The Sex Bucket List

by Lane, Prescott

  “Is that a yes?” he asks.

  I can see the excitement all over his face. He really wants to do this for her. I suppose it’s okay. We spend the next few minutes working out the details for insurance and maintenance and how we expect Ava to contribute. Then it’s time for something else.

  “I hate to damper the fun, but I need to talk to you about Jacob. He’s drinking.”

  He nods like he’s known. “Last time they were over here, I swear I had four beers in the fridge, but then there were only three. I thought maybe it was him, but I was hoping I was just getting old and forgetful.”

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  Ryan gets up, opens up the French door, and calls for Jacob. After a moment, our son appears and says, “What?”

  I’m so sick of the one-word answers from Jacob, and “what” is not the way you respond when an adult calls for you. I raised him better than that. Ryan and I both did.

  “Grab me a beer and come out here,” Ryan says.

  Jacob’s eyes dart to me. “You told him!”

  At least we got three words. Ryan’s stance gets a little taller. “Get the beer and get out here, Jacob. Now.”

  Jacob does as he’s told and Ryan motions for him to sit. “First porn and now beer, huh?”

  “You drink, Dad!” Jacob says. “You trying to tell me you never watched porn?”

  “Only with your mother,” Ryan says with a straight face.

  “Gross,” Jacob says. Playing along with my ex, I smile and nod my head. Then Ryan pops the top on the can and slides it in front of Jacob, whose eyes grow to the size of baseballs. “Is this a trick?”

  “Nope,” Ryan says, and I’m suddenly wishing we’d discussed this first. “I get that you’re curious. But rather than you sneak around and do something stupid, I’d prefer you be stupid with me and your mom here.”

  Jacob looks at me, and though I’m not sure how I feel, I motion for him to drink up. Unity is the only way to parent. If a kid thinks mom and dad aren’t united, the kid will play that for all it’s worth. “This is crap,” Jacob says before pushing away the beer and storming back inside.

  “That went well,” I say.

  “Now he knows you and I don’t keep secrets, divorced or not.”

  “And that we used to watch porn together?” I tease before picking up the beer and taking a long swig.

  Then, from out of nowhere, Ryan asks, “Want to stay for dinner?” I give him a confused look, which prompts him to awkwardly add, “I mean, I can’t let you drink and drive.”

  I put down the beer. “It was only a sip.”

  “Still, why don’t you stay?”

  “It’s not a good idea,” I say, getting to my feet.

  “Yeah, it might confuse the kids.”

  “It confuses me,” I quickly whisper.

  He gently takes my hand. “We shouldn’t have slept together. It was a mistake.”

  His last word lingers in the air. I’m a mistake. I know I said the same thing to him. But hearing him say it really hurts, even after all this time. Tears start falling from my eyes. I wipe my face and try to keep more from falling, but I can’t. They keep coming. I don’t want the kids to see me, so I scurry away around the side yard towards the front of the house.

  “Stop,” he says, coming up behind me and grabbing me by the waist. “I just meant it confused me, too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You were always the one that held us all together. It’s just that when you told me about that boot camp guy, I . . . ”

  He can’t finish the thought. Even after all this time, he can’t talk about it. “Let’s not relive things,” I say.

  “I fell apart without you. I was so angry, and I held on to that like some sort of weapon, like a reminder of why we weren’t together, telling myself not to forget that pain.”

  I pull away from him. “I get it. Seems pretty certain how you feel. You don’t seem confused.”

  “But I am,” he says. “Despite everything, I think you’ll always be the love of my life.”

  His words hit me hard, and my knees buckle a little. Wondering if this is real, I lean against the side of his house for support. I prayed and begged God for this moment for so long, and at times gave up hope that it would ever come, especially when we signed the divorce papers. “What are you saying?” I ask carefully.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “That’s why I wanted some time.”

  Time, I think. I’ve been spending my time lately on my sex bucket list. And it’s not time spent on sexual freedom or experimentation, but on finding myself again, feeling worthy of love again, loving myself again. And it’s been time well spent, and a far cry from the waning years of my marriage.

  Ryan and I were really good at the business of being married. We could coordinate a schedule with the best of them. We were also really good at being friends. But towards the end, we really sucked at the lovers part. I never stopped wanting him, desiring him. Even after almost twenty years, I still got excited when he was coming home from work.

  But somewhere along the way, he stopped feeling that way about me. He’d say it wasn’t true. But that’s the way I felt, so it was true for me. It was my reality. And the fact that we could go weeks without so much as a kiss was all the proof I needed. Maybe it’s something that happens with all men. As soon as they marry us, they forget how to date us.

  I think most women feel that way from time to time. But year after year, it took a toll.

  It wasn’t an intentional thing on his part. I don’t think he was doing it to be cruel. We were just moving past each other, away from each other. We weren’t connecting anymore. And it made me wonder whether it was my saggy boobs, stretch marks, the extra pounds I carried after birthing three children, or even the one weird stray hair that grows by my left nipple that perhaps I forgot to pluck out one day and he happened to glimpse it.

