by HELEN HARDT
Hollygolightly: Hi, Stacy!
MrsRobinson: Hi there, Stacy!
StacyStarr: Hello
MrsRobinson: What brings you out tonight?
Stacy inhaled. What should she say? Should she be honest that she was a writer doing research? Yes, that would probably be best. But perhaps the other women wouldn’t appreciate being asked questions?
No, honesty was best.
StacyStarr: I’m a writer. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?
Hollygolightly: Of course not.
MrsRobinson: Go right ahead. Or go “write” ahead, lol.
Hollygolightly: Lol, Megan.
Geez, had these women been drinking? But they seemed open to her quest for information, so she dove in.
StacyStarr: I was wondering, I guess, what younger men see in older women?
Hollygolightly: There’s not really an easy answer to that question, Stacy. Stacy is your name, right?
StacyStarr: Yes, my name is Stacy.
Hollygolightly: My guy and I met on a one night stand, to be honest. I was in a bad place, and he really helped. I never meant to see him again, but we found each other later, and the connection was still there.
MrsRobinson: Holly’s right. Honestly, most cougar/cub relationships that I know of began with a connection, not with any conscious thought on the woman’s part to go after a younger man or on the man’s part to go after an older woman.
Hmmm. Interesting.
MrsRobinson: I wasn’t consciously looking for a cub either. I got lucky in that I found a man, who happened to be younger, who wasn’t interested in having children. He’s a great stepdad to my two daughters.
Sheesh. Stacy hadn’t even considered the kid issue. Michael was nearly ten years younger than she. Surely he would want kids. Stacy had wanted kids at one time, but it hadn’t happened with David, and now she figured she was too old. Only months away from her forty-sixth birthday. Perimenopause could set in any day now. Yes, she’d wanted to be a mother at one time, but now? She wasn’t so sure she could do it.
But…
Oh, God.
It had been three weeks since the writers’ conference. When had she had her last period? She did some quick mental calculations. It had come well before the conference, and she hadn’t had one since. She’d stopped keeping track during her marriage to David. Though they’d had their sterile sex regularly, she’d never gotten pregnant. She’d assumed after a while that she was sterile.
Oh, God again.
Could David have been the sterile one?
Of course not. She was sterile. And even if she wasn’t, Michael had used a rubber each time. She was obviously worrying over nothing. For crying out loud, at her age, she was bound to start getting irregular. And who knew what regular was? She hadn’t been keeping track anyway.
MrsRobinson: Are you still there, Stacy?
She jolted back to reality.
StacyStarr: Yeah, I’m here.
Here and freaking out.
StacyStarr: How many of you cougars are there on this site?
MrsRobinson: Quite a few of us. Simone and Katelyn are the two women who started the site. They’re here quite a bit. Not sure where they are tonight.
Hollygolightly: Simone’s out of town. I don’t know where Katelyn is. But we have over five hundred women registered on the site now, and we get over 10,000 hits every day.
StacyStarr: Wow. That’s amazing. And all these relationships started without any conscious thought of age?
MrsRobinson: Of course we can’t speak for all of them. Simone, for example, has always loved younger men and looks for them. But most of them seem to have started without any thought to age.
StacyStarr: I find that very interesting.
MrsRobinson: Why?
StacyStarr: Well, I guess because it seems like those types of relationships could go the same way as the older man/younger woman relationships. You know, when a young woman is looking for a sugar daddy?
MrsRobinson: Of course that’s possible. But I don’t know of any relationships on this site that are like that.
StacyStarr: I guess I don’t see why a younger man would want an older woman then, unless he was looking for a sugar mama.
Hollygolightly: Stacy, can I ask you something?
StacyStarr: Of course.
Hollygolightly: We’re not talking about research any more, are we?
Warmth crept into Stacy’s cheeks. How did they know?
StacyStarr: No. We’re not.
Hollygolightly: You want to tell us what happened?
Yes, she wanted to tell them. She had to tell someone, and here, veiled by a computer screen, perhaps she’d be comfortable speaking her mind. She started pouring out the story, and as she typed, an anvil lifted from her shoulders. Nothing would change, but damn, if felt good to talk about it.
MrsRobinson: And you haven’t had any contact with Michael since?
StacyStarr: No. I haven’t contacted him. And he hasn’t tried to contact me, to my knowledge.
MrsRobinson: How do you know? Maybe he’s tried and he hasn’t been able to.
StacyStarr: I told you I’m a writer. He knows my pen name. He can easily find my contact information on the web.
Typing the words pierced Stacy’s heart. He hadn’t contacted her. He hadn’t cared enough to try.
Hollygolightly: She has a point, Megan.
MrsRobinson: But still, if you were only a sugar mama candidate, why did he come after you? Why did he make love to you that last time?
StacyStarr: It wasn’t lovemaking. It was a fuck, pure and simple. And I was a fool to allow it to happen.
