by Joyia Marie
“I’ve got three sisters, a mother and have had numerous female friends. It takes a little more than a box of tampons to embarrass me,” he said when he got back.
“Okay,” I said and tried to put it out of my mind. Then I got a little irritated. Where did he think the feminine hygiene products went? On the cedar chest I was using as a coffee table in a decorative bowl? Then I looked at him, saw that mischievous twinkle, and got that he was teasing me. Ha, ha, I thought and tried again to put it out of my mind.
It didn’t matter anyway, he and I were just neighbors, maybe friends, and if I liked the way his place looked, then maybe contractor and homeowner. My use of tampons wouldn’t affect any of those relationships.
Soon everything was put away such as that was and he led me over to his place. He had a nice behind in those jeans and I admired it, as it deserved to be admired. Come on, I was married, not dead, and a woman would have to be three months dead not to notice this man.
Beautiful copper colored skin, jet-black hair a little past his shoulders and devilish dark brown eyes that twinkled with mischief. Oh yeah, I could see why this man had numerous female friends. I was just hoping that I could be one once the ink was dry on my divorce. He would make a lovely ‘welcome back to the single life’ gift.
I wondered at his ethnicity. Living amongst the artsy crowd made that a non-issue, but I still wondered what race had made something so pretty. His skin color hinted at Native American. His full lips and dark eyes hinted at African American. I gave up and knew I would never ask. I wondered if there was a new race called Yummy American and he was the poster boy for what Mother Nature could do when she decided to show off.
I wasn’t one to talk. My olive skin hinted at Italian, but my curly black hair, let me know there might be some coffee in my cream. Another reason the picture my mother gave me of the Nordic John Dudley didn’t ring true. I took my coloring after her, but my features were an ongoing mystery.
I gaped in open-mouthed wonder. Even Aiden’s beauty couldn’t distract me from the beauty around me. Aiden had completely transformed his loft. It was still an open plan and I could see the edge of a bed on the second floor but it was beautiful.
The top floor was shut off, but the space was still light and airy. He had worked some magic with skylights to bring light into his interior loft. The lofts were set three across and three behind for a total of six, which meant the middle lofts only had exterior walls in the front. The sides were walls between the lofts.
The middle lofts were cheaper because of this, which is why my painter friend was able to afford one, but I picked an outside one. The extra money was worth the light and I knew I’d go crazy without some natural light.
Aiden had fixed that issue by installing big windows on either side of his front door, made of glass block, then brought light into the rest of the place with skylights. You would never even notice the lack of windows on the sides.
The floor was sealed concrete, which in my opinion was the only way to go. Why buy an industrial space, then turn it into a ranch house on the inside. You could always warm it up with some area rugs, which Aiden is what had done. Industrial meant brick, concrete, and pipes. He had all these and his colors were various shades of blue with black and cream accents.
I would love to know who his decorator was. I couldn’t see a straight man putting together a space like this. Then I gave Aiden another long longing look. ‘Oh please be straight, please be straight’, I chanted in my head. Aiden gave me a strange look and I smiled brightly. It didn’t matter and might be the best thing for me if he was batting for the other team.
“Oh, Aiden this is beautiful,” I said when I could finally speak.
I walked the lower level and wandered up to the bedroom. He had it laid out as one big space with a bed, dresser and a big screen TV. The furniture was black, the floor was painted black and it looked very edgy and New York. I pushed away the thought of his big muscular body spread across those cream satin sheets and kept exploring.
He had a bathroom on this level done in black and white subway tile about half way up the walls. The top half was mirrored tile, which gave you a 360-degree view. Any woman’s dream bathroom and I wondered where the woman was who belonged here.
Aiden was much too attractive to be wondering around free-range and his talk about female friends, let me know there was definite interest. Good to know the female population of Fort Worth wasn’t blind. Unless he really meant friend-friend, I thought as I considered the magazine layout appearance of his loft.
There was a door leading to the third floor, but I ignored it. In the creative community, you learned a door meant private even more than it did anywhere else did. Private as in private workspace, a space to commune with your muse. Fortunately, my muse was a chatty bitch who could and would strike up a conversation damn near anywhere and had. However, I understood some creative folk needed a separate sacred space to work.
Grandma Gert was like that. You could get your head knocked off if you intruded on her studio without invitation. I did wonder what Aiden did up there, but it was none of my business and I would be setting up my space differently anyway.
The way I was picturing my space was the first floor as living, dining, and office space. Open except maybe some partitions. Maybe that glass block if I could find it. The second floor would be broken up into three bedrooms and one or two baths if they could fit, and the third would be my bedroom suite. Climbing two flights of stairs would be a bit of a push, but my body changed after having the twins, so I took exercise wherever I could find it.
“Yeah, I think it came out pretty okay,” he said modestly.
I gave him a playful push on the arm. This was more than okay, this was a miracle. It was hard to believe his place and my place were in the same building. I ignored the leap my libido gave when I felt his firm, warm flesh under my hand. Okay, I told myself; keep your hands to yourself.
“So is this what you were picturing for yours?” he asked.
