Worthwhile

by Lynne Silver

  Continuing his fantasy where she was tied up and at his mercy, he decided that once he got her close and got her wet and soft, he’d leave her begging, to straddle her face and stick his dick her mouth.

  She had a sharp tongue, but he knew it’d soften as it stroked over his shaft. He groaned and reached for the shampoo to pour some on his hand, lubricating his path. He was going to come in a second, but he wanted to wait for the fantasy fuck.

  He’d let her lick him for a while, and then he’d make his way back down her body, back to the warm, wet and waiting pussy he’d prepared, and he’d enter her one slow inch at a time. When she’d adjusted around him, he’d pound in harder, then faster, then he’d slow it down, aligning their hips in a slow sensuous dance.

  In his shower, he came with a groan. He closed his eyes, catching his breath, still holding his softening cock in his hand. That had been the hottest orgasm he’d had in a long time, which was ridiculous considering it had been his hand and a virginal fantasy.

  The next few months were going to suck balls if he kept his hard-on for Olivia and his mother was living with him.

  Olivia entered the apartment where a hundred girls had walked before. Maybe a thousand. A million. She giggled nervously. Drew was a ladies’ man, but even he couldn’t have slept with every woman in Miami. She knew of at least two women with whom he hadn’t had carnal relations. Her mother and her. And probably Sister Mary, her third grade teacher.

  Yeah, Sister Mary would be immune to Drew’s charms. Probably. Maybe.

  Then she didn’t have time to think about immunity because she was in the apartment and Drew was there, rising to greet her, along with the ugliest dog she’d ever seen, like he was the poster dog for the rescue shelter. He was brown, black and tan with fur in some places, one floppy ear and a pointed one.

  “You good with dogs?”

  “Yes.” She knelt to give the dog her greeting. He promptly rolled on his back baring his belly to her. “He’s easy to win over.” She noted his mother sitting on the couch, but her gaze and her attention were fixated on Drew, while her hands continued petting the dog. “What’s his name?”

  “Brodie.”

  Having the dog to pet helped her as she tried to gain focus. Get it together, Livvy. You don’t even like the guy. She tried to convince herself, but the problem was she liked nearly everything about him except his attitude toward women. Change that, and the man was devastating to her senses.

  “You’re right on time. No trouble finding the place?” He turned behind him. “See, Mom. She’s prompt.”

  She forced herself to take her gaze off the dog and smile at the woman on the couch, who didn’t return the greeting. Instead she received a narrow-eyed assessing look that made her wish for a mirror to double-check her hair was combed, shoes polished and fingernails trimmed. “Hi Mrs. Weaver. Nice to meet you. I’m nurse Olivia Rodriguez.” She rose and held out a hand.

  The woman rose and shook her hand. Still no smile. “Your English is very good.”

  “Yes, well, it is my first language as I was born here in America.” She tried not to be snarky and judgmental, but it was rare to get that kind of attitude in Miami. Friends had told her of their less than great experiences in other parts of the country, but here, one didn’t assume someone wasn’t American-born because their last name was Rodriguez and they had a darker skin tone.

  “I apologize,” Mrs. Weaver said stiffly. “I’m a bit flustered. Andrew told me only minutes ago he’d hired a nurse.”

  Both women turned narrow-eyed stares at Drew, who gave his easy charming smile and held up his hands. “Mama, it’s for the best. I work a lot of hours. You don’t want to have to rely on me to shuttle you around to all your appointments.”

  “But...” Mrs. Weaver murmured, then fell silent.

  “Drew, give us a minute alone. All right?” Olivia imbued her tone with confidence and friendliness. “Maybe you could get us some cranberry juice or water with lemon.”

  He gave her a wide-eyed look. “Not sure I have those things. I have some Coke.”

  She shook her head. “Your mother shouldn’t drink soda. Perhaps you should go to the store now and stock up on some of her favorite food and drinks while she and I get acquainted?”

  “Uh, all right. Mom?”

  Mrs. Weaver nodded at Drew. “I’d appreciate it. It was a long drive yesterday.”

