Driving Me Wild

by Maria Benson

  I stuck out my tongue, made a gagging sound. “I had to actually sit there while my mother shyly recounted the things they would do with me in the same apartment or room.” By this point in the conversation, Mom had actually dragged me back into Dustin’s office. “I’m sitting there having to hear things about my parents no one wants to picture; all while my father’s sitting there looking like a cat with a stomach full of canary.” I shoved Michael playfully. “See what you started?”

  He raised his hands innocently. “Whoa, we’re back to me already? Aimee, I’m sorry if my accusations spurred your memory of all this.”

  “I’m giving you a hard time,” I said. “Can we kick off our shoes, get out on the beach?”

  We found a presumably safe enough spot for our shoes and socks, then headed out toward the shore. There was still plenty of sunlight but it was starting to wane, and the day’s warmth was giving way to the cool of an early summer evening. As we continued across the sand, I selectively summarized the rest of the conversation with my parents.

  “Wow,” was the best Michael could summon once I wrapped up. “They say ugly truths are necessary steps on the path to healing.” He peered over my head, his gaze turning introspective. “I look at some decisions I’ve made lately, and wonder if I need to address some ugly truths of my own.”

  I looked over at him and shook my head gently. “We’ve all been damaged by something or someone, Michael. I wouldn’t go trolling your past for people or experiences to blame.”

  Michael came to a stop and grabbed my hand. As groups of swimmers and other sojourning couples milled around us, he smiled. “I have to ask: If you’re going to be inspiring women looking to overcome bad relationship choices, won’t it help if you can talk about how to understand and counter underlying past issues and unhealthy thinking?”

  “You’re not keeping up,” I said, realizing that I still held his hand. “It definitely makes sense to understand the past and address how it impacts your present. But once you do that, you move on.”

  I can’t speak for Michael, but I lost track of time as we walked the beach, stopping only to point out amusing sunbathers or the occasional antics of one group of swimmers or another. The entire time, we talked through my process of reconciling my past traumas with my present need to convert my pain into a cause. Michael not only shared his thoughts freely, challenging me respectfully, but even gave occasional peeks into things on his mind.

  It was nearly 10:00 by the time we had reclaimed our shoes and reached Michael’s Audi, which he had parked near the little zoo area toward the outskirts of the park. As he opened the passenger side door, I placed a hand on the door and smiled at him. “This has been really nice.”

  “Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself,” he said. “The goal was to keep it simple, no frills, just two buds hanging. That’s all you wanted back when I was trying to win you over, right?”

  I stepped in front of him and closed the car door, then rested my back against it. “Well, I think a lot has changed since that day.”

  He stood within my personal space, hands in his pockets. “It sure has. You’ve got yourself all figured out. You’re ready to save humanity from itself.” He leaned closer, sending the scent of Mentos up my nostrils. “Why don’t you start with me?”

  I crossed my arms but did not waver in the face of his stare. “Michael Blake is Mr. Perfect, raised in a well-to-do two-parent family–to parents who are actually still married.” I lost my fight with a smirk. “You don’t have any problems.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “If only. Life as a Blake has its warts and all, too.” He shrugged. “Is it a coincidence that neither my brother nor I have been able to replicate my folks’ success in either starting or building a successful marriage? I mean, up until recently every time I made a serious move on a woman, it ended badly. Then you’ve got Warren, who’s a professional success but a dead-beat dad and a divorcé. ”

  I elbowed him playfully. “First, let yourself off the hook. As far as your brother’s issues, I think I can speak from a little experience here.” I was thinking of Sydney, whom I was still pressuring to go ahead and ask out a cute blonde radiologist she had met at a recent medical conference. “We can hope for positive change in our friends’ and loved ones’ lives, but we can’t make it happen for them.”

  As we rode back into the city, we continued to trade quips about the idiosyncrasies and the real challenges in our backgrounds. We enjoyed ourselves enough that Michael took a long route back, exiting the Dan Ryan at 55th and tooling through Hyde Park before picking up Lake Shore.

