slightly wiggly tooth.
So, I grab a pair of pliers and pop the filling right off. Technically, I guess it’s a cap, or an onlay, not a filling, because it fits around the tooth.
I lean over the bathroom counter and give myself a crooked grin. I look like a jack-o-lantern. This calls for a selfie! I take a picture and upload it as evidence of my real dental emergency, just in case I’m questioned later by… the dental authorities or whatever.
Ouch. Maybe pulling my dental cap off with a pair of pliers wasn’t a great idea. Now I’m looking at the grody little stump thing that should be inside the cap, and looking at it makes the stump hurt.
Worse, my mouth is all germy because I didn’t brush my teeth and use mouthwash before attempting home dentistry. Now I need something to make sure my mouth isn’t too germy.
What’s this? A bottle of vodka? Well, I only had one shot an hour ago, to work up the nerve to phone Drew’s answering service, but I think I should take a medicinal shot now. For my stump.
I pour a splash into the only shot glass we have in the house—a 40th birthday glass someone gave my mother—and toss it back.
Oops. I meant to swoosh it around in my mouth. I pour another half shot, swoosh it around, then put the call through to Dr. Morgan’s answering service.
A familiar male voice says, “Hello?”
It’s not an answering service. It’s Drew, and he sounds cranky.
“Oh, shit.” I end the call and toss the cordless house phone on the bathroom counter.
The phone starts ringing. I scream.
Muffin, who was standing in the tub licking the drips from the tap, rips out of the bathroom in a tumbleweed of cat fear.
I pick up the phone and answer in what I hope is the accent of someone who doesn’t speak English: “Allo?”
“Meenie?”
“You meanie! Wong numba.” I stay on the line, holding my breath and waiting to hear his voice.
Drew says, “I know it’s you. I know your last name because I googled your flower store.”
I shake my fist. “Curse my mother’s old-fashioned land line! I should have used my cell phone.”
“What can I do for you? Are you having a dental emergency? This is my special phone number for after-hours emergencies.”
I snort. “I know that.”
“Well?”
“Is it an emergency if my cap fell off?”
“That depends. What did your dentist say? The one who put the cap on and has all your dental charts?”
“Nothing, because she died.” I shake my head and send a silent apology to my dentist, who’s a nice lady in excellent health, I hope.
“Meenie, are you trying to get me over there for a house call?”
“I didn’t drink a bunch of vodka and take pliers to my mouth for no reason!”
“What?”
“Joking!”
He chuckles softly. I can see his handsome face, lit up by a smile. He sounds nice on the phone right now. He sounds like he’s wearing a chunky, cable-knit fisherman’s sweater. I’d like to hug him and kiss him, with a fisherman’s sweater between us like a woolly chaperone.
“Give me your address,” he says.
“Just a minute. Let me get a pen.” Holding the cordless phone to my ear, I exit the bathroom and start wandering through the house in a state of urgent confusion.
Drew keeps laughing at me, then finally tells me I don’t need a pen, because he’ll write it down on his side. After a few minutes of arguing over the logistics, I decide to do it his way, and give him my address.
After I end the call, I run to my room and yank some clothes on. I’ve been running around in a towel for the last hour. I go back into the bathroom, where I grab the tiny white ceramic cap and put it in my old retainer case for safekeeping.
The pliers are sitting on the counter, angling at me in an accusing stance. I pick them up just as the doorbell rings.
Dr. Drew Morgan, Emergency After-Hours Dentist, is fast! I yank open the laundry hamper and toss the tell-tale pliers in.
I run to the front door and yank it open with one hand, holding my other hand to my cheek. This is, after all, a dental emergency.
Drew is wearing a sweater, just as I suspected. It’s not a chunky cable-knit, but a lightweight cotton in a bright orange. He’s wearing a collared shirt underneath, and his lower half is looking equally respectable in a pair of chinos.
“Wow, you look yummy,” I tell him. “Are you on your way to a date?”
“I don’t date.” He glanc
es past me, like he’s hinting I should invite him in.
I wave him into the house. “You didn’t have to dress up on my account.”
He comes in, carrying the most adorable leather bag I’ve ever seen. It looks like something a country doctor would bring to deliver a baby in a movie.
