Lady Parts

by Loren

  “You want too much, Liam, and it’s too soon,” she said, giving him more truth than she wanted to reveal. Her trust came with time and consistency.

  “Alright. I get and respect that.” She watched him come to a silent understanding in his mind. “Are you hungry?” The subject change came too quick for her to follow.

  “What?”

  “Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast,” he said with a smile.

  “Um. No,” she said. “I don’t usually eat breakfast ... Just a piece of fruit and then lunch,” she explained so he didn’t think she was rejecting him again.

  “Ok, then I’ll just get out of your hair. I bet you’re busy and I have some things to do.” He pulled his hand from hers and rolled out of bed.

  “Right,” she said, pushing herself up to watch him get dress.

  “What are you doing later tonight?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gene said. What day is it? Friday.

  He wiggled a little to get into his pants, buttoning them before pulling his shirt over his arms. “Well if you’re not busy, I’d like to take you out to dinner again tonight,” he said, turning back to her with a smile as he buttoned each one, hiding his chiseled chest inch by inch. No matter what day of the week it was, she’d always be available for dinner. The garage always closed at five and no matter what extra work she had to do, she was usually gone by five thirty.

  “Um... I guess I’m free.”

  “Great,” he said, not buttoning his shirt the entire way before sliding his feet into his shoes. “Same time?”

  “Sure,” she said, still not quite sure what was happening.

  He walked around her bedside and leaned in just enough to put a tiny peck on her lips. “See you tonight then,” he said as he walked out the door. She waited for something else to happen, but nothing did. She didn’t even hear him walking down the steps or her front door closing.

  “Jesus,” Gene said, bumping her head softly against the wall. “What am I doing?” she groaned aloud.

  A quick glance at the clock told her she would be late if she continued to sit and flirt with the idea of having an existential crisis. She was already later than she liked to be.

  She jumped from the bed and quickly ran through her morning routine. Shower, hair slicked into a ponytail, jeans, t-shirt, grab an apple, drive to work.

  “Look what the cat finally dragged in,” Rick yelled as Gene walked quickly from her car to the office.

  “Shut up, Rick! You do what you want when you’re the boss,” she said with her middle finger raised as she walked into her office and closed the door.

  She wouldn’t give him the benefit of knowing he was getting under her skin. He was like that kid on the playground that bullied you because he liked you and Gene didn’t have time for any of that. She didn’t like him, she didn’t like the way he tried to flirt, and she didn’t like the environment he created for the women in the garage. She hadn’t missed the way he looked at some of the girls. If he weren't such a good mechanic and willing to apologize every time she called him out on his behavior, she would have fired him already.

  With her half-eaten apple, she pressed the button on the answering machine to listen to her voicemails as she flipped through the envelopes of mail on her desk.

  “You have two new messages.”

  “Good Morning. This message is for Genevieve Higgins from Bank of America. Please call me back.”

  Gene hurried to write the woman’s name and number down before saving the message. She never ran from calls like that even though she knew it would be about money, she tried to let her creditors know she wasn’t running. She was always honest about what she could pay and when she would have more. That seemed to have better results than dodging them.

  “Next message.”

  “Gene. It’s me ... Liam,” he chuckled. “Just wanted to make sure you got to work okay. Call me or send a text. Whatever you want. Have a good day at work.”

  “To save this message, press five, to delete this message, press nine.”

  Her finger hovered over the nine, but she pressed five.

  “Message saved. No new messages.”

  Gene called the bank and waited as it rang. “May I speak to Denise Burton please?”

  She was transferred, and it wasn’t too long of her listening to the elevator music before a woman answered.

  “Hi. Genevieve, thanks for calling me back.”

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “I was calling to let you know that your request for a loan has been denied,” she said, her voice slowing and ending on a low note in an attempt to sound apologetic. Gene would have to see her face to know if it was sincere. “I’m sorry. Your application just wasn’t as strong as some others, and the bank doesn’t want to take on that kind of risk.”