  Comforted by the familiar nighttime view of Lake Michigan, I wondered how our evening together would look in the light of day. Even presuming this was just a night between frankly-speaking friends, had I been too transparent with Michael? Something about the concept of being concerned about who Michael was dating startled me. Why should I care, exactly?

  When Michael walked me to the front door of my building’s lobby, I hesitated mentally as I pressed the security button. I was searching for my next words; I wasn’t sure how I wanted the night to end, but I had a sense it shouldn’t end there.

  That’s when Michael touched my shoulder. His touch–light, caressing–was startling. He hadn’t said a word yet, but the energy that coursed through his veins and into my shoulder sent a bolt of flushed warmth straight through the pit of my stomach, into the space between my thighs.

  “Let’s go upstairs, huh?” Simple, breathy words from Michael.

  I stood there, back to the door, my nostrils tingling with the smell of his cologne, and bit my lower lip as the door buzzed open. As I swung it wide, I grabbed one of Michael’s wrists and pulled him in behind me.

  CHAPTER 31

  Aimee

  We crossed my apartment threshold still kissing, lips entwined, feet entangled, his confident hands grasping my hips in surprisingly gentle fashion. Lust, passion, hope and anticipation flooded me as I realized just how long it had been since I had been with a “new” man, especially one who had shown interest in me as a person. The thought flooded my soul with a rejuvenating surge.

  I hadn't turned on the apartment lights yet, so we stayed closeted in darkness, the only sounds being the creaking of my bamboo floorboards and the rushed whizz of traffic below. I think I heard ninety cars pass before we came up for air.

  "Am I dreaming?” Still holding my hips as if they were life preservers, Michael leaned into me and gazed into my eyes. “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

  I touched a finger to Michael’s lips, even as his words made my insides feel like a fresh-baked Toll House cookie. “Stay in the moment.” I recaptured his tongue in my mouth and slowly tasted his minty gums. Mentos are a wonderful thing.

  As the minutes passed, along with more rushing traffic, our clothes started to fall by the wayside. He shrugged his way from his jacket without pulling his lips from mine, I kicked out of my low heels while gripping his firm buttocks.

  Pulling him across my Dalyn Emerald rug toward the bedroom, I stopped and laid my head to his chest. "We need music. Let me get the Josh Groban."

  He had the nerve to frown. "Josh Groban?"

  "You do know who he is?"

  His grip on my hips loosened. "Of course. Mr. ‘Awake.’ Let me sleep, please."

  "Well, you’re sticking a fork straight through this mood.”

  He regained his grip on my hips. "Recalculating–I love Mr. Groban. Let’s do him–I mean, it.” The next thing I knew, Michael had swept me off my feet. This fool literally had me in his arms! As he grunted softly and got his balance, the tension drained from both of us. Slapping his shoulder, I giggled. "You sure you can handle this?"

  "Trust me," he said as he carried me into the bedroom and set me down on the poofy comforter. "The music can take care of itself."

  “We’ll be old school tonight.” After flicking on my nightstand lamp, I leaned over and clicked on my aging, speaker-enabled iPod. If Michael wanted s
imple, he'd get simple. As he pulled the bed’s covers and sheets back, I scrolled to a love songs playlist acquired years earlier from Tara. The room filled with the moody, determined heat of Alicia Keys’ “Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart.”

  "You have beautiful furniture," he said, as if he'd never peeked his head inside on one of our earlier dates. "Very contemporary," he continued while eyeing me with simmering desire. He ran a hand along the side rail of my bed and took a seat next to me. "Is this an oak finish? I love the way the bed sits so close to the ground."

  My only response was to yank him on top of me.

  By the time we were both naked and under the covers, I had my head buried in Michael's chest hair, inhaling his cologne again and circling his hardening nipples with my lips. We'd been at it so long, I'd already had twice the foreplay I was accustomed to with recent relationships.

  But something was wrong.