He wastes no time finding the dining room table, turning the overhead light onto its brightest setting, and then laying out some tools on the table.
I run to the bathroom, grab the cap, then run back and drop it in his palm. He winces, and sets the cap gingerly on a white tray on the table.
I sit down in a chair and cross my arms. “You weren’t so scared of my saliva germs last night in O’Flannagan’s, when you had your tongue in my mouth.”
He sits on his chair and shuffles closer to me, so that his knees are on the outsides of my knees. His legs are hugging mine. I want to touch his sweater.
He gazes deeply into my soul with his beautiful brown eyes and lush eyelashes. “Open,” he says sexily.
I open my mouth, and he quickly swabs my stump with what smells like more of the vodka I was drinking. I close my eyes and think about something funny to say next. Maybe something about no foreplay, just diving right in there?
I smell something like solvent, and then feel pressure on my tooth. His hand is in my mouth, tasting like latex. When did he put on gloves? My eyes flutter open. I grunt in alarm, because he’s wearing a green medical mask over his mouth.
When did that go on? Hot damn, his eyes are even more sexy now that his mouth is covered. Now I can see the flecks of copper and gold in his rich brown eyes. Wow. He could be an eye model. I’m not sure if that’s a thing, but he could definitely be an eye model for contact lens advertisements.
My body gets hot and weird, letting me know it’s now developing a dentist fetish. I have a feeling my next cleaning appointment is going to be weird.
He pulls away from my mouth and removes the latex gloves with a sexy snap. “You’re all fixed up,” he says through his sexy medical mask.
“That’s it?” I run my tongue over the stumpy spot and find only tooth. “Damn, you’re fast.”
“How does it feel?” His mouth isn’t visible, but the concern is unmistakeable in his eyes.
“It’s not loose anymore. It was really loose before.” I flick the spot with my tongue again. “Are you sure it’s not on backwards?”
The tooth feels perfect, but the frown on his face is so enjoyable. “Maybe not backwards, but definitely crooked.”
He thrusts his hands at my jaw. “Let me see.” He sounds annoyed, and I don’t know why it turns me on, but it does.
I squirm in my seat. “Ew, bare hands! Yuck.”
He drops his hands to my legs for a moment. We stare into each other’s eyes. Now what?
I keep rubbing my tongue over the perfectly-installed cap. “Definitely crooked.”
He reaches up and pulls the dental mask down to rest around his neck. He places his bare hands on either side of my jaw. My breathing gets shallow. I open my mouth to let him look.
He leans closer and closer, then brings his mouth to mine. I adjust my jaw, and we’re kissing.
This is happening!
And to think, this all happened because I used a pair of pliers to pop off my dental cap.
Totally worth it.
Chapter 15
Drew’s GQ-sexy tongue slips into my mouth, and I mean all the way in. As he licks my molars, I realize he’s checking the filling with his tongue. This makes me giggle, blowing air out awkwardly between our lips.
“Tooth feels fine to me,” he murmurs softly against my mouth.
“Can you check the other side?”
He locks his mouth on mine and gently tongues the inside of my cheek. I don’t usually like so much tongue, but Drew’s tongue is different. It’s better than regular tongue. He’s got GQ tongue.
He pulls the tongue back and goes back to lip stuff. Ah, this is nice. Sexy, soft GQ lips.
I want this moment to last, so I’m being very careful not to fall off my chair. He shifts his body to be closer to mine, his legs on either side of my legs.
I do what feels natural and reach down to grab his ass. Clutching his divinely muscular butt, I pull him toward me, until he’s over my thighs, basically sitting on my lap.
He moans in protest, but keeps kissing me. Our mouths fit together perfectly, and he tastes like that good smell that comes off him: chocolate, citrus, balls.
I reach both hands up under his sweater, touching his back under the heat trapped by the orange sweater. His torso undulates over my touch, sending a white hot lightning bolt of lust through me.
He pulls his mouth off mine and quickly slides back off my thighs, onto his own chair. My heart sinks, the rejection of his body language washing over me. I don’t have to feel bad for long, though, because he reaches down, grabs my ass, and pulls me onto his lap.
I slide up, getting a nice surprise when I reach my destination. He’s not rejecting me at all.
“Meenie, I’ve got balls.”