  “But I have consistent customers, and my projection table doesn’t have a large margin of error,” Gene said, not quite willing to accept defeat.

  “I understand Ms. Higgins but—”

  “It’s Stewart,” Gene said, unable to keep her frustration out of her tone.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Gene Stewart. Not Higgins.” Not anymore. She changed her name back before the divorce papers were final, knowing that her marriage was dead and there was nothing of Arnold’s she wanted to keep. She already had all the heartbreak he gave her without a receipt to return it. She hadn’t wanted to keep anything else.

  “My apologies,” she said. “Ms. Stewart, as I was saying, it’s a no from us.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Gene said, clenching the phone hoping she wouldn’t cry on the phone.

  “No. I’m sorry. In six months, feel free to resubmit an application, but for right now, it’s a no.”

  “Okay,” she said, making sure she didn’t sound defeated.

  “Alright. Have a nice day.”

  “You too,” Gene said and waited for Denise to hang up before the sob slipped out. She covered her mouth, not willing to risk Thomas hearing her. She closed her eyes forcing herself to breathe. She couldn’t afford to collapse in on herself. If she did, who knew how long it would take to pull herself back out.

  Instead, she dialed someone else.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Liam,” she said, automatically making her voice sound normal. She couldn’t break if she was on the phone with him. “I got your message.”

  “Good. I hope you didn’t think it’s too much but I just wanted to know you got in safe.”

  “I appreciate it. I made it in. About tonight though ... Look, I just don’t feel like going out,” she said, hoping that was a good enough excuse.

  “Okay. No problem. Want to order in?” he offered. She felt another wave of emotion and realized she needed to accept the offer. She wouldn’t break if he was with her, and she needed to keep her head above water.

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “Sounds good.”

  “Got a taste for anything specific,” he asked.

  “Nope. You pick. I’m not picky, and I have cookies left over from last night. Just bring the food, and I’ll bring the wine,” she said.

  “Okay good. Then I’ll see you a little later... maybe six thirty?”

  “Works for me,” she said and hung up.

  It was time to lose herself in the music of mechanics repair. She couldn’t cry if she were doing that. Right?

  11

  At six thirty p.m., the doorbell rang and Gene, dressed in jean shorts and cute t-shirt, answered and found Liam on her front porch with plastic bags lining his arm and a vase in his hand.

  He smirked at her expression. “I noticed you didn’t have one,” he said, holding it up so she could see the fine detail etched in the glass and she opened the door wide enough for him to walk in.

  Her cheeks heated in embarrassment and frustration. He must have seen the wannabe vase on his way out from their impromptu slumber party. “I just ... I don’t get flowers ... never have.
You know? I’m not the kind of girl people send flowers to, and I didn’t want to leave them out ... they’d die.”

  It sounded pathetic even to her.

  “No, I get it,” he said, taking the flowers out of her makeshift vase and placed them into his. She watched him move as he talked, scrutinizing the thick glass of the vase. “I’m not judging at all. I’m just grateful you didn’t leave them out on the table or something.” He walked around to the sink to fill the vase with water before setting it back on the table. It looked too expensive to be in her kitchen, and she wondered when the flowers died where she would place it. “You want this?” He held up her plastic creation, and she shook her head no. He smiled and threw it in the trash can. “You get an A for effort.”

  She hated that saying. She should have remembered to get a real vase. He shouldn’t have been in her house to even see it. Her mind was going warp speed as he unpacked the bags he brought with him. He was buying another thing for her, taking up space in her home and leaving reminders of what they had everywhere. He was making it unavoidable to believe this was nothing. He was here and she wished he wasn’t so she could think. Her hand hovered in their air, taking refuge at her mouth as she tried to work through all she was feeling. She needed to say something. Since the divorce, she made sure to speak her mind more often but what was courage if you didn’t know what to say?