  It had been nearly a year since I had taken a new man into my bed. Ian had always understood that I was seeing other guys, but after a particularly nasty end to a short-lived relationship with a Major League Baseball General Manager I had become exclusive to Ian by default.

  Now I was trapped in this bedroom, my heart beating fast and my spot growing soft, ready to take another man into my innermost place. I looked up at Michael and saw nearly every man in my history poised over my willing body on those first nights: Chad, Duane, Freddy, Bill, J.T., Lawrence, Rodney, Chris . . . through Ian. I could still recall each one's touch, the gleam in his eye, the whispers of love, lust, or reassurance. Where were they now? And where would this one be a few months–days?–from now?

  "Aimee, you okay?" Michael's question startled me and I realized I'd let go of him and pulled back from kissing his chest. "W-we can stop right now," he said, starting to rise from his place. "Let's just–"

  I can't even try to explain, but that was all I needed. The doubts crept from my brow and rolled off my shoulders like beads of sweat. I smiled at Michael and pulled him back to me, delivering another deep kiss. "I'm ready for you," I breathed.

  Time faded away as we came together, our bodies expressing the same type of intimacy established by the night’s conversation. As a lover, Michael was nothing like I had imagined he might be months earlier when he had been unfailingly polite and cautious on date after date. He was the best of both worlds–bold yet attentive. He took his time with me, from foreplay to digital stimulation, to thrusts that expertly varied speed and angle in response to my expressions of pleasure, not his. It embarrassed me to think of it this way, but he was serving me, not screwing me. Each touch and kiss was a gift.

  Just after midnight, as we lay panting in each other's arms, awash in each other’s sweat, cologne, and perfume, I reached over and patted his cheek. Clearly spent, he willed himself up onto his elbows. “You signaling me?”

  “Oh no, no.” I giggled like I was ten years old, covering my mouth before explaining myself. “I don’t want you making any walk of shame.” I lay back against my pillow, eyes on the ceiling. “I just need some rest. I’m guessing you do too?”

  I had barely spoken before Michael fell fast asleep, his soft snores sending an oddly comforting message. Clearly I had given the answer he was looking for. I turned on my side, one hand under my chin, and surveyed this “new” man sleeping beside me. I wasn’t sure where this might be headed, but there had been something different about tonight.

  I had been acquainted with Michael for a long time, traveled in some of the same circles, but hadn’t really felt like I knew him until tonight. And, for some reason, it felt like I knew enough to keep an open mind about him. Maybe my determination to use my life experience to help other women end self-destructive cycles had already brought me a reward, a Prince Charming as proof that a healthy change to one’s standards could pay off. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

  I traced a finger along Michael’s forehead, then trailed it through his hair. “Please,” I whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Michael

  I left Aimee’s place early, grinning ear-to-ear. Embarrassed by the glee coursing though me, I had pecked her on the cheek and whispered a quick good-bye. I didn’t want to come off too eager, too presumptive about what our night together really meant. Three months ago I was still in denial, but I now understood that for some, sex was nothing more than a business transaction between consenting adults. I barely remembered the names of three of my partners from the past month, although they sure had me calling them out at one point or another.

  I obviously wouldn’t be forgetting Aimee’s name anytime soon. Even the new me had likely come to the table with less sexual expertise than her average partner, but it seemed we clicked just fine.

  Even amidst the dozens of one-night-stand-like experiences of the past couple months, my first hook-up with Aimee stood out like my only previous one-nighter as the “old Michael” had. I was James Brown–an enduring, relentless sex machine who kept Aimee pawing me back for more.

  Unlike my first one-night stand or even my finest hours in recent weeks, though, there was a difference this time. It felt like what Aimee and I had shared, mattered.

  My thoughts about Aimee were probably plastered on my face as I entered the South Loop Fitness Formula club for my weekly meeting with Bobby, this time without José. Bobby, and for the first time in a while, Scott, were in the locker room when I entered. Bobby gave me a pound, frowning. “Where’s your nephew?” When I explained that I was shielding José from his corrupting influence, Bobby clapped my shoulder. “You so crazy, Mikey!”

