by Strong, Mimi
The three of us were alone.
My father calmly and quietly said, “But you are.”
I turned and patted my father’s hand. “You may be excused.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the age that brings wisdom,” he said.
I nodded. “Okay. Bye. Have fun in the workshop.”
He stalled for a moment, gathering up a few dishes and putting the lids on the pickles.
After he walked away and left us in the dining room, I said, “Tell me who it was, and I’ll punch her some new freckles.”
“One of those yummy mommy types.”
“Gross. I hate her. Does she drive a Range Rover and wear tiny little designer jeans?”
My mother grinned. “Yoga pants. The designer kind, though.”
“Yoga pants. Uh-huh. With perfect hair and full makeup?”
“Plus diamond earrings.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you worry about her. Those chicks have it the worst. I see them at the bookstore. Do you know how many self-help books they buy?”
She sighed. “It was just the way she looked at me, you know? She invited me to some party she’s having, obviously out of pity.”
I glanced up at the antique grandfather clock standing in the corner of the dining room. Was Adrian on a date with Golden?
As my mind wandered, my mother kept talking about the way the yummy mommy had looked at her.
A gentle presence settled over me, and I thought of Keith Raven, my sweet LA rebound boy. We’d talked about our days a few times, and agreed that what most people desire more than anything, more than money or fame or stuff, is someone to complain to for thirty minutes a day.*
*Not talk to. Complain to. Let’s be honest here, it’s not a conversation we’re after, not always.
My mother had stopped talking.
“You said Kyle was acting out lately?” I prompted.
“Boys are not like girls,” she said, and launched into a tirade about the weird things he’d been doing. When she got to the part about him not doing a great job wiping his bum and leaving streaks in his underwear, I had to stifle my laughter.
Describing the lengths she went to sanitizing the laundry did seem to give my mother satisfaction. I patiently listened without interrupting.
We moved out of the dining room and cleaned the kitchen. When it was bedtime for Kyle, we pulled out the trundle bed for his friend, and I helped her get both boys settled in.
I don’t know how much I feel differently toward Kyle than I would if he was actually my brother, and not the child I gave birth to at fifteen. I never had a brother, so how would I know to compare? I do love the little guy. I love every hair on his head, but he’s a sweetheart, and who wouldn’t?
He never nursed from me. Despite understanding the health benefits, and understanding that it would be the right thing to do, I hadn’t been emotionally able to do it. Honestly, that probably made it easier for my parents to bond with him as their own.
Still, there were times like that night, when I was around both him and another boy his age, and I would compare. Was the other boy taller and stronger? Did he seem smarter, having benefited from pre-natal care? Comparison is the thief of joy, but we all do it with our children, or our appearances.
After we closed the door to Kyle’s room, my mother began to cry, smiling through the tears. “I’m so blessed,” she whispered. “So what if I have some wrinkles? I have two beautiful children who make me happy.”
“And one of us knows how to wipe properly.”
She held onto my arm as we walked down the stairs. “He’ll figure it out. None of us is born knowing all the answers.”
“Except Dad.”
“Hah! Your father is exceptional, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed, both of us giggling.
~
Monday.
Contrary to what I expected, the bookstore was not a disaster on Monday morning. Adrian had been distracted by the negotiations with Black Sheep Books, and hadn’t moved any of the fixtures around.
Gordon Oliver came over from next door, and we had a heart-to-heart about the future of the store.
“Change is hard,” he said, his elbows on the counter.
Gordon has black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. One of his parents is Thai and the other is Eastern European. He’s a handsome man for a guy in his forties, but he’s never been married, as far as I know. He enjoys his fine wines and his trips around the world, and dating a new divorcee every year or so.
His latest girlfriend had allergies to a number of common wine additives, so he had thrown himself into sourcing organic wine they could enjoy together.
When he said that change was hard, I wasn’t sure if it was about the bookstore or avoiding allergens. The woman was vegan, too, which explained why he’d been coming over to the bookstore side to wolf down takeout from Burt’s Burger Barn. As we talked about plans for moving the store to the bigger location, the scent of his recently-devoured burger with feta-cheese dressing hung around us in the air.
“I’ll miss having you right next door,” he said.
“But you’ll be able to expand the wine store.”
He got a mischievous look. “Oh, right. I guess I will.”
“You love the wine more than the books.”
He poked around at the pens in the tin can pen-holder on the counter. Kyle had made the cup for the grand re-opening of Peachtree Books after the Big Split, when Gordon had divided the space to open the wine store.
“The lease negotiations are pretty much final. We’re moving. Do you think Dalton Deangelo will come to a grand opening party?” he asked.
“That won’t be for another month or two, will it?”
“I imagine he’ll be back and forth all the time,” Gordon said.
“We’re not actually a couple.”
“Sure, but he’ll have ties to the town. He bought the Veiner cottage.”
“He did what?” The Veiner cabin was a historical site at the edge of town, between Beaverdale and Dragonfly Lake. It had belonged to the town’s founding father, Leonodis Veiner. Our main street had been named after him until 1942, when my great-grandfather accidentally renamed it Leonardo Street. This all caused a bit of a scandal that resulted in several properties being zoned historical sites, including the cabin.