  Once Drew had left his apartment, with the dog in tow, Olivia intended to get to know her new patient. Gaining their trust and developing rapport was instrumental in her job. She always spent time getting to know her clients. In this case, her interest was more than professional. Her client was Drew’s mother, and her son was a source of dangerous fascination for Olivia.

  She walked over to the lounge chair, amused to see it was one of those pull back recliners, complete with hidden compartment for beer. How totally Drew. In fact the whole apartment spoke volumes about its owner. From what she knew of Drew, he was low key and laid back about possessions. She knew from Amy that he owned a fishing boat, and that’s where his money rested. His apartment was a place to lay his head—and lay women—and his truck was a mode of transportation.

  The furniture in his apartment didn’t match. Each piece was there because it served a function. Couch. Recliner. Coffee table—no coasters. Flat screen television on the wall. No framed art. No throw pillow or cozy blankets. One lamp, which could’ve been found in any college dorm room, stood in a corner. A few copies of Sports Illustrated were stacked on the edge of the coffee table. It was the apartment of a dedicated bachelor.

  “Are you dating my son?” Mrs. Weaver asked, breaking the ice.

  “Dating? Drew? Oh no. Definitely not. Nope. Not dating.” Too late she realized her litany of denial was a bit extreme. Mrs. Weaver was no dummy.

  “But you like Andrew. And he likes you.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. “Let’s talk about you,” she said, desperately trying to change the subject. “Drew gave me some background that you’ve had lupus for around ten years now and you are on a kidney transplant list, but in the meantime, need dialysis until a match comes through.”

  Her lips compressed. “That about sums it up. I’m not sure I need a nurse though.”

  She’d had other patients deny needing help, too. It was one thing to be aging. It was another to be aging enough where you needed help with the most basic of functions. No one wanted to admit they were that close to helpless. “Maybe not,” she said with equanimity. “But it could help. I’d do as much or as little as you’d need, even if it’s a ride to dialysis.”

  “I could use a ride. I don’t feel comfortable driving here.”

  “It would be easier not to have to rely on Drew to take you everywhere. What about meals and shopping? How’s that been?”

  “I’ve mostly been heating cans of soup,” Mrs. Weaver admitted. “I haven’t been feeling well enough to go out each week for fresh produce.”

  “And that salty soup can’t be on your diet plan,” she said sympathetically.

  “And you’d cook for me? I don’t really like spicy Mexican food,” she said, pursing her lips at her.

  “Since my family is Colombian, I don’t know how to cook Mexican food,” she said. “I’m not a professional chef, but I can prepare basic meals that conform to your restrictions, and I promise nothing spicy. I’m sure you don’t need it, but if you did, I can assist with bathing or any other hygiene care.” She leaned in as if telling a secret. “I don’t do this for everyone, but I’ve been known to give manicures and pedicures to clients I like.” She sat back. “Or I’d drive you to a salon.”

  “You don’t sound like a nurse,” Mrs. Weaver said suspiciously. “Aren’t you supposed to be giving me my medicine and checking my kidney function?”

  “Yes, and I’m trained for that, but I’ve been more of a home health aide these past few years. That’s why my work with you would only be part time. The rest of the time, I’ll be in the trauma unit
at Washington Memorial.”

  “Oh.”

  “Should we take a look at your living space?” Olivia asked. “I know it can’t be comfortable moving from your own home in with your son.” She gave an exaggerated look around. “I think the line of furniture is called Confirmed Bachelor.”

  Mrs. Weaver gave an obviously involuntary smile, then frowned. “Andrew’s like his father. He craves excitement too much to ever settle down.”

  Though Olivia was dying to unpack that statement, she clamped down on the desire. There’d be time to discuss Drew’s father later. It had nothing to do with the job scope. “Let’s go see where Drew set you up.”

  They both rose and she followed his mom down a short hallway. “Does everyone here call him Drew?” Mrs. Weaver asked.

  “As far as I know,” she said. “Until you called him Andrew, I thought his Christian name was Drew.” That earned another frown.

