by Nikki Ashton
“Eight-thirty tomorrow it is.”
As we said goodbye, I heard voices on the other side of my office door and I knew it was time I made peace with them all – maybe take them for a drink and see if I couldn’t get myself out of the sour mood I’d fallen into.
Katie
As I expected, the house was a mess when I got home and not one child was around to bollock about the shoes and clothes hanging around, or the piles of DVDs out of their boxes and spread across the floor. To be fair, I wasn’t in the mood for a row, so I picked it all up with a sigh and prayed for the days when my children were away at University, or picking up after their own kids.
Once I’d finished, I went looking for Annie, seeing as she was so desperate for a lift. I found her in her room, completing the major process of contouring, insisting that there was no way she could be interrupted.
“I’m at a really critical part, Mum,” she complained, without taking her eyes from the mirror on her dresser. “Do you want me to look like a drag queen?”
“They can at least walk in stilettos,” I muttered, as I studied what I thought used to be a half-eaten sandwich and now looked like a dead vole.
“I can walk in stilettos,” Annie admonished before sucking in her cheeks.
“Yeah, you can. You just happen to look like a constipated, baby giraffe while you do it.” I flashed her a smile in the mirror. “Anyway, I’m ready when you are, for your lift.”
A large makeup brush paused in mid-air, as Annie gave me a look that might have made a lesser man wither.
“Come on, chop, chop. I want to get back in time to watch the Grantley James film that’s coming on.”
“Ugh, that is so wrong,” Annie groaned. “He’s young enough to be your son.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Forty-five and he’s twenty-nine.”
“Which would mean I would have been sixteen when I had him, so no, I’m not old enough to be his mother - what sort of girl do you think I was?”
Remembering shagging Carl behind the science block at school, I averted my daughter’s gaze in the mirror. It was one thing me knowing how fast and loose I’d been, but I didn’t want her to know about it.
“I know what sort of girl you were,” she said, going back to drawing stripes on her face with makeup. “Dad told me.”
“No he did not,” I protested, knowing full well he probably had.
My ex-husband was the proverbial ‘cool dad’, who told his kids whatever they wanted to know. That included telling them he and I took each other’s virginity when I was fifteen and he was sixteen, before splitting up eighteen months later for four years while he shagged anything that moved and I grew out my underarm hair and became the sex slave of an older man. Obviously I didn’t; grow out my underarm hair, I mean – I did have sex with an older man though. Even though it was years before and we were now divorced, Carl was still sore about the fact that when we split up I went out with Ryan, who happened to be four years older than me and also the star striker of the local, semi-professional football team. Carl always wanted to be a professional footballer but was rubbish at it. Carl also hated that I’d told him Ryan had been the best sex I’d ever had. Cruel maybe, but true, mostly due to Ryan’s monster cock and amazing tongue. What can I say, I was pissed on Prosecco when I told him and we were on the precipice of splitting up.
“He did, Mum. It was when he was giving me the old sex talk.”
“When the hell did your dad give you the sex talk? And more to the point, why?” My eyes felt as though they were on stalks. “We agreed I’d give it to you. He’d tell the boys, but you were down to me.”
I started to seethe. If he’d included Sophie Tit Wank in that little chat, I’d be pissed. Just because she was closer to Annie’s age than her husband’s, didn’t mean I wanted her giving my little girl ‘the talk’.
“Was Sophie there?” I asked, trying not to sound like a sulky child.
“Oh God no.” Annie grimaced. “As if I’d take advice from a woman who got herself knocked up by a man old enough to be her dad. That’s just careless.”
I resisted the urge to fist pump at the fact that my daughter didn’t think too highly of her step-mother. I liked Sophie, she was good for Carl and a great mum to their little girl, but she was bloody twenty-six, had perky tits, long, glossy, black hair and probably didn’t have a dry fanny or sweat dripping between her perky tits and down the backs of her legs at any given moment. And did I say she was twenty-six?