  He didn’t interrupt her thoughts as he set the food out one carton by one until the bags were empty. Then he went to the utensil drawer and set the table. Gene felt like an idiot standing, watching him without saying anything, but she was afraid one word would lead to her saying too much. She preferred to suffer in silence than let someone in.

  “Please sit.” He gestured to the chair nearest to her and for the first time, she really looked at him. His casual wear was as sexy as his date attire. One cotton shirt, clinging to the muscle of his chest and jeans that hung comfortably low on his hips. What a man. She sat and listened to him as he continued, “Tonight, it’s Italian. I got spaghetti, linguini in alfredo, and a small lasagna. Your choice.” He moved around the kitchen with familiar steps only sitting down once the table was set.

  “Wow.”

  He chuckled. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  It was. She reached over for the lasagna instead of speaking, and he laughed harder. “Well. My day was great. Thanks for asking. I also got us a movie. I assumed you weren’t a chick flick kind of girl, so I got one of my favorite movies.” He paused, maybe expecting her to ask which movie it was but she continued scooping out noodles. He would say what it was eventually. “It’s called Mr. and Mrs. Smith. There’s love, action, and spies. Could you ask for anything else?” he joked, and Gene shrugged. She had already seen that movie, and it was good enough for her to see it again. They ate in silence before he tried again. “How was your day?”

  “It was alright. Got a lot done and I’m tired.”

  She hadn’t realized she was rolling her shoulders until he said, “Need a massage? I bet you’re tense.”

  “I’m good,” she said, taking another bite. She couldn’t afford a massage.

  “Are you sure? Because I’ve been told I have magic fingers. It would help you relax a little.”

  Oh. She realized he hadn’t been telling her to get one. He wanted to give her the massage. He wanted to put his hands on her body and relax her. The thought thrilled and scared her. A massage did sound good, but it also sounded a lot like intimacy she didn’t want to have.

  “I don’t want to be bothersome.”

  “How could you be a bother when I offered?”

  She sighed. Why couldn’t he take the hint without her directly saying no? She didn’t need any more opportunities to have her body under his hands. But the idea of it was so damn tempting. “I am sore.”

  “So, it’s settled then, after dinner, I’ll give you the best rub down money can’t buy.” She chewed her bottom lip, debating if she should back out, and then nodded her head. He looked pleased and excited for them to finish eating. What was she getting herself into?

  Dinner was much like their first time eating together. They sat across from each other but this time, a vase with real flowers sat between them and rain wasn’t in the forecast. Liam seemed unaffected by the silence and in the emptiness, Gene ate, determined to clear up her thoughts before the night was over. When they finished, he stood, taking the dishes to the sink.

  “Leave them,” Gene said rubbing her forehead. “I’ll get to them later.”

  “You sure?” he said. “I can wash them myself if you want to relax.”

  “I’m sure. Let’s go,” she said choosing not to prolong the inevitable.

  “Want to watch the movie during or ... I could turn on some music,” he said, clearing the remnant of trash from the table.

  Music seemed too intimate. “Movie,” she said, grabbing the DVD and taking it to the living room.

  “We won’t be able to do it in here.”

  She stopped mid-step. “Why?”

  “Where would you lie?”

  She looked around at her furniture. She had a couch and a love seat and they weren’t that big. She lived alone and didn’t need things taking up too much space. Unless she chose to lay on the floor, which would be uncomfortable for both of them, she’d have to invite him upstairs. Not that he hadn’t been up there once before in the heat of the night, but she had been trying to avoid repeating that. She turned seeing the uncertainty on his face before it changed to something neutral as he waited for her response.

  “Guess we're going upstairs,” she said and turned toward the stairs. He knew the way, no need to check if he was following her.

  “Who is this?” he said, stopping to stare at some pictures in the stairwell.

