Young Enough
The Age Between Us (Book 2)
Charmaine Pauls
Published by Charmaine Pauls
Montpellier, 34090, France
www.charmainepauls.com
Published in France
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2018 by Charmaine Pauls
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Kellie Dennis (www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-2-9561031-5-8 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-1-7208118-4-8 (Paperback)
Created with Vellum
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Charmaine Pauls
Book Blurbs
About the Author
Foreword
Dear Reader,
This is the second book of The Age Between Us duology. The first book, Old Enough, must be read before Young Enough to follow the story.
Buy Old Enough Now
Old Enough (Book 1, The Age Between Us)
I’m old enough to drive a car, buy alcohol, and enter a club. I’m old enough to take responsibility for my actions. I’m old enough for her, no matter what her middle-aged friends or society says. No matter she’s the age of my mother. No matter why or how I met her.
I’ll take those secrets to my grave, and her with them, if those secrets don’t ruin us first.
Buy Old Enough Now
1
Jane
Life is never just good or just bad. Mostly, it’s a mix. My life is many kinds of wrongs, but it also has rights. A short while ago, my husband left me for his pregnant mistress. I lost my home in the process. I lost my stability and direction. I thought I’d lost everything, until a stranger broke into my property and ended up in my bed. He’s not like any man I’ve met. When it comes to passion, he demands nothing less than the most extreme and forbidden corners of my fantasies. He gives light and awakens darkness. He gives darkness, and my light can’t exist without it. It’s the most explosive sex of my life, the most depraved and serenely beautiful acts I’ve committed.
Brian is everything I’ve ever wanted, the closest to happy I’ve been since my first love, Evan, died, which is why I’m ignoring that Brian is half my age. What we share is taboo. Which is why we’re each other’s secret. You could say I’m unlucky in love, like a fortuneteller recently told me when she gave a hair-raisingly accurate account of my life, but Brian makes me feel alive. He makes me feel desired. I’ve mourned a lost love to death. I’ve been left for another woman. But right now, I’m being coveted by a beautiful, sexually skilled man. I’m too weak to walk away from an affair that has no future. I want him too much. I need to breathe him like air and drown in him like water. I trust him with the darker side of my lust like I trust him with my body, because he earned it. He proved to me he’s worthy of both, so I continue with my perfect, imperfect life, playing our game of secret love affair.
While Abby is with Francois, Brian and I spend the weekend together. We have sex as often as we can, anywhere we can. We’re both shameless, but there is no shame in honest lust. The days we work together make up for the nights we can’t sleep next to each other. Sometimes, we sneak off during our lunch break to make love in his truck at the dead-end road in Midrand with our clothes on or naked, lying amongst the grass that grows taller as summer advances. We’re careful. We don’t slip away together too frequently or raise suspicion with our behavior.
Toby likes Brian’s Bakers idea, and Bakers likes it even more. By the end of the month, we’re running their collectable card campaign. It’s a major hit. Sales fly. They have to increase production for Christmas, resulting in an unexpected bonus for Brian and myself.
Abby is caught up in her studies for the year-end exams. The move from the only house I’ve considered my home, soon to be home to my ex-husband’s mistress, doesn’t come at the best time, right before the grade eight finals, but if we want to secure the cottage Brian found for me, we don’t have a choice. If I weren’t so worn-out from the last sprint before the end of the year at the office, I would’ve said tough luck and looked for something else after Abby finished her exams, but places like those don’t become available every day. I’m not happy that Abby doesn’t like the cottage, but as my good friend, Dorothy, said, she’ll come around.
We arranged for Abby to be with Francois on the weekend I move. Brian assured me he’d take care of the furniture. I can count on him for something other than sex, and it warms my heart.
I’m offloading kitchen appliances at the cottage when his truck pulls up. A guy jumps from the passenger side and another from the back. Walking toward them with a greeting on my lips, I stop in my tracks. They’re Brian’s buddies from the pool.
“This is Jane Logan.” Brian points at the slender one. “This is Eugene Prinsloo.” He slaps the chubby one on the shoulder. “And this is Clive Claassen.”
They both stare at me as if my clothes are on fire.
I’m the first to recover. “I think we got off on the wrong foot the first-time round. Shall we start over?”
Eugene gives me a lukewarm handshake. “Uh, nice to meet you?”
Clive keeps his arms at his sides. “Hi.”
“I appreciate your help. I hope Brian didn’t bully you into it.”
Clive snorts.
“No worries, Ms. Logan,” Eugene says.