  “No, he’s called Andrew, after his father.”

  “Who picked the nickname?” Olivia asked. “And why Drew? Why not Andy?”

  “It was too confusing with two Andrews in the house, and my nickname for his father was Andy, so he became Drew.”

  They arrived at what was obviously Drew’s bedroom, but an open suitcase lay on the floor. Unfolded clothes spilled out of it as haphazardly as a teenage boy’s laundry basket. Olivia had only known Mrs. Weaver for less than an hour, but she guaranteed she wasn’t the kind of woman to have unfolded clothes sitting one step up from the floor. She pursed her lips. “Drew set you up in his bedroom?”

  “Yes. The other bedroom is his office and only has a sofa bed. It was kind of him to give up his bed for me,” she said, defending her son.

  She wondered for the first time if Drew had any siblings. She guessed not, because this entire setup seemed like a last resort. If there were an older, more settled sibling, Mrs. Weaver would be there. “I think we should unpack you and get you settled,” she said firmly.

  “Do you think so? This is his room. I don’t want to disrupt him.”

  “Mrs. Weaver, can I call you Karen?” She forged ahead, not waiting for agreement. “How long are you planning on staying here? At least a week, right?”

  “Karen’s fine, and well more than a week, I’d imagine.”

  “That’s what I figured. You could be here months or even longer. You can’t live like a hotel guest. That gets old after two nights. Unless of course Drew’s donor evaluation went well, and he’s a match for you. Even then, it’ll take weeks until the actual surgery.”

  “You’re right, but what can we do?” Karen worried her lip. Olivia eyed her cream colored blouse paired with sensible chinos and shoes that were not quite a loafer and less cute than a ballet flat. Her feet were extremely swollen, a sign of her damaged kidneys, and that she needed to get off her feet.

  Olivia wondered why she seemed inclined to allow her son to make all the decisions. It was the opposite of her own home where her parents made all the rules, and she followed. “We make this into a home the two of you can share.”

  “But the sofa bed…”

  “Will have to be moved out. We can look into whether your insurance will cover a hospital bed and we can have one moved into the second bedroom, giving Drew his bedroom back and transforming the guest bedroom into a real home for you.”

  “I’d like that,” Karen admitted.

  “Of course you would.”

  They heard the apartment door open and Drew call, “Anyone home? Mom?”

  “We’re in your room,” Olivia yelled back.

  He appeared in the doorway, with an armful of brown paper grocery bags. It hit Olivia hard that this was his bedroom and his queen-sized bed behind her. How many women had treaded this carpet and slept in that bed? More than she cared to think about. Then again, why did she care? They had no relationship, not even friendship.

  A romantic relationship was definitely not in the cards. For one thing, Drew wasn’t looking for a relationship, and even if he were, she couldn’t bring him home to her family. While it wasn’t strictly required for her to marry a Colombian man, she knew her parents would greatly prefer it. At the very least, a man who spoke Spanish would be preferred.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, looking from his mother to Olivia.

  “Your mother needs her own room with her own space,” she said.

  He looked confused. “I gave her a room.”

  “But no drawer or closet space. This is clearly your room, Drew. Your mother can’t live out of a suitcase.”

  “What do you suggest? I put my mother on a sofa?”

  “No,” she countered. “A rental hospital bed. You’d have to get rid of your sofa.”

  He looked as though he were going to protest, so she jumped in. “Your mom is going to be with you for a while, Drew. Making that second room her room will be more comfortable for both of you in the long run. You don’t want to keep coming in here to grab clothes and other personal items. Do you?”

  “No,” he admitted. His arms, full of groceries, started to lower. She reached out to grab the bags.

  “Let’s get these into the kitchen and then get started moving your mom in.” Drew and his mother followed her to the kitchen. She poured a glass of water, added lemon, then pushed it into Karen’s hands. “Go sit on the sofa, with your legs up. I don’t like how swollen your feet are.”

