“Excuse me,” she said, raising her voice over the crackle and pop of the engine.
The man held up one hand. “Hang on, lady. I’ve almost got this baby fixed.”
Baby? Oh, please. It was a motorcycle, not a child.
He twisted the throttle one more time, gunning the engine. A nice healthy growl filled the driveway, and even she could hear the difference in the motor.
Pleased, he smiled at the engine, and she wondered if he’d forgotten she stood waiting.
“That’s better,” he said, talking to himself and the motorcycle. He killed the engine and slowly straightened his six-foot frame. Emerald eyes gazed at her with interest as he wiped his hands on a nearby rag. Tiny creases lined the edge of his eyes and she realized he was older than she’d first thought.
“I’m looking for Professor Russell.”
He hesitated, his eyes gazing at her with interest. “You found him.”
A ripple of shock spiraled through her, causing her to take a second glance. This man owned this house and was a professor of philosophy at the college?
The corners of his mouth turned up as if he could read her mind, his green eyes twinkled in amusement.
“Are you here to see the apartment?” he asked.
“Yes,” she stammered. None of her professors looked like him. Maybe she was taking the wrong classes.
“The student who was going to rent it decided not to return to CSU this year. The rent is five hundred a month. I don’t allow any parties or drugs on my property. So if your son or daughter is into partying, they’ll need to find someplace else.”
She lifted her brows, pleased that she could shock him in return. “The apartment is for me. I’m a sophomore at CSU this year.”
He nodded, his eyes seeming to reassess her as he slowly grinned. “Come on and I’ll show you the apartment.”
“Thank you,” she said, wondering at the silent communication she could read so easily with him.
He led the way up the stairs and opened the door, allowing her to go first.
She brushed past him, and his large body overshadowed hers. A nice masculine scent teased her as she passed him. Since she’d been separated from her ex-husband, she’d forgotten how a man smelled. Did Professor Russell just smell nice?
She stepped into the apartment and noticed the living room kitchen arrangement was cozy with a large bay window overlooking the backyard. Empty oak bookshelves lined the opposite wall, along with a built in desk. Cream-colored tile and wooden floors gave the room a homey appearance. What little furniture she’d kept would fit in the small room.
When she walked into the kitchen, she knew as long as the bathroom was clean and the bedroom a decent size, she’d take the apartment.
Turning, she went through the only open doorway. The bedroom had windows that overlooked the backyard, where a gazebo sat nestled in the corner of the yard. She gazed into the freshly painted bathroom and walked into the large closet. The place was perfect. Her insides gave a little happy dance at the idea of moving here.
“I remodeled the bathroom over the summer and put in all new tile and cabinets. If you take the apartment, you’ll be the first one to use it since the renovation.”
She gazed at the big man who stood just inside the bedroom staring at her. His face had nice features with high cheekbones and dark brows. Short brown sideburns graced his face, but she couldn’t see his hair because of the backwards baseball cap.
More than anything, she sensed a kind gentleness about him that put her at ease. Something she didn’t experience with most men.
“Does the apartment have washer/dryer hookups?” she asked, trying not to stare, yet oddly curious about this man.
A chuckle escaped him and she noticed how expressive his green eyes were. “No. Most of my renters don’t own their own appliances.”
“No, I guess they wouldn’t.”
“There is a hookup down in the garage. It hasn’t been used since my grandmother lived here. I don’t know if it still works, but we can give it a try.”
“Five hundred a month?” she asked knowing that the price fit her budget, knowing she’d found her new home.
“Just want to let you know, I’ve got another student who will come by later today.”
She gazed out the bedroom window one more time and faced him. “I think you better call that student and tell them to keep looking. When can I move in?”
Her first adult apartment and she loved that it was not in a fancy complex. This fit her lifestyle and she loved the view of the backyard and the gazebo. In the spring she would be sitting out there studying.
“As soon as you sign the lease and give me the first month’s rent.” He smiled. “Understand that I’m serious about no wild parties or drugs.”
“Professor Russell, I’ll confess to being a little crazy right now, but I’ve never done drugs and I’m here to get my education.”
He gave her a sympathetic glance. “Divorced?”
She nodded. The word still oddly pierced her, though she’d long ago given up loving her husband. The word labeled her a quitter and she hated the connotation.
“Welcome to CSU and the Bentley House.”
“Bentley House?”
“Yes, it belonged to my Grandmother Bentley.”
The old house had a family history and that made it even more special for her. She’d always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. This was perfect.
“It looks lovely.”
“Thanks. Sometimes, old houses are more work than they’re worth. But I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“The house and yard are beautiful. Your wife’s done a great job,” she told him, taking another look at the back yard.
He shook his head. “I’m not married. Divorced three years ago.”
“Oh.” Though he’d offered the information casually, there was an awkward silence. Finally unable to bear it a moment longer, she asked, “When can I get the key and start moving in?”
“I’ll run the credit report this afternoon and if everything is fine, you can move in tomorrow. I’ll need you to sign the lease agreement and give me a check.” He walked over to the desk and pulled out the document and handed it to her to complete.