“Jane, please.”
It takes us the whole morning and three truckloads to move Abby’s belongings and mine. Brian transfers the security equipment from the house to the cottage while I put the smaller pieces of furniture in place. With the big furniture arranged, Brian connects the dishwasher and washing machine, and test both to make sure they work. There’s no space for a tumble dryer, but we have enough sun–even in winter–and a line outside to dry our clothes.
I’m knackered by the time we’re done, but eager to tackle the boxes. I want to have everything unpacked before I fetch Abby on Sunday. A tidy environment will go a long way in easing the change.
Thanks to Brian’s thoughtfulness, we have a cold six-pack to swallow my picnic food down with. I offer to pay Brian’s friends, but he refuses profusely on their behalf. He returns after dropping them off to help me unpack.
“I really appreciate your help.” I hug him from behind, placing a kiss on his broad back.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go through this alone, did you?” He turns to face me, his arms coming around me.
The hug is soft, but it’s not tender. It’s possessive and demanding.
One touch is all it takes. I gasp, burying my face in his chest.
“I want you, Jane.” His tone turns desperate. “What are you doing to me? I want you all the fucking time.”
“Then take me.”
“That’s the plan. On
my terms.”
My insides flutter in anticipation and with that pinch of wild fear his promises always evoke. “I can handle you, Brian Michaels. Take what you want.”
His eyes darken. His whole body hardens against mine, every muscle drawing tight.
Lifting me, he carries me to the unmade bed and throws me on the mattress. Before my squeal has escaped, he’s already covering my lips with his, swallowing my sounds as his hand moves between our bodies.
Brian
It’s becoming harder to leave Jane. I’m torn in two, wanting to spend the first night in her new place with her, but I can’t ask Clive to sleep over at my place after he’s sacrificed his day to help with Jane’s move. Finally, my responsibility wins over my desire. The result is a lingering ache in the hollow of my chest as I walk away from my woman at sunset with a bittersweet goodbye kiss.
After a hot day of strenuous work and fucking Jane twice, I need a shower. I head straight for the bathroom when I get home, but as I pass Sam’s room, I stop. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at her toes. With a soft knock, I enter.
“Hey, piglet. What’s up?”
She wiggles her toes on the worn thread of the carpet–I need to replace it sooner than later–but doesn’t look at me. “Don’t call me that.”
“What?” I ask, baffled. “Piglet?”
She crosses her arms. “I’m not a pig.”
Whoa. I’ve been calling her piglet since I can remember. It’s because she loved Whinny the Poo so much.
I cross the floor and sit down next to her. “It’s my way of expressing affection.”
“It implies I’m fat.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
She turns her head to the side.
“Look at me, Sam.”
Only her eyes turn toward me.
“Is it because I put you on a diet?” The last thing I want is to damage her self-esteem.
“It’s the other girls,” she admits meekly. “They say I’m fat.”
My blood starts to heat. “The girls in your class?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you listen to them? You know better than to let someone whose opinion shouldn’t matter upset you.”
“They’re my friends.”
“Then you deserve better friends.”
She jumps up. “You don’t understand.”
“Tell me.” I hate seeing my kid sister like this.
“You won’t understand.” She pushes out her bottom lip. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Try me.”
Regarding me from under her lashes, she weighs my words. Finally, she concedes with a theatrical sigh. “Lynette is having a party for her birthday.”
“So?”
“So.” She rolls her eyes, as if I should get the connection.
“Are you not invited?”
“Of course, I am.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She slams a hand against her forehead. “Duh.”
“Sam,” I say sternly, “you’re going to have to help me out here.”
“I’ve got nothing to wear,” she exclaims, “and even if I did, I’d just look fat.”
Ah ha. For a minute I was working myself up, thinking it was something they’d done to her, because, let’s face it, those girls may be young, but they’re bitches in the making. I’ve seen how jealous they are of each other, how they gossip and tease with the intent to hurt and belittle.
The controlling part of me wants to forbid her to mingle with them. The protective part of me wants to refuse her permission to go to the party, but it’ll only be a medicine to disguise a pain. It won’t be a cure that heals the ailment. She needs to know how to stand up for herself. This will be a good learning curve for the future, because bullies are not limited to classrooms. My thoughts drift unwillingly to Monkey.
“You’re not saying anything,” she complains. “That means you agree. I’m going to look like the fat little pig.”