  Karen and Drew looked down at her feet, but Olivia was looking at Drew, so she caught his pained wince. He reached to his mother as if he were going to pick her up and carry her to the sofa. Instead, he gave her his arm and escorted her, then came back for Olivia. She was busy putting juice and other items into the fridge and pantry.

  His kitchen supplies were much like his apartment—for a bachelor. He had a few plates, mismatched coffee mugs, some utensils, and a fancy one-cup coffee maker.

  “Taking charge?” he asked from behind her, making her jump.

  She whirled to face him. “Isn’t that why you hired me?”

  “No. I wanted you to take care of my mother, not uproot my entire life.”

  “In this case, that’s an unintended consequence of taking care of your mother. I’m not doing it to be a pain in your butt, Drew. Your mother left her home and most of her belongings behind. She needs to feel like this is her home now.”

  “You’re right,” he muttered. “I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

  “She’s your mother, so of course you’ll do what she needs,” she said, confident that she only took on clients who would give their parents the best of care.

  He shrugged. “It’s not as if we’ve got a close loving relationship.”

  “She obviously loves you.”

  “I know, but we’re very different people and see the world differently. She doesn’t approve of my life and thinks I should’ve stayed in Titusville to work for NASA.”

  “How would a club owner work for NASA?” She laughed.

  “He could if he had a degree in aeronautics and engineering.”

  She stopped laughing and stared at him wide-eyed. “That’s your degree?”

  He nodded.

  “But you chose to party for a living instead?”

  “You sound like Ian’s dad.”

  “Isn’t he one of the investors in OCXA?”

  “Now he is, and that’s thanks to Cat. But there were some rough years, where he and Ian barely spoke over the fact that he thought Ian was making bad choices.”

  “What about your dad? Does he think you’re making bad choices?”

  “My dad thinks I’m brilliant for coming up with a job that lets me go to a party every night.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that and stayed as silent as a sixth-grader who hadn’t done his assigned reading in class. “Go clean out some drawers and closet space in your office to make room for your mom. I’ll start calling around to look for a bed to rent and place a Craig’s List ad for your sofa.”

  He looked as though he wanted to argue,
but then he pursed his lips and shuffled out of the kitchen.

  Later that night, his mom was sleeping in her new room. She was on the pullout sofa, but she had a hospital bed arriving tomorrow. Her clothes were all away in drawers or on hangers and her toothbrush was in a cup on the bathroom countertop. All thanks to Olivia who’d entered their apartment like a hurricane and taken over.

  Every time he’d protested or pushed back on one of her decisions, she’d given him a look that quelled any rebellion, and then she’d soften it with an explanation. His mother was half in love with her already, and she’d been vehemently against hiring a nurse in the first place.

  “I think she’s about settled in,” Olivia said, coming into his kitchen with a notepad and pen in hand. “I have a list of the household items she left in Titusville and looked to see if you have the equivalent here. Anything circled is missing, and you should pack it up and bring it back when you go pack up her house.

  That was the other big thing. He didn’t know what he’d been imagining when he’d picked his mother up at her home to bring her to his apartment, but it wasn’t this. He’d visualized her coming to stay for a little while, his apartment would stay the same, and her house up in Titusville would remain how she left it until she returned for it.

  Now he saw, that had been a naïve fantasy. His mother was here to stay, and they couldn’t leave her house empty. He’d have to go pack it up and put it on the market or for rent. He reached for the list in Olivia’s hand, and their fingers brushed. He let the paper fall, choosing to cling to her hand instead.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding curious but not upset.

  “I don’t know. I feel like I need…” He fell silent, not knowing what he needed.

  “An anchor,” she supplied. “I understand. All my clients feel this way after the first day. It’s hard to deal with all the logistics and emotion of an aging parent.”

  “Or maybe I’m wiped from spending the day with you,” he joked. It fell flat. “I’m sorry. That was rude, and you’ve been amazing today. I wouldn’t have known half the things you did.” He remembered seeing his mother’s swollen feet and hands and the bruises on her legs, when Olivia had pushed up his mother’s slacks to massage her limbs helping circulation.