“Did I tell you that Sophie Tit Wank is getting a tattoo?” Annie asked, tilting her head from side to side to check herself in the mirror.
“No and don’t call her that.”
I bit my lip to stop the giggle. It had been Isaac that had coined Sophie’s nickname. He said all he could think of whenever Carl said her name was a soapy tit wank. I did point out that image was a little sick, but Isaac just grunted and said ‘what’s more sick is that she probably sucks Dad’s wrinkly, old dick’. Thankfully, Charlie was upstairs fast asleep, otherwise, I wouldn’t have howled with laughter and peed in my pants a tiny bit. I guess you could say Carl and I weren’t the most appropriate of parents, but hey, no one gave us a rule book the day I pushed out my first nine pound, screaming bundle of joy.
“Okay, Sophie is getting a tattoo.”
“What of?” I asked, desperately hoping she was getting a penis tattooed in her cleavage.
Annie rolled her eyes. “A bloody dream catcher with Dad’s name written around it.”
“That’s…well it’s…sweet.”
Shit, I wanted to gag. If I’d have done that Carl would have laughed his head off, taken a photo, and posted it on Facebook with the comment ‘Look what the dick head wife has done’.
“What does your dad think of the idea?” I asked, putting down the plate of dead vole.
“Oh, he thinks it’s a wonderful idea. Say’s it’ll be beautiful.”
God, he really had changed. Oh well, fair play to Sophie, she’d certainly worked her magic on him.
“Right,” Annie said, jumping up. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Let me check on the boys first.”
“I’ll wait by the car,” Annie huffed. “Please don’t be long, Mum. We’re going to walk past football training.”
I caught hold of Annie’s wrist and pulled her to a stop. “Are you telling me that,” I said, circling a finger in the area of her fully made up face, “is to walk past the football pitch?”
“Yeah, of course it is. Jamie Hollister and Harry Baker are playing.” With that she walked out, only pausing to bang on her brothers’ bedroom door. “Night dick heads, have fun.”
Shaking my head, I picked up the plate with the mouldy sandwich/rodent and followed her. I, however, didn’t call my sons dick heads, but knocked twice before walking into their room.
“Will you two be okay while I take Annie to Sally’s?”
My sweet Charlie looked up through his dark blond hair that was brushing his eyes and grinned. “I’m kicking his butt, Mum.”
“Only because I’m letting you, squirt.” Without looking away from the game they were playing, Isaac reached out a hand and ruffled Charlie’s hair.
“Whatever.”
Isaac gave a grunt as he missed an open goal and glanced at me. “We’ll be fine. Can you bring pizza back?”
“Yeah,” Charlie cried. “Can we have pizza, Mum?”
It was Friday and I really didn’t want to cook. “Okay. Half and half?”
“Yeah, please.”
“And garlic bread,” Charlie added, before going back to the game.
And I was dismissed, leaving the boys to their game and actually feeling thankful for having three wonderful, if idiotic kids – but I’d still be glad when they left home.
Dex
“Come on, Dex,” Nate, my piercer, cried from across the table. “Just one more.”
“No way.” I waved him away. “I need food and sleep. I’l
l see you all tomorrow.”
“Spoilsport.” Megan, one of my tattoo artists, teased while curled into her boyfriend Topper’s side - my other tattooist. “You’re no fun anymore.”
“It’s his age,” Topper added, lifting the top hat that got him his name.
“And you can shut the fuck up,” I warned.
Topper had finally come clean about booking in the kid, and not giving him a consultation appointment. Apparently, it had been a day when Scarlett was at the dentist and we were pulled out of the place. I’d have given him another lecture, but I knew it had been a one off, so I left it alone.
“Get some more beers guys.” I placed a couple of twenties down on the table. “And I’ll see you all in the morning.”
After waving goodbye, I left the bar and made my way to the local pizza place for some takeout. I didn’t eat pizza often, but there was no way I was cooking when I got home.