She read the lease agreement and reached in her purse for her checkbook and wrote him a check. Handing him the signed lease, a rush of giddiness put a smile on her face. Her own place.
“The mailing address is the same as the house, but with an A. You can park your car in the garage and when it snows, I have a kid who clears the drive.”
He glanced at her brand new checks and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Marianne.”
“Oh my gosh! I never even introduced myself.”
She’d been so enthralled with gazing at this big handsome man and his bike that she’d never told him her name!
“That’s okay. You were too busy admiring my bike. Please call me Luke Bentley.”
She liked his name. It was an old, solid, biblical name and she knew it meant strong and loyal. Not that she’d be testing the waters to find out if that was accurate.
“Okay, Luke. I’ve never been around a motorcycle before. My ex thought only thugs rode them, and my mother would have had a coronary if I’d ridden on one,” she responded before realizing she’d just called him a thug. “Not that I believe all motorcycle riders are thugs. I’ve never been around anyone who rides a motorcycle.”
What was she doing? Rambling like a complete idiot spouting off about thugs and her mother and her ex-husband. She just needed to shut up before he refused to rent to her.
His green eyes twinkled in amusement.
“Maybe someday I’ll take you for a ride and you’ll see that not everyone who rides a motorcycle is a thug. Of course, we won’t tell your mother.”
She smiled. She liked this guy. He was funny and kind of interesting.
“Oh God, I’m not getting off to a very good start with my landlord.”
He shrugged. “As l
ong as you pay the rent and are quiet, we’ll have no problems.”
“I think I better go and begin packing my things before you change your mind.”
Luke shoved her check in his pocket and walked out the door. At the bottom of the steps, he paused. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
His gaze sent the blood rushing to her face, sending sudden warmth through her. Oh, there were a lot of things that a good-looking man like him could do to fulfill her needs, but she wasn’t about to ask for any of them. She didn’t need the kind of trouble a man like him was sure to provide.
Years ago, she let a man get in the way of her college education, but not this time.
Chapter 4
Marianne looked around the Monkey’s Library, a popular club in town, and told herself she was going to have a good time. Sure, she was probably the oldest person in the club besides Paige, but you didn’t outgrow fun.
Paige placed her margarita glass on the table. “Come on Marianne. Everyone is on the dance floor. Let’s go.”
Young girls in low cut, tight-fitting jeans swayed to the music on the dance floor.
“Oh no, you’re not getting me out there.”
Paige frowned. “If you don’t dance, you can’t enter the contest.”
A blizzard in South Texas was more likely than Marianne showing off her underwear in a dance club.
“You’re senile and crazy if you think I’m going to enter that underwear contest.” Marianne took a gulp of her frozen drink.
Paige shook her head. “Come on silly, you dance and guys guess what kind of underwear you’re wearing.”
“I prefer for my underwear to remain anonymous.”
“You said you wanted to act wild. Your attitude is not that of a wild-woman, Marianne. You’re acting the same as you’ve always done. If you want to be different, you have to step out and let go of your inhibitions. Now come on, you big chicken, let’s go play.”
Oh crap! She did want to change from soccer mom to someone who was at least interesting... She didn’t want to be the same old Marianne. The nearly forty, divorced mother whose ex-husband didn’t find her attractive any longer.
But what about other men? Was she just an aging woman whose choice of underwear was irrelevant to the barely-legal members of the opposite sex?
It wasn’t like she had to show anyone. What were the odds that a young college boy would pick her?
Marianne glanced at the crowded dance floor where women danced, while the men looked on. When the music stopped, the crowd would choose from the women and guess the women’s color, cut, and style of underwear.
Twenty women, including her friend Paige, danced to the beat of a sexy song. Marianne took a deep breath. If she wanted to change, she needed to experience new things. She needed to see if any man still found her attractive or whether she should just retire to the Past-Their-Prime old women’s home. There were few men in the bar her age, and most of them were chasing younger women. She was safe. No one would choose her.
Heart pounding, she took a step up onto the dance floor and joined the other gyrating women. Paige gave her a thumb up and moved her pelvis in a suggestive motion.
The other women used their bodies in ways that encouraged the men. Self-conscious, Marianne mimicked their motions and tried to blot out the noise of the crowd. Awkward and unsure of herself, she danced, wondering what the big deal was about a woman’s underwear. As the alcohol flowed through her veins, she relaxed.
No one would choose her, so she let the music flow and surround her. She blocked the sound of cheering men standing around the dance floor. Only the pounding rhythm of the music and the need to move her body existed. Closing her eyes, she let the years slip away and danced like she was eighteen, young and beautiful once more.
The music stopped and the men roared, yanking her back to the present. Paige came to stand beside her. “Pretty fun, huh?”
“Yeah, I’d forgotten how much I like to dance,” Marianne said, confident she would not be one of the women chosen. “Let’s sit down.”
She started to walk off the dance floor, when she heard her name. “Marianne Larson, table two wants to guess your underwear.”
