I realize I’m blushing, and that embarrasses me.
“No, it doesn’t. And no, I don’t know any men I’d want to go out with.”
“You’re a single woman yourself now, with your child out of the house. It’s understandable that you’d feel lonely.”
“It’s not just that I feel lonely.” I pause to gather my thoughts. “I… I feel like my life is on hold, like I’m waiting to learn what my next phase will be. In the meantime, I’m merely treading water.”
I pause, then get to the real issue.
“I feel like I missed the most exciting part of my life because I was busy raising a child. And now I’m just trying to figure out who I am and hoping something exciting happens before I get too old.”
Pamela gives me a sympathetic look. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Dawn. You were hurt badly by Pete’s affairs, and totally blindsided when he decided to leave. Anyone in that position would have gone through a phase of self-reflection and rebuilding her inner core.”
I nod, but I’m not convinced this is a “phase.” I felt this way long before the divorce.
Pamela leans forward in her chair.
“Here’s what I want you to do before next week: Identify one man you know with whom you wouldn’t mind going on a dinner date. Just dinner, nothing more. You don’t have to actually ask him out, I merely want you to start looking at the world as someone who has options in front of her.”
“And if I can’t pick someone from the people I know?”
“Then get out and find one. Go shopping. Play some tennis. Take a class. Single men are often where you least expect them.”
We spend the rest of the session talking about Pete. Pamela thinks I should convince him to dock the yacht somewhere else. Unfortunately, I already signed the divorce agreement that gives him permission, and I know Pete won’t agree to move the boat as a favor to me. Pamela’s right, though: Having to watch my ex flaunt his dating life right under my eyes once or twice a month is not doing me any good.
During the drive home, I dread the possibility of seeing the roofer again after my stupid little display earlier. When I arrive at the cul-de-sac, I find that my recycling bin has not only been set upright again, it’s now in its spot just outside my garage door.
The roofer himself, though, is nowhere to be seen, and that beat-up old truck is gone.
* * *
CHAPTER 3
I wake up the next morning still thinking about the “homework” Pamela gave me. I don’t know about dating again, but having a man’s body next to mine would certainly be nice. That’s the only part of the date I’d look forward to. It’s just so fucking hard for me to trust men after what Pete did.
Still, I realize that it would be good for me to get out a little more. I resolve to try and set aside today to brainstorm ideas for places where men go, but where it wouldn’t seem like I’m trying to meet them.
When I hear the noise from outside again, I peek out the kitchen window and see that he’s back. The roofer, that is. It looks like he’s finished stripping the old shingles off and is now putting in a layer of some kind of thick black cardboard or something. He’s wearing the same kind of clothing as yesterday—different shorts and shirt, but the effect is the same.
I watch him secretly for a while, marveling at the lack of fat on his well-muscled body. Just before noon, he moves on to the section of the roof in the rear of the house, and all I can see is the top of his head.
My frustration at not being able to continue watching is even greater when his head disappears from view. I make a bold decision, at least for me: I’m going to lie out by my pool so I can continue to stare at him. Even if he sees me, he’d probably ignore me altogether. And with sunglasses and my big floppy hat, he won’t even know I’m looking.
I change into a one-piece green bathing suit, the only one I have that fits well. It’s modest, but does flatter my figure more than others I own. I touch up my hair and makeup, just in case he happens to see me. I’ve let my hair grow too long, and it’s down to my shoulder blades, but I’ve got an appointment later in the week to get it styled and have decide to go for a shorter cut.
Grabbing my hat, sunglasses and a magazine, I step out onto my patio. I look up to I see that this was a wise move. The roofer is in plain view from back here. I choose a poolside chaise lounge that is angled toward Heather’s house, but not so much that it’s completely obvious. Hey, some women actually do lie out by the pool every day, right?
I ease into my chair and get comfortable, holding Vogue in front of me so it looks like I’m reading. In reality, I’m staring right at the roofer, watching as he does his thing. After a few minutes, he stops and looks in my direction, then smiles and waves once.
I freeze, not knowing what to do.
Dammit!
I knew he might see me out here, but I never expected him to interact with me in any way. I don’t acknowledge the wave, because it would look as if I were watching him—which, of course, I was, but that’s beside the point.
Instead, I continue pretending to read my magazine while he stands there gawking at me. Despite the “big girl” bathing suit, I feel exposed and cross my legs.
After a few minutes of him staring right at me and me pretending I don’t realize it, he reaches down to his shorts and adjusts himself. Then he goes back to work.
I blush at what has just occurred. I watched the sexy roofer touch himself, although it was only for a second or two, and through his shorts. Still, it was sexy as fuck. It was such a minor thing, but suddenly there’s a warmth between my legs that I haven’t felt in ages.
I try to ignore it, but it doesn’t go away. In fact, it keeps building until I realize I’m actually wet and really need an orgasm.
Closing my magazine, I get up and walk to the house, looking straight ahead. When I enter the living room, I head straight for the corner window and peek through the blinds. I can just see him from this angle, but it’s enough visual stimulation for me. Using my left hand to hold the slats open so I can peer through, I slide my right hand into my swimsuit from the side.
My poor, neglected pussy welcomes the attention and responds with even more wetness as I begin to gently rub my clit while watching the roofer. At one point, he comes back to my side of the house and I see those legs again and feel myself heat up in response. I close my eyes and remember what he looked like when I saw him near my car.
When I open them again, he’s gone.