  Scott shut his locker, then sat to more tightly lace his Nikes. “So before you ask, I made my way over here because I want to hear about the date with Aimee.”

  I tried to set a poker face, regretting that I had ever tipped my hand about my plans to see her. “It was fine, guys.”

  Bobby twisted his mouth in amusement. “How fine?”

  Scott stood, clapped me on the shoulder. “If you fell on your face, you can tell us, Mike. At the end of the day, she’s just one woman. There are plenty more waiting.”

  I turned away and began removing my sweat suit. That’s when I realized, a second too late, that I hadn’t bothered to shower–either at Aimee’s or when swinging through my place for my workout clothes.

  I could hear Bobby sniffing the air, his nostrils working overtime. “Oh hell no,” he said. “Mikey, you got in some woman’s panties last night.”

  Tossing my things into my locker and now dressed in my shorts and T-shirt, I pushed past both friends. Aimee deserved more respect than this.

  Bobby was undeterred, nearly stepping on the heels of my ASICS as he trailed me to the main cardio workout room. “Don’t go silent on me, boy. Mikey, come on now, you got to give it up.”

  I came to a sudden stop, throwing Bobby off stride so much he nearly tripped. “No, Bobby, I don’t.”

  He almost hit the ceiling, he jumped so high. “Oh, shit. Mikey already passed Go and collected his two hundred dollars. Damn! You weren’t supposed to knock that for awhile now.” He turned back toward Scott, who was sauntering toward us with both hands in the pockets of his sweat pants. “Scotty, did you hear–”

  “Bobby,” Scott said, placing a hand to his friend’s elbow, “go on and hit the cardio room. We’ll catch up.” He met Bobby’s confused stare with a thin smile. “Please?”

  When the loudmouth was gone, Scott and I stared one another down in the hallway as if we were in a Western. I spoke first. “Hey, I didn’t plan this.”

  Scott shrugged. “Well, a skilled player shouldn’t have to. I’m proud of you, man.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But . . .”

  “I don’t recommend you letting it happen again, at least not for a while. Let’s be real here: You could fall in love with Aimee. It’s like Ava and I were back when we were each hitting everything that moved. We realized that we had a deep connection, but knew we weren’t ready to be monogamous yet. You get wh
at I’m saying?”

  “Scott, come on–”

  He raised a hand. “You’re grown, you’re gonna do what you want, but my advice is not to go within fifty feet of Aimee until you cement your identity as a playboy. If you don’t–” The ring tone on his cell filled the air, and when Scott answered his mouth dropped open. “Oh shit. Okay baby. I’ll be right there.”

  He stared at me in shock as he pocketed his phone. “Ava’s water just broke.”

  I felt my eyes widen, but responded instinctively. “So what are you doing standing here with me? Get her to the hospital, bro.”

  “I-I will,” he replied, suddenly patting both pockets and realizing he needed to return to his locker. “C-can you tell Bobby–”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said, grabbing at an arm and pulling him in for a back slap. “Go get your woman and baby, okay?”

  I stayed right where I was as Scott lost all cool and scampered back to the locker room. I smiled instinctively at the sight, reassured that Scott’s playboy past had helped prepare him for this Hallmark moment. I had begun to fantasize about my own precious moments with Aimee when the sensation of a woman’s fingernails grazed up and down my left arm.

  “Hey,” Olive said, her chin now on my shoulder and both arms wrapped around my waist. “You never called me back yesterday morning.”

  Staring at Olive, I realized that in light of Scott and Bobby’s warnings about protecting myself from my feelings for Aimee, Olive should be a perfect solution. Not only was she ethnically exotic and drop-dead gorgeous, she opened up a new lens through which I could view the world. Unlike me or Aimee for that matter, Olive was not a business person. As a professional musician, she was an artist, most consumed not with her own advancement but with the production of a top-quality listening experience for her audience.