Gordon explained that his girlfriend was the real estate agent who’d brokered the deal with Dalton to buy the cabin.
I stammered, “But that cabin is falling apart. Does it even have running water?”
Gordon waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll see. I hear it’s very romantic.”
“We’re not together. We’re just friends.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“Gross, Gordon. You’re my boss. I’m not discussing it with you. We have a highly professional relationship.”
He laughed, because over the years, we’d enjoyed a number of lengthy chats about… well, everything. After a bottle of ice wine, I’d given him oral sex pointers, complete with a diagram drawn on a napkin. For years, the poor guy had been trying to use his tongue for penetration only. After that talk, he’d expanded the store’s selection of sexuality books. “See, books open new worlds, and knowledge is power,” I’d teased him when he’d reported back to me that his divorcee at the time was a satisfied customer.
But enough about Gordon’s sex life.
I had a date that night with Adrian.
The day passed quickly, and I locked up right on time. I was buzzing with excitement as I picked up groceries after work and hurried home to start cooking.
Shayla swung by the house on a break from her job to help me get everything ready.
“I’m ashamed of how much I’m enjoying this,” she admitted as she set the table. She knew all about Adrian dating both me and Golden, having heard from both girls. “This is like one of those dating shows, but in real life, and I have an all-access pass.”
“Remember the rules,” I said. �
�No telling the other contestant.”
When I’d informed her about Adrian’s plans to date both me and Golden, I thought she’d try to talk me out of it, but she was too fascinated. As friend to all three of us, she was in the unique position of getting to know everything. Like some omniscient being. She actually rubbed her hands together in excitement. I asked if she wanted to book herself into the rotation, but she declined. (Not that Shayla would go after a guy I was interested in, anyway. Her loyalty to me overrode any lust, which is one of the many reasons I love her and would give her a kidney without hesitation, whether she needed one or not.)
I asked her, “Speaking of kissing and telling, who or what did you have in your bed that night I heard you singing the O song?”
“Don’t burn the lemon sauce,” she said, changing the topic.
“You’d better not be zooming your boss again.”
She smirked. “Oh, I’m not.”
We tidied up the kitchen as best we could, since our only table was also in that room.
The doorbell rang, and I got so nervous all of a sudden, my legs actually quaked.
Shayla ran out the door, car keys in hand, telling Adrian not to do anything she wouldn’t do. She disappeared, leaving the two of us alone for our date.
Adrian whipped out some flowers from behind his back and handed them to me. The tag showed them as being from Gabriella’s, the fancy florist, and the bouquet was a small but exotic blend of flowers that weren’t orchids.
“Please, come in,” I said. “I’m glad these aren’t cut orchids or both of our mothers would be mad.”
He chuckled. “Those orchid nuts.”
Adrian stepped over the threshold, a drip of sweat running off the side of his brow. Was he feeling guilty about our open arrangement, nervous to see me, or had he rushed to get there? I started to ask, but he gave me an awkward kiss immediately, his lips brushing my nose and landing on my chin as I turned.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
I pulled out my phone to take a photo of the pretty flowers. “For my mother,” I explained.
He grinned. “I already sent a picture to my mom.”
“Hey! We’re Bodwives* buddies.”
*Bodwives is a modified version of the acronym for the Beaverdale Orchid and Dandelion Wine Society, which both of our mothers were part of.
The ladies love growing orchids, and abhor seeing them used as cut flowers in arrangements.
I put the flowers in a tall water glass of water and set them on the table.
“How’s Golden?” I asked. “Did she have a bunch of exciting news and scandalous gossip that turned out to be nothing but the neighbor’s mail-order catalog arriving at her house by accident?”
“I’m here with you,” he said firmly, his pale blue eyes momentarily as stormy as his last name.
“One time she took twenty minutes to tell me that her single guy neighbor gets Victoria’s Secret catalogs. Big shocker, right? How about you, Adrian? Do you get anything in the mail you want to tell me about?”
“Not yet.” He looked up and down my body appreciatively. “But I’m on the mailing list for one of Victoria’s Secret’s strongest competitors. I hear their models are extra hot.”
“One of them is.”
“I can hardly wait to see your pictures.”
“I guess I’ll have to autograph your catalog for you,” I said with a sigh.
“If you can pry it out of my hands.”
“Why slobber over a photograph when you can have the real thing?”
He shrugged. “A photograph doesn’t talk, and doesn’t make you feel sixteen and totally freaked out again.”
I put one hand on my hip. “You’d like me better if I was silent?”
He pointed a finger at me. “Nope. Not taking the bait. We did nothing but argue back in school, and look where that got us.”
We stood in the kitchen, and I moved away from him, putting the peninsula section of the counter between us.
CHAPTER 7
I had all the preparations for gin and tonic drinks, including cucumber slices, set out between us. Without asking, I poured us one each. We clinked glasses, and quickly downed the drinks, the same way we had at DeNirro’s on Saturday. Combined with the two shots I’d had with Shayla while getting ready, the drink made my body hum at a pleasant frequency.