No matter, because I’ve got that sexy body burned into my brain at this point. I think of him while I slowly bring myself to the verge. I’m breathing hard and realize I haven’t had an orgasm in at least a month.
I’m ready to let myself explode when the loud doorbell startles me, frightening me half to death.
What the hell?
I pull my hand out of my suit and start toward the door out of habit, then stop. I don’t have to answer it. I can go right back to what I was doing. While I’m weighing my options, there’s a knock. I tiptoe to the front door and look through the peephole.
It’s him! The roofer!
Oh my god.
I step back and stare at the door. What could he possibly want? Is he going to complain that I was staring at him? No, that can’t be it. I look out again and see that beard, those eyes.
I have to open it, just to see what he wants. Quickly, I adjust my bathing suit to make sure everything’s in place. Do I have time to get a robe? No, he’ll leave.
I grab the knob and hesitate, then screw up my courage and open it.
There he is, right before my eyes.
And he’s absolutely gorgeous.
His hair is short on the sides and longer and tousled on top, and that thick beard is screaming to have fingers run through it. My fingers, preferably. A near-flawless complexion shows faint traces of a life spent in the sun, making him look older than his perfectly fit body would suggest.
His eyes are the color of glaciers. He smiles and I feel that
smile between my legs. When I realize I’m still flushed from being on the verge of orgasm, I immediately get embarrassed. My upper chest is probably as red as a tomato.
“Hi, my name’s Zane. I’m working on the house next door, replacing the roof.”
I’m in a state of internal chaos, but try to appear calm. I extend my hand to him.
“Hi, Zane. I’m Dawn.”
I’m appalled when I realize that’s the hand that was just inside my swimsuit. The roofer grins and holds up his own grimy, sweaty palm for me to see.
“I don’t want to get you all dirty.”
Are you sure about that, roofer-man? I might want to get all dirty with you.
“As long as I’m in the area doing your neighbor’s roof, I was wondering if you wanted me to do you as well.”
Why did he have to put it in those words?
I can barely think with him standing right there to begin with, and it’s all I can do not to stare at every part of this beautiful man. I want to examine his perfect legs, to ogle those muscular arms. And I’d love to gawk shamelessly at his shorts.
Of course, I do none of these things because his very presence this close to me, especially after what I’ve just been doing, has me rattled.
“No, my roof is fine. It was replaced just a few years ago.”
“Sure, just thought I’d check.” He nods, then cocks his head and grins. “Is your car okay? From yesterday?”
As if I weren’t already embarrassed enough.
“Just a little scratch on the bumper. That was so stupid of me.”
“I picked up your recycling bin and put it near your garage.” Then he laughs and adds, “Didn’t want you hitting it again when you came home.”
“So that was you. I was wondering. Thanks.”
Then the strangest thing happens. His eyes rapidly scan over me, from my face to my sandals and back up. It wouldn’t be strange if I looked like Heather, with her tight little body, but at this point in my life, I am unaccustomed to such looks. Especially from a man like this.
It’s over in a heartbeat, but when he’s looking into my eyes again, I realize I’m not breathing.
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll be going. It was awesome to meet you, Dawn.”
I’m in a brain-fog. “Yes. You, too.”
I want to invite him in for iced tea, to make him a sandwich, to do anything to keep him around a little while longer. Instead, I stand mute as he walks away.
I’m ogling his superb ass when he suddenly turns his head and catches me in the act. I look up as quickly as I can, but I’m pretty sure it was obvious to him.
“See you around. Sorry about the noise.”
I try to speak but end up half-smiling as I nod and close the door. Immediately I peer out the peephole and watch him walk away. Only when he’s out of sight do I resume breathing normally.
My god, what is wrong with me?
He’s just a construction worker, and probably ten years younger than me at that. Why on earth should I feel intimidated by merely talking to him?
In fact, this Zane guy is easy-going and kind of charming. The only thing scary about him is how badly I suddenly want to fuck him—a desire I’ve never felt with other men until I’ve gotten to know them first.
I hurry to my bedroom and peel off my bathing suit, anxious to grab my trusty Hitachi wand and finish what I started. Only this time, I have a much better mental image to fantasize about.
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Also by Alexis Adaire
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FIRE CAUTION: The contents of Slow Burn are extremely hot and might cause arousal.
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Hollywood Bad Boys Club is a collection of four full-length books about a group of Hollywood alpha males who pride themselves on the many women they bed while avoiding messy emotional entanglements -- until they meet the women who change everything.
If you like your bad boys very bad, this is the series for you.
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Book 3: Marcus
Marcus Jennings: I’m an All-Star forward for the legendary Los Angeles Lakers, and I live for the thrill of the game and of making opponents bend to my will. Sometimes that means basketball, sometimes it means women. The world is divided between the people who appreciate what I do, and those who think I'm an asshole, but that second group can go to hell. Marcus Jennings wasn't put on this planet to make friends or keep people happy. I’m here to do what I do best: score.
Rashida Blanchard: From the first moment I laid eyes on Marcus, when he walked totally naked into my life, his astounding body and devastatingly handsome features burned into my brain and refused to leave. There are two problems with me being so attracted to him, though: Marcus is the most immature jerk I've ever met, and I'm the mother of a six-year-old boy and can't afford a second childish male in my life.
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Lincoln Ramirez: I'm no hero. I was just in the right place at the right time to save a little girl's life. And sure, the resulting attention led to my meeting Raven, who's an incredible lover and an even better woman. The problem is that I don't do relationships. Period. B
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Saving Her Harem Page 14