I move back an inch. “Am I squishing them?” I speak directly down toward his crotch. “Sorry, balls.”
He laughs. “What I mean is, I’m comfortable with myself. I know I’m a man. I can sit on your lap if you want me to. Hell, I’ll squirm around and give you a lap dance, if that’s something you like.” His hands feel hot on my ass, and he squeezes my butt, rocking me against his lap. “But, all things considered, I’d rather have your sweet, heart-shaped ass right here, on my lap.” He rocks me again, rubbing me against his growing hardness. “Selfish jerk that I am.”
I place my hands on his shoulders and grind against him like a horny teenager with ten minutes left on curfew. He moans to let me know he likes this just as much as I do.
We kiss some more. I keep rocking and grinding on his lap, my eyes closed. This is good. This is so much better than what I dared imagine when I called his phone number.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring up at me with the most loving expression I’ve ever seen on a man in real life. He’s looking at me like I’m wearing devil horns, plus a halo. Like I’m his dirty slut and his salvation, all wrapped up in one.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter. I lean forward, my hair settling around our faces like a curtain, and I crush my lips against his. Speaking of horny teens, I’m about to come, right through my jeans. He grips my butt and grinds me against him. I try to pull away before it happens, but my reflexes are not on the same program. My hips jerk with urgency, and I mash my mouth against his as I cry out in ecstasy.
My body fills with goodness and light, stars shooting everywhere. My toes curl and my fingers clutch the back of Drew’s perfect head.
Gasping to catch my breath, I pull my mouth away from his. He looks confused. “Did you just come?”
I slide a few inches back, my eyes cast down on the green mask sitting at his collar like a deconstructed bow-tie.
“Shut up,” I growl.
“Did you?” he asks, incredulous.
I reach down to his neck and yank his mask up to cover his mouth and nose. The mask makes it slightly easier to look at his face, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“No,” I say defensively. I pull back from his lap and retreat to the safety of my own chair. I cross my legs. “Whatever.”
He studies my face, his gold-flecked brown eyes sharply inquisitive above the green mask. He blinks, holding me with his gaze as he slowly pulls the mask off over his head.
“I’ve never seen anything so hot,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Stop looking at me, you freak.”
He chuckles. “Meenie, I’m not what you’d call a virgin, but in a way, I am.”
I shrug, putting on a cool, dismissive air. “Looks like you just lost your dry humping virginity.”
He lets out a long, audible breath, then places his palms on my thighs. “For a long time, I thought there was somethin
g wrong with me. That I wasn’t man enough.” His eyelids lower as he stares down at his hands on my legs. “But maybe I’m not the one with the problem. Maybe I never was.”
I look over at his dental tools spread across my mother’s oak dining room table. I don’t know what he’s talking about, yet I understand what he’s saying.
The dining room is really quiet. The only sound, besides us breathing, is the soft hum of the refrigerator in the next room.
Into the silence, I say, “Your last girlfriend didn’t like sex.”
He lets out a small laugh that sounds like relief, bordering on crazy. Living on my own in this big house all these months, I know that laugh well. It’s the laugh of realization, of absurdity, of truth revealed.
His palms are still hot on my thighs. My body shakes involuntarily as I get one final, delayed tremor from my orgasm.
He looks up into my eyes, smiling now. “Thank you, Meenie. I think I’m going to be okay.”
I hold my hands out, palms up. I put a big smile on my face. “You’re cured. See? The self-help group really works.”
He keeps gazing into my eyes, a goofy look on his face.
I should probably offer him a handjob or something, but I hear myself saying the words in my head, and it seems like the wrong thing to say. Normally, that doesn’t stop me, but tonight it does.
Now what?
“Thanks for fixing my tooth,” I say sweetly. “Let’s not tell Feather about those two times you kissed me.”
“You want me to leave?” His tone is neutral, and his face doesn’t give anything away.
“It’s Saturday night. I’m sure you have plans.” I turn and look at the clock on the dining room wall. “Look at the time! I hate to dry hump and run, but… I really need to dry hump and run.”
“Again?”
I hold up my hand. “Thanks, but I’m good. That one should do me for a while.”
He turns and starts packing his things back into the leather doctor bag. “I guess I’ll see you Tuesday?”
“You will if you have the balls to show up to group again.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.