MrsRobinson: You’re not a fool if you were following your heart.
StacyStarr: But I was a fool. I didn’t mean to develop feelings. It was supposed to be a fun conference fling with a hot calendar boy. Nothing more. I never thought it would mean more to him, either. I just never expected…
MrsRobinson: You never expected to fall in love.
StacyStarr: NO
She hammered the words onto the keyboard.
StacyStarr: I’m not in love with him. I’m just hurt, you know? He only wanted a sugar mama.
Hollygolightly: So you’d rather he’s just thought of you as a one night stand?
Would she?
StacyStarr: Oh, hell. I don’t know what I’d rather he thought, to be honest.
Hollygolightly: Only you know what you’re feeling, Stacy, but I think Megan might be right. You’re feeling something more for this man, or you wouldn’t be hurting so much over his betrayal. You’d be over it by now.
StacyStarr: I really AM doing research for a cougar story.
She added a smiley emoticon.
Hollygolightly: Lol, we believe you, don’t we, Megan?
MrsRobinson: Of course we do. And I want to read your story when it’s done. But if we can help with your relationship problem too, all the better.
StacyStarr: That’s a bit of a misnomer. Michael and I don’t have a relationship.
MrsRobinson: Here’s what we know, Stacy. One, he was looking for a sugar mama. Two, he made love to you and took you sky diving and changed your life for the better by helping you overcome your introversion. Three, when you found out he was looking for a sugar mama, you threw him out. Four, he came back to you, made love to you again. Five, you told him to leave you alone. And six, he has since left you alone. Those are the facts, right?
StacyStarr: Yes, that sums it up.
MrsRobinson: I think, then, the next step is up to you.
StacyStarr: What do you mean?
MrsRobinson: Well, he came back to you after you threw him out, made love to you, tried to talk to you, but you sent him packing again. So the ball’s in your court now.
StacyStarr: You think I should contact him?
MrsRobinson: It’s been what, three weeks? And you’re still thinking about him, right?
Was she ever! To the detriment of her work too.
S
tacyStarr: Yes, that’s true.
MrsRobinson: Then contact him. Hear him out. Maybe his friend misunderstood what he was looking for. Or maybe he didn’t but Michael has his own explanation. Or maybe he developed feelings for you.
StacyStarr: I doubt it.
MrsRobinson: Why would you doubt it? You didn’t mean to develop feelings for him, but you did. Why couldn’t he have done the same? Don’t you owe it to yourself to find out?
StacyStarr: I’m not sure. I could end up feeling worse than I do now.
Hollygolightly: Or you could end up feeling better.
MrsRobinson: And do you really think you could feel any worse?
True enough. She was already miserable. The worst thing that could happen was that she’d still be miserable.
StacyStarr: Thank you. To both of you. Maybe I’ll try to contact him. I can promise I’ll think about it.
MrsRobinson: Good for you!
StacyStarr: I need to get going. But I really do want to do some research on cougar/cub relationships too. Do you mind if I come back sometime?
Hollygolightly: Of course not! Everyone is welcome here.
StacyStarr: Thanks! I’m really glad I found you guys. Talk to you soon!
Stacy logged out of the chatroom and pulled up Michael’s website. No doubt about it, the man was a god. Head shots, body shots, shots with gorgeous female models, book covers—everything on the site made her drool. Had always made her drool. She tensed when she got to the black-and-white shower shot she adored—the shot from the calendar that she’d been ogling when she first met Michael.
Seeing Michael dripping with water brought back pleasant memories that stung her heart. The pleasure of their wet and soapy bodies sliding together, his strong fingers shampooing her hair, his hard cock sliding in and out of her slick heat while droplets of water pelted her face and shoulders…
No.
She jolted back to reality. Her mouse hovered above the “Contact Michael” link.
She shook her head. She couldn’t do it. Megan and Holly were no doubt right—she should find out once and for all where Michael stood. But her fear slithered up her spine, threatening to choke her.
She’d been rejected once before. She wasn’t sure she could take it again. So much for only being as miserable as she was now.
Instead of contacting Michael, she typed his name into the search engine. Why not make herself more miserable by surfing the web and fnding out everything possible about the man she loved?
For she did love him. Admitting it produced a strange mixture of elation and sorrow in her heart. A connection to Michael pierced her soul with a fierce need and desire that she’d never felt for David or any other man.
True love.
She’d finally found it, finally felt it.
Too bad it would never be returned.
She surfed through web page after web page honoring the work and image of Michael Moretti. The Chicago Playboys site boasted what seemed like hundreds of photos of Michael holding adoring females on his lap, sometimes two and three at a time, of Michael kissing said adoring females, of said adoring females touching Michael’s sculpted torso or the bulge beneath his tight black pants.
Sadness surged through Stacy. Michael was no doubt back on the road now, performing for these salivating females. He could sleep with any one of them. Hell, he probably was sleeping with them. How many women had he been with since her?