  Perhaps other women wouldn’t be bothered by a lack of affection from their husband. Perhaps they’d even welcome it, but it did a number on me. I’m ashamed to admit that. I wish it didn’t. I wish my self-esteem were invincible, but it’s not. Being married to a man that doesn’t show his desire for you hurts. Even two years later, I still find myself trying to recover from it.

  Talk about wasted time. And I’ll be damned if I waste any more. The next man that comes my way is going to want me with a passion so great that neither one of us will be able to see straight. Could that be Mateo?

  “That’s just not good enough, Ryan,” I say. “I want a man who knows he wants me. Not one who needs to think about it.”

  Truer words have never been spoken. Right then, I know I’ve finally forgiven myself for that kiss. And for the first time since Ryan left me, I’m not going to look back, only ahead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LIST EMERGENCY

  Mateo and I haven’t spent any real time together since our drinking game, so I march over to his office, feeling strong and confident. It’s like everything is right with the world. My bra and panties match. My toe is healed. I’m sporting some killer stilettos, and my black skirt looks good. Granted, it’s probably too short for the office, but I just don’t give a fuck.

  I knock on his door then barge right inside, finding Mateo dressed in a white dress shirt sitting at his desk. His deep, dark eyes hold a look of shock. I close the door behind me and throw my hand on my hip, needing some answers.

  “Why now?” I ask. I know he knows what I’m talking about, but he also seems entertained by my little show. “Why are you interested in me now, after knowing me for two years? Is it just about the list?”

  “The list is fun, but no.”

  “Then what changed?” I ask.

  “You,” he says.

  “I’m exactly the same,” I say and stiffen my spine. “I’m still your boss. I’m still your friend’s sister. Nothing is different now than it was a year ago.”

  “Things are very different,” he
says and walks around his desk, leaning against it. “You weren’t ready a year ago.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Believe it or not,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

  “I will not just be some checkmark on your list,” he says sweetly then closes the distance between us, his fingers gently lining my face. “Because once I have you, I’m not letting you go.” He leans in to kiss me, our mouths mere inches apart.

  There’s risk in hoping. It’s much easier to just be happy with the status quo. It’s when you start hoping for more that disappointment can happen. Mateo’s right, I haven’t been ready to take that risk until now. But we’ve got some obstacles. “Since my family owns the company, technically, I’m your boss.”

  “I won’t sue for sexual harassment,” he teases.

  “Still, people might talk,” I whisper.

  “Does that bother you?” he asks, his hands starting to roam the curves of my body.

  “I don’t know, maybe, not really, but . . .” I stop babbling when he leans forward to give my lip a little nibble. My legs start wobbling. There’s something so sexual about this man. You know how some people are cute or handsome, like the boy next-door type? Then there are people that are sexy, hot. Something about them just oozes sex. Mateo is the latter.

  “I don’t care what people think.”

  “What if it doesn’t work out?” I breathe out, running my fingers down his hard back. “Then we’re stuck seeing each other every day.”

  He pulls back and looks me straight in the eye. “Then I’ll quit.”

  “You’d do that? Just so I’m not uncomfortable?”

  He inches closer. “I’d have to quit. There’s no way I could see you everyday, and not kiss you, touch you.”

  “Mateo,” I whisper, my voice coming out hot and needy.

  His lips land on mine with a sweet little kiss. “It feels to me like it’s going to work out,” he says, grinning a little.

  “I’ve got three kids,” I say. “I’m not like other women. You have to understand, I’m not going to always be available.”

  “The nights you don’t have your kids, you can be with me here.”

  “At your place?” I ask, my throat dry.

  He tilts his head, a cute little smirk on his face. “This is beginning to feel like a business negotiation.”

  “I tend to overthink things.”

  “I know.” He takes me by the waist. “Emerson, I know you’re a mom. I know you have many things pulling you in so many directions. I’m okay with all that. I know I won’t be able to see you every time I want. But it’s better than not having you at all.”

  My heart melts at the thought. This time it’s me who kisses him, and I want to do much more. But then another thing hits me. “What about Gage?”

  “He knows.”

  “What?” I cry.

  “I told him I wanted to ask you out.”

  “You did? What did he say?”

  “He was cool about it.”

  “He was? When did you talk to him?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, wrinkling up his nose like he’s trying hard to remember. “Maybe a year ago?”

  “A year ago!”

  Mateo laughs, and it’s gorgeous. “Yeah, when he and I started talking about me working here, one condition I had was that it wouldn’t prevent me from being with you. I told you I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”

  He makes it sound so simple, like a sniper waiting for his moment. Maybe that’s where Mateo’s patience comes from, his security background? “This is crazy!”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. It just is.” The truth is, I know why. It’s because Mateo is a great guy, handsome as hell with a perfect body, and can have any woman he wants. But he wants me, and has wanted me enough to wait for me. Is there anything sexier than that? I don’t think so. “What have the past few weeks been about, then? All the flirting, the fooling around. It didn’t seem like you wanted more than that.”

  “You know how much I love your list,” he says, throwing a flirty smile my way.

  “But the whole time, you wanted more than that?”

  “How could I not?” he asks, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I was waiting for you to figure out that you wanted more. I figured I had one shot to get this right. I knew if I pushed too hard, if you weren’t ready, then you’d find every excuse in the book.”