“Yes, but no,” I said. “The downstairs is a dream and you must give me the name of your decorator.”
“What makes you think I used a decorator?” he asked with a smile and eased into my space.
I lost my train of thought when he laid another one of his killer smiles on me. Those smiles should be registered, I thought languidly as I imagined taking his full lower lip between my teeth and giving it a little nip. No, no, I told myself shaking off the spell of smooth skin and sparkling eyes. Bad married woman, bad married woman, I chided myself.
Chapter Fifteen: Helen
I eased back and around Aiden before I ended up pressed against the wall. I stood there with an open mouth trying to figure out how to answer his question. How to I say I hoped you used a decorator because I hope you like girls without it being obvious I hoped to be a girl he would like. Yes, for all you homophobic freaks out there, I know not all male decorators are gay, but I’ve been around enough to know what the odds are so save the cards and letters.
I really hoped Aiden would be around in about 3 to 6 months or however long, it took my divorce to go through. I made a mental note to call Mr. Pierce, the attorney who handled my LV business and get a recommendation for a good divorce lawyer.
I didn’t think Harold would kick up too much of a fuss as this was his idea. He could have and would have custody, but I wanted generous visitation. While I would pay child support if ordered, I wanted to keep Harold’s, and by extension, Jillian’s, greasy little fingers off my money.
I also needed to know if there was a way to keep LV out of the proceeding. All it would take was one nosy parker and there were many involved in this situation to get a copy of the divorce proceeding and my big secret would be a secret no more. Above all things, my babies must be protected.
“Okay, okay,” Aiden said with a grin after he gave me a minute to work on my fish out of water impression. Damn, his grins are as deadly as his smiles, I thought absently. “I’ll give you my sister’
s card when you get to that point. I’m surprised though, I thought women liked doing that kind of stuff for themselves.”
“Yeah, I know what I like, but I’m not the best in putting it all together or knowing where to get it,” I admitted, hoping I wouldn’t have to turn in my girl card for that.
“So, your sister, huh? I guess you like to keep it all in the family,” I said to divert attention away from my lack of female chops.
“Yeah, she majored in interior design so it was a natural when I took over the contracting from my dad. He had a stroke a couple of years ago and the doctor and my mother forced him to retire. My mother swore she would leave him if he didn’t. She said she hadn’t spent 30 years married to him just to sit back and watch him work himself to death,” Aiden explained with justifiable pride.
I felt a strange welling in my eyes. Aiden’s parents were married for over 30 years, Harold’s parents were married over 60, and I couldn’t even make it to 15? How sad is that, I thought and blinked before a tear could fall. I must be PMS’ing I thought. I don’t cry.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, taking my face in his hands and brushing a gentle thumb against my wet lashes. “What’s all this? I didn’t mean to make you cry. My dad’s fine. My parents bought an RV and are currently touring the country. It’s all good.”
I looked up at him in his compassionate brown eyes and wanted to confess everything. Everything that was going on in my messed up marriage and messed up life. His eyes held the patience of a saint and I wanted to bask in it. I opened my mouth to speak but before I got the words out he covered my mouth with his.
At first, I was startled. This was the first man I had kissed since I first kissed Harold. I luxuriated in the new wonderful sensations, his full moist lips were a welcome change from Harold’s thin Wasp-y ones. His mouth tasted like cinnamon and man, and I dove my tongue into his mouth to get more.
Our tongues tangled for long delicious moments and I let my hands explore his broad shoulders and wide back. I ran my fingers through his long black hair and enjoyed the silky feel as it slid through my fingers. This man was more than a treat for the eyes, he was a feast for all the senses, I thought vaguely.
We stood there wrapped in each other’s arms and my mind was wonderfully blank except the new feelings I was enjoying. Then his hands moved from my face, down my back, and gripped my behind and I remembered everything. My husband, my kids, the fact I was still legally married and until last night living with my husband.
I released him, reached behind me and gripped his wrists and pulled away, “wait, wait, I can’t do this,” I murmured against his mouth.
“Don’t go, not yet,” he urged trying to press his lips firmly against mine again. “I know it’s quick but when it’s right, it's right.”
I froze at that statement wondering how many women he had used it on before. This wasn’t quick. Rocket were quick, this was light speed. Less than two hours ago I didn’t even know this man existed and now he thought I was going to just fall into bed with him? Wow, the dating scene really has changed, I thought as I disengaged.
“Like I said, I can’t do this,” I said smoothing my hair and resisting the urge to lick my lips for one last taste of him.
“Why not?” he asked in all innocence.
I looked at him and wondered how old he was. I had the sneaking suspicion he was younger than I was but that question had me dialing his age back another few years. Really, were we in college at a frat party?
Adults don’t fall into bed like this or they shouldn’t. What did I know, I hadn’t done this dance in years, but I was going to use the steps I remembered. No step included me falling back into bed with my legs spread the first time I met a guy. I would buy him a burger for his help but that’s as far as my gratitude went.
“Why not?” he asked again as I stared at him in amazement.
“Because I’m married,” I said baldly.