Adrian seemed to relax, tilting his head from side to side and rolling his shoulders back.
“Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker,” I said.
He looked down at my fidgeting hands, then grabbed one of my wrists gently and brought my hand up to his face. He stared deeply into my eyes as he rubbed the tip of my thumb across his swollen lower lip. Still giving the fuck-me eyes, he slipped my thumb into his mouth and started sucking. My legs quaked again as an electric current shot down my spine and into my pussy.
“You like sucking on things,” I murmured.
“Take off your shirt and find out.”
With my free hand, I squeezed my sweater puppies together from the side. The top button of my blouse popped open as though I’d planned it. “You want a taste of these, big boy?”
He gave my thumb another suck and grazed it with his teeth, making me shudder. I could feel all of my lips swelling and watering. So much for my plans to keep things casual until he picked a girl. I’d lusted after Adrian for so long, and it was time to find out how my fantasies compared to the real thing. He released my thumb and dared me with his eyes to make the next move.
“Hmm?” I trailed my wet thumb across my collarbone and down the crease of my chest.
“Mmm,” he growled, his gaze moving down to my breasts. “You know I want a taste, but I don’t want to be rude, and you’ve made all this dinner for us.”
“It’s just a deli chicken staying warm in the oven. The chicken won’t mind if we start with an appetizer.”
“I did have a late lunch, so I can’t say I’m all that hungry… for dinner.”
I slowly unbuttoned my blouse, eager to get his mouth on me again.
“Is that a Peaches Monroe bra?” he asked, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the midnight-blue underwire bra.
For a second, I was confused by the question. I’d not fully adjusted to the idea of being a brand name.
“They’re still in production, but this is a sample. Funny story, actually. They test-marketed some of the designs, and this is going to be purple, but they’ll just shift the color on the photographs rather than re-shoot. Apparently, clothing lines do that all the time, and—oh. Mercy. Oh, mercy.”
He’d leaned across the counter and buried his face in my bosom, his big, warm hand slipping under my loose blouse and landing on my back to keep me in place. He inhaled deeply and audibly, making every part of me shudder in anticipation.
When he came up for air, his eyes heavily lidded, he said, “What’s that sauce on the stove?”
The burner was turned off, but the warm lemon sauce was still fragrant. “Lemon butter.”
He pulled away from me, turned to the stove, and returned back to the peninsula counter between us, setting the sauce pan down before hunting around in the drawer for a spoon.
“We’re alone in the house?” he asked.
“Yes. Shayla’s at work until late.”
“You have a new refrigerator.”
I stammered and turned to look at the fridge. “The landlord replaced it when I was—”
Adrian moved swiftly around to my side of the counter, grabbed me under the arms, and hoisted me up to sit on the counter. There were only a few inches of overhang on that side, so it was safe enough to sit there, though I never did. Sitting on counters was something tiny girls did. I liked the view up there, though.
Adrian slipped off my blouse and unfastened my bra.
Can you guess what he did next?
Yeah.
That long-legged sex maniac used a wooden spoon to dribble warm lemon butter sauce on my breasts and then licked them clean.
I moaned and squirmed around, the bits between my legs becoming slippery inside my panties and jeans.
More lemon sauce.
Heavy breathing.
Kissing.
Licking.
Sucking.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, and long before we ran out of sauce, I got hold of Adrian’s jeans and sprung him from the fabric.
He leaned back from me and stretched up to pull his shirt off over his head. Wow, it was a long way up there to the other end of his body. From where I sat on the counter, it looked like his fingertips grazed the ceiling of the kitchen.
Holding his bare chest to mine, he said, “Sticky.”
I grabbed him by the thunderstick.
He stopped talking as I squeezed his firm rod in one hand, palming the head with my other hand. “Two-hander,” I murmured.
He groaned what seemed like a question, but leaned down and started kissing my mouth and neck. He knew he was packing a two-hander, and didn’t need me to tell him.
The change in his pockets jingled as his jeans slipped to the kitchen floor along with his boxers. He got harder and harder in my hands.
I pushed him back so I could hop off the counter.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring a condom.”
I bit my lower lip, thinking about the stash I usually had upstairs. The stash had recently run out, though, and had I picked up more? No, I had not. Every time I’d been to the drugstore recently, someone I knew from high school had been working the checkout, and I’d delayed the purchase.
Adrian’s cock pulsed in my hand, inviting me to take a ride. I dropped to my knees and gave it a long lick, from base to tip. After all the lemon butter sauce in my mouth from Adrian, his skin had almost no taste. I cupped his balls in one hand and buried my nose in his trimmed pubic hair. I breathed in deeply, his musk triggering the memory of my high school crush. While other boys’ hormones and diets made them smell disgusting, Adrian had always smelled good to me. I’d stand behind him when he was on the computer lining up photographs for the yearbook, and I’d lean in close enough to smell the crown of his head.
Oh, but we’d both grown up, and now we would make up for lost time.