A shallow breath left her body. Pinpricks skittered over her flesh. Damn him! Damn Michael Moretti for making her feel so alive! And then taking it away…
Still, she continued the self-flagellation of surfing through each web page associated with Michael Moretti. Like the hundreds of people in cars on the highway who can’t help gawking at an accident on the side of the road, she couldn’t help looking at page after page of Michael.
Michael doing a cover shoot, Michael being interviewed on a romance author’s blog, Michael participating in a charity bachelor auction, Michael mourning the death of his fiancée…
What?
Stacy widened her eyes. On her computer screen was a grainy black-and-white photo of a much younger Michael Moretti, nine years younger to be exact. He had just started shooting covers, had just started making a name for himself in the business. The article was from a local newspaper and had obviously been scanned onto the computer by the owner of this particular fan page. Stacy squinted to read the small blurry print.
Chapter Ten
“You not eating enough.” Michael’s mother heaped spaghetti and meatballs onto his plate. “You going to waste away, Michele.”
Michele. Mee-kay-lay. Only his mother used his given Italian first name. He’d changed it in elementary school when the boys had realized it spelled a girl’s name in English. After a bloodied nose and black eye, he’d had enough.
Francesca Moretti prepared the best spaghetti and meatballs in all of Chicago, in all the world, probably, but today, they tasted like sawdust to Michael.
“I’ve only lost a few pounds, Ma.”
“That’s not like you. Now eat.” She shoved the plate closer to him.
He twirled spaghetti on his fork and brought it to his lips. Yep, still sawdust.
“Now, you tell me what’s wrong,” his mother said, sitting next to him.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“When my son lose weight and no eat my spaghetti, something’s wrong.”
Michael regarded his mother, a little plump now, but still a beautiful woman at sixty years old. He’d never understood why his father had left. Once grown, Michael had helped her out as much as he could. His whole sugar mama idea had been as much for his mother as it was for him. Once he was too old to dance and model, how would he make a living? How would he help take care of her?
“You spend two days at home and no eat.”
He took another bite of spaghetti. “I’m eating.”
“Why you not on the road?”
“I took some time off. They’re training a few new guys and they didn’t need me right now.”
Truth was, the new blood was younger, buffer, and hotter. Michael had overheard one of the managers commenting on his love handles. So losing a few pounds was a good thing. Hell, he hadn’t even been trying.
“You meet a girl, Michele?”
A girl. Was this really all about a girl? Stacy still haunted his mind. All he’d wanted was a woman who would take care of him in exchange for his companionship. Should it have been that difficult to find? It wasn’t like he was broke. He had some savings. He even had a small house. He’d had relationships here and there, but never anything permanent, never anything real.
Not like what he’d had with Beth.
No, he wasn’t looking for that. Love meant heartache. First, his father abandoned him, and then Beth.
Nope, never again.
“You know how I feel about women, Ma.”
“Yes, I know you like women, just don’t want to marry one.”
“Is there anything wrong with that?”
“You getting old, Michele. Where my grandbabies?”
“Getting old! Damn it, Ma, I hear that every day in the industry I’m in. I don’t need to hear it from you.”
“Don’t you use that language with me, Michele.”
“I’m sorry, Ma. I truly am.” There went the Catholic guilt again. No one got to Michael like his mother did. “But you asked me where your grandbabies are. You know the answer to that. Your grandbaby is in the ground. With Beth.”
“I know you love Beth.” His mother smiled, and the tiny wrinkles around her dark eyes softened. “I love Beth too. And that baby she carry. But that long time ago, Michele. Time to heal.”
“Like you healed? You never got over Dad leaving.”
His mother’s dark eyes sank, her lashes fluttered closed. “Your papa leave me and you. He young, strong, and healthy, and he leave and never come back.” She opened her eyes, locked her gaze with his. “Beth no leave you.”
/> “The hell she didn’t.”
“She die, Michele. She no leave on purpose.”
He knew that. But still her memory pierced his heart. Their child would be eight years old now. He often wondered whether he’d have a son or a daughter, whether he or she would have Beth’s soft blue eyes, his thick dark hair.
“I see the look in your eyes, Michele. The sadness, the love. I not see that since Beth die.”
He scoffed and twirled more tasteless spaghetti around his fork. “You’re seeing things, Ma.”
“I know my son. I know what I see.”
Michael shook his head. He could deny it no longer. Stacy had gotten under his skin, into his heart, and into his soul.
“Okay. There’s a woman.”
“I know.”
“She’s a writer. I met her at that conference I went to a few weeks ago.”
“What’s her name?”
“Stacy.”
“She not love you back?”
“No. And I can’t blame her. I made some stupid mistakes. I thought…I thought I knew what I wanted. I went there looking for a woman.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I said I went there looking for a woman. I just didn’t bank on finding someone I cared about so much.”