  He’s right. I feel like I’m ready, and still I just threw a ton of excuses at him.

  “I find it hard to believe you just sat around waiting for me, crying in your beer.”

  “I never cry,” he says. “And I don’t pine for women, either. I wanted you, and I waited for my shot, that’s it.”

  * * *

  I have a date. Tonight.

  After Mateo and I talked, he insisted he finally take me out. I guess it’s official. Mateo and I are dating. God, that’s so weird. They really need to invent some new words for grown-ups who are dating. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? It all sounds so juvenile. My significant other—too old. My special someone—too corny. My lover—too French. My plus-one—too formal. My beau—too old fashioned. And if I start calling him my bae, just shoot me. Who invented that stupid word?

  I’m dressed cute for work, but want something special for tonight. So, I sneak out of the office to buy something new to wear, preferably something to knock his socks off. Perhaps his pants, too. Atlanta has some great shopping close to the office, and the first store I come upon has some amazing stuff. That’s how you know it’s going to be a good shopping day, when the first store you go to just works.

  And the first thing I try on actually fits. It’s a lace black blouse with a scoop back. I’ll have to buy some sort of backless bra, maybe one of those adhesive ones. They don’t do much to support the girls, and I’ll be paranoid about them peeling off all night, but it will be worth it. Of course, if things go beyond second base, then Mateo would see it. Maybe our relationship is too new for that.

  I decide to reach out to Layla to see what she thinks. I mean, this is important. My sex bucket list challenge may hinge on this decision. I don’t want to call her in case the baby is sleeping, so a one-word text should do it. Help! My cell phone rings a couple seconds later. “Thank God,” I say, “I’ve got no idea what to do. I need your help.”

  “Emerson!” I hear my brother’s voice. “Layla and Greer are sleeping. Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, composing myself. “Just a wardrobe question.”

  Gage exhales into the phone. “You scared the piss out of me.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I have a date and didn’t know what to wear.”

  “I can have Layla call you,” he says.

  “I’m going to dinner with Mateo. I understand you gave him your blessing.”

  He chuckles a little. “He told you?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask playfully.

  “He told me the same day Layla told me she was pregnant. I totally forgot about it until just now,” he says, adding, “I think I hear Layla now. She’s awake. I’ll see you in an hour or so. I’m flying in for the night.”

  He hands off to Layla, and I go through my wardrobe dilemma for the next thirty minutes. FaceTime can be very useful when needing a girlfriend’s opinion. I walk around the store with my phone out like I’m starring in an old episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Layla’s got great taste. She always manages to look great without looking like she put forth any effort. I need that superpower. By the time we hang up, I have a couple of cute new date outfits picked out.

  I’m waiting to pay when my cell phone rings. It’s Mateo. I glance at my watch. I’ve been out of the office too long. “Missing me?”

  “Emerson, one of our planes is in trouble.”

  I look down at my phone, another call coming in, this one from Poppy. Without purchasi
ng a thing, I hand the clothes to the young girl at the register. “Mateo, who’s the pilot?”

  * * *

  Running in high heels is not for the faint of heart. By the time I make it the few blocks back to the office, the building is on lockdown, unsure whether the plane is having some mechanical trouble or is the target of some attack. It’s a bitch trying to get through security. I’m flashing my badge at everyone in my line of sight, but my eyes are focused on Poppy pacing back and forth in the lobby.

  “Let her through,” Poppy yells, smacking the security guys over the shoulders.

  “Poppy, stop!” Mateo barks then grabs my hand and pulls me through.

  “What do we know?” I ask.

  “Dash is the pilot,” Mateo says.

  “Shit!” Poppy screams.

  My stomach drops, but I keep my composure. It won’t help if I freak out, too. “Any word from the plane?”

  “I don’t have full details yet.”

  “Fuck!” Poppy screams.

  “Let’s go,” he says, pulling Poppy into his arms as we head into the elevators up to his office. He sits her down on his sofa as his computer is dinging with emails, and his phone starts ringing off the hook.

  “Gage is flying in now,” I say. “I’m not sure he even knows.”

  “Flights are grounded until we know if . . .” Mateo says.

  “If what?” Poppy asks.

  “Gage left at least forty-five minutes ago,” I say. “He should be landing soon.”

  “If what?” Poppy screams.

  I motion for Mateo to get to work. He’s not a therapist. He’s not here to comfort Poppy or deal with me right now. He needs to be on his game. This is what we pay him for.

  “Poppy,” I say softly. “Let me see what I can find out.” I pull out my phone, and Poppy stands up and begins to pace.

  As the head of PR, I don’t have much security clearance, but since it’s my family’s business, I’ve got a little pull. I make a few calls to see what I can find out. Unfortunately, it’s not much. Plus, it’s just hard to get much information about what’s going on in a plane several thousand feet in the air. I keep reminding Poppy that whatever is going on, air travel is very safe, that planes can fly safely even when an engine fails, that there are fire extinguishers if that’s necessary, and that there are so many back-up systems it’s unbelievable. Human error is always possible, but Dash is one of the best.