  “Those are my best friends, Charlotte, Ginger, and Sheila. That’s me and my little brother Greg,” she said, pointing at another picture, “and that’s both sets of my grandparents.”

  “You have a lovely family,” he said, and she continued walking. How would he know? Pictures were deceiving. They had a way of saying whatever you wanted. She had plenty of pictures with Arnold that were nothing but lies.

  “Since you didn’t get the tour last time,” she said at the top of the landing, “my office, guest bathroom, laundry room—” she continued down the hall “—and my room.”

  She had never considered how her room might look through the eyes of a stranger, not even after last night. It was simple in design and color scheme. Black and gold. She found those colors calming. Her bed with a nightstand on each side was the focal point of the room, queen-sized and in the center of the wall with a chest at the foot of it. The chest had extra blankets and some of her winter clothes in it. To the right was her closet and a yoga mat she never wrapped up. To the left was her bathroom and mounted on the outside wall was her TV.

  "Put the movie in," she said, handing the DVD to Liam. "I'm going to get freshened up."

  "Do you have any oil?" he asked as he approached her small entertainment center. "Coconut oil, massage oil, even baby oil really."

  "I'll check," she said, taking another step towards the bathroom.

  "And it would be better if you were topless," he said just before she disappeared into the bathroom. "I can't give you a proper massage through your clothes."

  She closed the door without responding and looked through her drawer for any long-forgotten massage gels. Her bottom drawer kept things she hadn't used in too long. Old condoms, lube, and coconut oil. Dust had collected on everything.

  She rinsed the coconut oil off, carefully avoiding her reflection. What would she see if she looked in her own eyes? Her mental fatigue, her desire, or her terror? Why was being vulnerable so terrifying? She could hear the movie previews playing on the other side of the door. She couldn't make him wait forever. One yank pulled her shirt over her head, and since she was halfway there, she pulled off her pants as well. Dressed in only her cotton boy short panties, she splashed warm wat
er on her face, took a deep breath, put on her silk robe, and walked out.

  "Found some," she said, holding the container up. "Where do you want me?"

  "Comfortable on the bed, where you can see the TV," he said.

  She nodded and laid in the center of the bed vertically with a pillow propping her up to see the TV on the side without putting a crick in her neck.

  "Ready?" he asked, flicking the lights off.

  "Sure," she said.

  He pressed a few buttons and the previews cut off abruptly, then the movie began to play.

  "I need you to take this off," he said, pulling gently on the satin robe. She could make out his silhouette in her peripheral vision as she leaned up to slide her arms out the robe. She let it pool at her lower back instead of completely revealing herself. The bed dipped as Liam climbed on and straddled her back. Gene could feel his corded leg muscles against her back.

  "All good?"

  "Yeah," she murmured.

  The scent of coconut permeated the air and Gene heard Liam rub his hands together. "Here we go." His hands were warm and firm as he grabbed her shoulders and kneaded the muscles. He knew what he was doing as he worked the oil into her skin, down her back, and over her sides. She tensed as his hands caressed the side of her breasts.

  She was wrong. Liam’s hands did have callouses; they weren’t rough, but it was clear she misjudged him the first time she saw him. He knew what to do with his hands, and whatever he did, he did it often.

  "Relax," he whispered, and she took a deep breath, doing her best to focus on the movie.

  Liam worked her over like a professional, digging his thumbs into all knots, bordering on painful until the pressure receded and there was nothing but pleasure. She fidgeted, struggling to stay still and wanting to moan aloud.

  "Are you okay?"

  It felt so good.

  "Uh huh," she panted.

  "Are you sure? If I'm hurting you, you let me know," he said, sliding his palms downward and pushing into her lower back. Gene fisted the sheets at her side fighting a losing battle to hold her moan in. She turned her head, letting it slip out, muffled against the pillow. Liam didn’t seem to notice. "You're so tense," he said, pressing firmer into it, causing her to moan louder. "Gene, you're really tense. Do you want me to keep going?"