Her heart leaped into her throat and she turned and glared at Paige. “You gave them my name?”
Paige scrunched up her face in an awkward smile. “Don’t be mad. It seemed like a good idea at the time…”
Marianne faced the disc jockey, wanting to strangle her friend, determined not to look like a complete idiot in front of this crowd of college students. Someone from her classes could be here.
She glanced over at the men at table two, barely older than her daughter. Part of her just wanted to walk out the door, but the new Marianne said stay.
The disc jockey strolled to the table, microphone in hand. “Now gentlemen, as you know this is for charity. If you guess the correct style and color of Marianne’s underwear she must donate thirty dollars to Delta Phi’s charity of choice, Toys for Tots. But if you’re wrong, you get to donate the money to our charity. Marianne, are you willing to show us your underwear?”
The entire club focused their eyes on her, chanting ‘raise your skirt, raise your skirt’. Nausea rose and she feared she’d puke right there on the dance floor. She wanted to back out, but it was for charity and she did want to live a different kind of lifestyle. She didn’t want to be afraid to experience life. Yet this wasn’t exactly on her list of new experiences to try.
God if Katie found out, she would just die.
“We’re waiting, Marianne. The sorority sisters are counting on you to help them raise money for the children for Christmas. So will you show us your underwear?”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and released it slowly.
“All right,” she said, praying she never saw any of these people ever again.
The disc jockey turned to the young men sitting at table two. “What kind of underwear is Marianne Larson wearing?”
They put their heads together, and the spokesman for the table said, “White, granny style.”
The disc jockey looked at the man like he was nuts. “Now why would a woman wearing granny panties get out here and dance?”
“Because she didn’t think anyone would choose her,” the man replied lamely.
Oh great, not only was she unattractive, but they thought she wore granny panties. Well, damn if she wouldn’t make them pay. She smiled in their direction.
“Okay, Marianne who is going to pay?”
She shook her fingers at the young men, turned, and lifted her skirt to show her red silk boy cut panties, thanking God she’d thrown away every granny pair she owned when she moved.
Wolf whistles filled the air and her face flamed with embarrassment and quickly she dropped her skirt.
“Thank you, Marianne. And the Delta Phi sorority thanks table two for your generous donation. Now, who’s next?”
The disc jockey moved on, and Marianne stepped off the stage wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. Paige stood waiting for her with a drink in her hand.
“Hey, you did great!” She handed her a margarita. “Here, you look like you need it.”
Marianne took the frozen alcohol from her friend, and downed a huge gulp of the ice-cold margarita. “You are so going to pay for that little stunt.”
Paige lived life on the edge. Marianne would never go to the extremes like she did and that was okay. Tonight she’d crossed a boundary she’d never imagined going over and realized she didn’t need to show people her underwear just to prove she was beautiful.
“It wasn’t that bad. I mean…you helped the children. You did it for charity. And that’s definitely not something the old Marianne would never do.”
“The next thing you’ll be asking me to do is screw for charity. At least I’d get some satisfaction out of the deal.”
“I bet we’d raise a lot of money, too.”
Marianne stopped and stared at her friend, shaking her head.
“There are limitations to how wild I’m willing to become.”
Tonight she’d reached that limit. She would never be like her friend.
Paige smiled. “You’re always talking about doing something crazy. I thought this could be a small, not totally outlandish, stunt.” She shrugged her shoulders and grimaced. “You’re not mad, are you?”
‘Furious’ was her first thought, but now…it had been kind of titillating to show a crowd of people her underwear. Something she would never have done a year ago. She felt stronger, more alive for taking the risk. A small baby step in her new life that reminded her she had boundaries for a reason. And it was okay to be Marianne.
“Next time give me some warning and let me decide if I want to humiliate myself in public.”
Paige smiled. “Nah, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. You totally shocked them. That’s what they get for assuming you wore grandma panties. We’re not part of the Depends crowd yet.”
Marianne laughed. Paige was right, the young punks deserved to get spanked for thinking she was ready for the retirement home. She clanked her glass against Paige’s.
“To older women.”
“Sexy, single, and experienced. You can’t beat the combination,” Paige said, finishing the toast.
Marianne finished her drink and set it on the table. “It’s after midnight and I’m moving tomorrow. I think I’m going to call it a night.”
While Paige enjoyed the club scene, Marianne found hanging out in a bar was just not what she enjoyed doing. Somehow the thought of relaxing in front of a fire sounded so much more enticing.
Paige smiled. “Okay. Don’t wait up for me. There is this really good-looking guy that has been making eyes at me all night. I’m going to flash my baby blues at him and see if he takes the bait.”
“Be careful,” Marianne said, hating that she sounded like a mother. “See you later.”
She grabbed her purse and strolled toward the exit, proud of herself. The old Marianne would never have gone into or left a club by herself, not to mention shown her underwear.
Secrets, Lies, and Online Dating: Three Generations Learn to Love Again (Women's Fiction) Page 6