I winced as his eyes turned cold and his reaching hands suddenly shot into the air as if I had pulled a gun. I looked down to make sure I hadn’t channeled Grandma Gert by accident, but my hands were empty. Okay, I thought, so being a slut is okay, but being a married slut is not? Good to know.
“So you’re fixing the loft up for you and your husband?” he asked suddenly into contractor mode.
“Not exactly,” I said, trying to get a read on what was going on.
He raised a brow at me and I didn’t say anything. Suddenly my urge to talk had passed and all I wanted to do was get away from Mr. Handsome McHandsomepants. He was blowing too hot and cold for me. Maybe I’d be better getting a different contractor. One with a few less issues. I had my own baggage to deal with without dealing with his.
I knew I might be rushing to judgment, but one thing moving all the time and meeting a bunch of new people every couple of years taught you was to read people. There was something behind his reaction to me saying I was married, more than a simple single man not wanting to tread on another man’s turf. I so don’t have time for this, I thought and headed toward the door.
“Okay, well, thanks for the tour and with the stuff from the store,” I said brightly as I opened the door and stepped out.
“Wait, wait, I’m sorry. I know I reacted badly, but you surprised me. You don’t look married,” he said with a pointed glance at my ring finger.
I sighed, not getting a happy feeling about the conversation was going. One of the many things Harold and I argued about was my wedding ring. I don’t wear it. Not because I don’t want people to know, I’m married. I was thrilled to be married and I’m happy to tell anyone who asks.
I don’t wear jewelry and my wedding ring tapping against my keyboard when I reach for the upper keys drove me nuts. I have a curved ergonomic keyboard that humps up in the middle. The arch is just right for my ring to hit it when I reach for the number or F keys.
I wore it on a chain around my neck for a while, but that felt too fifties sweetheart with her beau’s class ring to me. So I put in back in its nice little velvet box and keep it in my nightstand where it probably is right now. I would trot it out for company parties or affairs involving his family.
I added that to the stuff I would collect when I went by the house the next day. Not because I wanted the ring, but because I didn’t want Jillian to have it. Harold had bought that ring for me as the only way his mother was giving up her family heirloom wedding band was at gunpoint.
I know the sight of my ring on Jillian’s hand would make me channel Grandma Gert for real. I still had her 22 pistol. She left it to me when she died along with her paintings. It was for the best.
My mom has no fixed address and my aunt Josephine would have sold the paintings before Grandma Gert was cold. Aunt Josephine was the most mercenary of all of us, which is ironic as she’s the least successful in her chosen field.
She’s a potter but her pots were more disturbing than decorative. They didn’t sell well. She gave me one for the house that I keep in the hall closet. I pull it out when she knocks and put it back when she leaves. Thank goodness, she doesn’t visit often.
When the twins were little, I would put it out on the coffee table, hoping one of the tykes would grab it and end the question of where to display it for all time. No such luck. That pot Harold could keep.
Harold thought that not wearing a ring as well as my refusal to use his last name were signs that I wasn’t committed to our marriage. I thought the fact I pushed out two babies for him earned me a little slack. Since he cheated and I didn’t, I don’t think the lack of commitment was on my side.
I just shook my head at him and turned away. He grabbed my arm when I would have entered my loft and asked, “So where is your husband?”
“At home,” I said shortly, not willing to get into the why and wherefores of my marriage.
I didn’t know this guy from Adam. I knew his name, his occupation, and what he looked like. I could get the same information from his Facebook page. ‘The way he kisses’, my libi
do reminded me. I sighed, looked like that was going to be a one off.
‘Oh, so you and he are splitting up?” he asked, his eyes warming back up.
“Yeah, but it’s recent and I don’t need any complications right now so this isn’t a good idea,” I said, ignoring the wonderful feel of his hand on my arm.
‘It doesn’t have to be complicated’ my neglected libido chimed in. Okay, I’ll admit it, my libido is a ‘ho. In addition, it was a while since that ‘ho had gotten her freak on. Over six months if my calculations are correct.
Right around the time Harold started ‘working late’. I will say this much for the little cheater, he’s loyal to a fault. Since he started doing Jillian, he hasn’t done me. I didn’t notice at the beginning because Harold and my sex life never were anything to jump up and down about.
It was nice, but nothing I really missed. I hadn’t noticed for a while, then when I started seeing Jillian’s markings, I figured it out, and then I really didn’t want him to touch me. I had resolved to be celibate until the kids graduated and I could get a nice uncomplicated divorce, but I guess Jillian doesn’t have my patience.
Because this divorce has her fingerprints all over it. When Harold was delivering his little break up speech, the only thing missing was Jillian’s hand up his ass. I didn’t know at the time it was Jillian, but I did know it was some blond with really bad taste in cologne. That was the other thing, Harold was coming home covered in so many long blond hairs I really think Jillian might be bald at this point.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Aiden said with another one of his killer smiles, making me think he was channeling my libido.
I gave him a smile in return but my mind was made up. Okay, yeah, just a few minutes ago, I was wrapped around him like ivy on a tree but that was just frustrated sex drive. I like to think I’m a little more than my sex drive. In case I’m not, I’ll be giving Aiden Smyth a wide berth until my divorce was final.