“First of all, you’re not fat.” She has an extra bit of flab, which is my fault. I cooked too much pasta, but that’s a thing of the past. “You’re healthy and beautiful. Secondly, I didn’t raise you to have such a low self-image. You’re a bright, talented, and strong girl. You should act it, rather than brood over an image some bitchy girl from class put into your head.”
She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand.
“Lastly, since when do you care what others think? Whose opinion is the only one that matters?”
“Mine,” she admits begrudgingly.
“Now that all that’s out of the way, let’s start over. You have a party to go to, right?”
“Right.”
“I don’t remember you asking permission.”
“Briaaaaan.”
“Sam.”
The next sigh she utters signifies the world rests on her little shoulders. “May I please go to Lynette’s birthday party?”
“When? Where? What kind of party?”
“Saturday before school ends. It’s from six to ten.”
“Whoa. At night?”
“It’s at her parents’ house, so don’t sweat it. There will be supervision. We’re going to have pizzas and play board games.”
“Who’s all going to be there?”
“Just about the whole class.”
“Boys and girls?”
“Yeah,” she says again, as if I should’ve known.
“I want her mother’s number.”
She narrows her eyes in suspicion. “What for?”
“To check if they’ll be around all the time.”
“Brian! You’ll embarrass me.”
“Plus,” I hold up a finger, “in case of an emergency, I’d like to know she can get hold of me. That’s the condition.”
Her mouth falls open, and her arms drop to her sides. “Seriously?”
“Yes, Sam.”
She throws up her hands, but nods with another eye-roll. “Fine.”
I cup my ear. “I don’t hear you.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles.
“That’s better. Now that permission for the party’s out of the way, we can move to the next problem.”
“What to wear?”
Sam doesn’t have much. She doesn’t own pretty shoes or make-up and all the stuff girls like. It didn’t matter as much when was she was younger, but she’s growing up.
“We’ll sort it, okay?”
“Really?” Her face lifts. “You mean I can get a new dress?”
“I think you deserve a new dress. Shoes and all.”
She squeals and starts bouncing. “Really? Really?”
“If you stop hopping like a kangaroo.”
She stills immediately. “I’ll set the table every night, I swear. I’ll even take out the garbage.”
I get to my feet. “You don’t have to do any of that for a dress. It’s not an exchange. But–”
“I knew there was a but.”
“It doesn’t mean you don’t have to do your chores.”
“Thank you, Brian.” She throws her arms around me, almost knocking me off my feet.
“You’re welcome. By the way, did Tron check in on you?”
“He’s been in and out a couple of times. Mom made him a cup of tea.”
It’s time to start dinner. My shower will have to wait. “Go have your shower. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”
She skips to the door. “Anything you say.”
Before going to the kitchen, I look in on my mom. She’s passed out on her bed. I cover her with a light blanket before turning my attention to our dinner menu. As I’m going through the fridge, Clive walks in.
“Beer?” I ask.
“No thanks.”
I pull my head out of the refrigerator to look at him. Clive refusing a beer is like a snowstorm on the Magaliesberg Mountains in the middle of summer. I study him. His shoulders are tense and his arms rigid at his sides. He reminds me of a tightly woun
d top ready to spin.
“What’s going on?” I ask carefully.
“You tell me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What’s Jane to you?”
Her name on his tongue doesn’t sit right with me. It bothers me without any explicable reason. “I think you know.”
“You’re dipping your dick, aren’t you?”
Tension pulls my shoulder blades tight, my posture mirroring his. “Watch your mouth.”
“It’s serious?” he asks with disbelief.
Clive knows me well enough. I wouldn’t mind his foul mouth if it weren’t serious.
He nods several times, his look condescending. “You went back there, behind our backs.”
“I don’t need permission or approval from you for where I go.”
“Some friend you are.” He sneers. “You made me sleep here, taking care of your sister and mother so you could bang some uptown sugar mommy.”
My vision starts to get fuzzy around the edges. I back away from the fridge, the tension a coiled-up spring driving me forward. My feet are moving, but I’m not aware of executing the action. It’s like being in a dream where you float.
“You will watch your fucking mouth, or you’ll leave here with no teeth.”
He blinks, retracing his steps to the door. “Why did you lie, Brian?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“Are we not good enough for your uppity-ass girlfriend?”
In a flash, I see an ugly shade of crimson. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m in Clive’s face, my fist punching the wall next to his head. Bits of flaking plaster fall on the floor. Pain explodes in my knuckles. It travels up my arm, all the way to my shoulder, but I push the sensory impulses aside. I can handle pain. I’ll deal. It also brings me back to earth, preventing me from taking his head clean off.
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