Pushing open the door, the smell of grease and cheese hit me and my stomach growled. There were already a couple of people at the counter ordering, but for a Friday night it was pretty quiet. As one guy moved to the side to wait, I moved up, placed my order, and then sat in one of the chairs lining the room. While picking up yesterday’s newspaper from the rack, the door opened and someone cursing caught my attention. I looked up to see a woman on her hands and knees, scrabbling for what looked like the entire contents of her bag all over the floor.
“Stupid damn bag,” she moaned, crawling towards me. “Shit.”
Her hand reached under my chair, but whatever she was trying to pick up was evidently out of her reach.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“No problem. Here let me help.”
As she looked up at me, her mouth gaped open and her eyes went wide.
“Bloody hell,” she gasped.
I couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corner of my lips. She was real pretty, with blue eyes so light they were almost grey. She had dark blonde hair piled on top of her head, plus an amazing cleavage that was trying hard to bust out of the top of her shirt.
“I’m sorry.” She flung a hand to her chest, covering up the spectacular view. “I didn’t mean…you’re just…wow.”
I burst out laughing as she gazed up at me. I wasn’t a bad looking guy and had done some modeling in my younger days, mostly for tattoo magazines and a couple of men’s health type journals, but these days my stubble and hair were silver and the cheekbones weren’t quite so pronounced.
“Well thanks for the compliment,” I said, holding out my hand. “Appreciate it, I’m Dex. Dex Michaels.”
Lifting her hand from the floor, the hot mess of a woman wiped it on her jeans, and then offered it to me. “Katie Grainger.”
“Well Katie, how about you get up off that not so clean floor and I’ll get whatever it is that’s gone under my chair.”
“Nooo,” she replied, shaking her head. “You really don’t want to get those lovely jeans dirty. Mine are ready for the wash anyway. If you could just open your legs, I could get under there and reach it.”
Katie ducked her head and peered under my chair, but as I opened my legs as requested, her head bobbed back up.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, but not so quietly I couldn’t hear.
I glanced down and noticed she was in direct eye line with my crotch. Now any man will tell you, when you’re sitting down and you’re wearing slim fit jeans, your bulge definitely looks, well… bulgier. Not that I’m not a proud man, I am, but I figured what I was packing had been a little bit enhanced for Katie’s eyes to be bogging out so far.
“So, you manage to reach it?” I asked, trying to take the emphasis away from my dick.
Katie colored up and closed her eyes. “No,” she ground out, sounding pained.
“Let me move my chair, it might help.”
As she silently nodded, still with her eyes closed, I tried hard not to laugh. Problem was, when I moved the chair and peered closely at what she was trying to reach, I couldn’t help it. My laugh was loud and fucking hearty, deep from the pit of my gut.
Lying next to a discarded coke bottle was a pink tube emblazoned with ‘Vagisoothe, the perfect cream for Vagina relief’.
“Oh shit.” Katie must have opened her eyes and seen me looking. “Can I be any more humiliated?”
Stemming my laughter, I coughed and reached for the tube and handed it to her.
“Did you lose anything else?” I asked, as she shoved it into her bag.
“Apart from my dignity, no,” she said in a quiet voice. “I think that’s everything. Thank you for your help.”
“No problem.” I smiled, shifted my chair back into place, and sat down.
As I did, the guy behind the counter shouted. “Dex, did you have dough balls?”
“Bloody hell,” Katie said under her breath. “And I thought a dry fanny was bad.”
Katie
I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. If heaven smelled of garlic and chips, then I definitely was there. Dex, the man sitting on the plastic chair with my head between his legs, was absolutely gorgeous.
I’d always thought men with grey hair were old and wrinkly and took their teeth out to suck on mint imperials. Not this one though. This one had silver stubble, bright blue eyes, and thick, luscious, swept back hair that was a mixture of dark grey and silver. When he leaned forward, his navy shirt gaped a little to reveal a dark, tanned chest and a hint of a tattoo. With defined, almost aristocratic features, he was beautiful. In fact, when he spoke in an accent that sounded like he should be wearing a Stetson and riding a horse, I nearly bloody exploded.
Pity I made an idiot of myself, and he caught me looking at the lump in his jeans, not to mention the bloody cream for my dry fangita. He actually laughed at that, so I supposed that wasn’t so bad. I could have forgotten it all, if he’d taken his order and run, but it wasn’t ready. So once I ordered, the only place left to sit was next to him.
“I think you need a new bag,” Dex said, nodding at my ancient tote bag with the now broken handle.
“Yes, I think so. Unless I can stitch it.”
“Cool picture, by the way.”
I picked the bag up and placed it on my knee, looking down at the unicorn rearing onto its back legs.
“My son drew it a few years ago. He’s amazing at art.”
Dex pulled the bag closer to him. “There’s a lot of detail. He’s real good. How old is he?”
“He’s nineteen now,” I sighed. “And working in a record shop.”
I tried not to sound judgemental when I said it, but I bloody well was. Isaac’s two years at sixth form had been a total waste of time – unless of course you counted his success with the number of girls he’d bedded. At one time I was buying him a box of twelve condoms every week, so he was either going through women quicker than it took to sell tickets to the Magic Mike show, or he was being very childish and using them as water balloons.
“Do they still have those?” Dex asked. “Record shops.”
“Well they do, but I don’t think many people use it.” I dropped my bag to the floor and sat back in the plastic chair. “I have a feeling he could be without a job very soon.”
Dex nodded and turned to the counter. “They’re a little slow in here tonight,” he said.
I guessed that was secret code for ‘I wish they’d hurry up, because I really don’t want to sit next to you and your dry fanny any longer’, but he was evidently too nice to say.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, as Dex glanced at his mobile.
“I have an apartment a few blocks down.”
I thought for a moment. “Oh, you have a flat a couple of streets away.”
Dex laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. I keep forgetting I’m not in the US any longer.”
“You been here long?”
“A little over two years. Born and raised in Dallas, but my mom was British. She was from Manchester, actually. She always wanted me to live here, so she made sure
I had dual citizenship.”
He looked at me and smiled, and I was pretty sure my nipples went ‘pow, pow’, actually making that noise, as they popped out. I looked away, feeling all giddy like a schoolgirl on a first date. Blimey, imagine what he would have done to me had we been on an actual date.
“Dex,” the guy behind the counter shouted.
“I guess I’m up,” Dex said, half-turning in his seat and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Katie.”
I took his hand, and shook it once again, and just as the first time I did it, my breath whooshed out of my lungs.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I replied and inhaled deeply.
I watched him and his sexy bum walk to the counter and pay for his food, and then I watched him and his sexy bum walk out of the door and off into the distance. I even stood up and craned my neck until I couldn’t see him any longer.
“Katie.”
I heard my name called and on instinct, shouted.
“Dex!”
I drove home to the boys in a complete daze, because all I could think about was Dex’s bluebell coloured eyes that seemed to twinkle when he smiled. He was just…I had no words to explain what he was, but that he’d affected me. Stupid though it sounded, he’d made me feel excited and giggly – and happy that a gorgeous man had taken the time to talk to me, albeit not for long, and not dismiss me as a batty middle-aged woman.
It felt momentous and I needed to tell someone, so decided after pizza, while the boys got back to their game, I’d escape to my room to call Mandy.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve already read that shit book Belinda is making us read.”
“God, no,” I replied, rearranging the pillows behind me. “What do you think I am, teacher’s pet?”
“I’m not even going to read it, Jim is reading it for me.”
“That’s cheating,” I protested, a little miffed that I hadn’t thought of it. I bet Annie would have loved to read about a woman’s struggle in the world of snooker – yeah, Belinda had some weird ideas on books.