Rusty Lovers

by Lilah Nichols

  “I cheated,” he confessed. “I bought a pecan pie and a few cans of whipped cream.” He had stood in the bakery section of the grocery store wondering what Eliza would like. He could clearly remember her mentioning chocolate, and the Bistro was French, so somehow cannolis hadn’t seemed right, or cake, or brownies. It had been miraculously easy once he had whittled down all the options of ‘what went well with whipped cream on top’ to pie.

  In the end, he had gotten a pecan pie and two cans of whipped cream. The baker behind the counter at the grocery store suggested it would be best if served warm, with a scoop of ice cream, or doused in whipped cream. There were certain parts of his anatomy, and hers, that he would like to see with a dollop on top. His tongue tingled, imagining what licking that fluffy whipped cream off would be like.

  She must have been reading his thoughts. He could see the candlelight reflected in her eyes, and see the warmth of a light blush spreading up over her cheeks. “I’m glad you remembered the Reddi-Whip, Frank,” she said. “It might be the highlight of dessert!” She took a few more bites and then winked at him, sitting back in her chair and announcing, “I’ll have to ask for a box. I couldn’t eat another bite!”

  Why did everything she said make him want to laugh? He laid his fork down beside his plate and scanned the room for Melanie. “Well good manners dictates that I follow suit,” and to his pleasure, the waitress cruised up to the table without much delay. Frank held up two fingers in a peace sign. “Two boxes and the check, please…”

  Chapter 6

  Settling the bill was quick and simple, and Frank left Melanie a hefty tip. She deserved it for the dinner recommendations and attention that got them in and out in record time. The evening hadn’t started out feeling rushed, but after sensing Eliza’s eagerness to get home for dessert, well, it was easy to catch that feeling. He made a mental note to bring Eliza back for another, more leisurely meal at the French bistro so they could linger over good French food and good French wine.

  He held the door for Eliza on the way out and felt her slip her hand into his, her grip firm, tugging him close while she stretched up to kiss him softly. She must have caught his quick glance around the environs afterwards because she chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. “I forgot, you still get nervous about public displays.”

  “I don’t, or at least I shouldn’t,” Frank replied. “I don’t know why I do that still, just trying to shake the feeling that we’re sneaking around. But my ex, or soon to be ex, uses anything as an excuse to reopen negotiations.” He kept her hand in his and hurried in the direction of the car, settling her in the passenger seat before taking the wheel and threading them through the late evening traffic.

  Eliza wanted to ask him more about the divorce negotiations that seemed to stress him out so much, since he had mentioned them a few times now. She waited, hoping he would bring up the subject again, but as fate would have it, the ride to Frank’s apartment took only a few minutes. The parking space Frank had pulled out of in front of the building was still open when they pulled up, and Frank slid the Honda into place.

  Eliza reached back to snag their leftovers off the back seat and then waited while he hurried around to open the door for her. He shut the car door gently behind her and locked it with a beep from the key fob. He knew he was overdoing it a bit, but the grand gestures seemed to make her smile.

  Eliza stood on the steps outside the building while Frank unlocked the door, admiring the contour of Frank’s buttocks in the bright light that spilled down from overhead. Other than the distinguished form of the gentleman on the stoop, there wasn’t much to differentiate this building from any apartment building she had been in lately. There was a pass-through vestibule which lead to a wide staircase of dark polished wood, and to the side, a row of mailboxes jutted from the wall with tenant’s names penciled in.

  Frank’s mailbox was open, jam-packed to overflowing with newspapers and envelopes. He yanked the whole wad of it out and tucked it beneath one arm. His smile was apologetic. He gathered up her hand with his free one, and drew it up to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles.

  “It’s gotten to be a standard of living around here these days. Legal correspondence.” He gestured vaguely to the wad of mail.

  His hand gripped hers firmly and reassuringly as she followed him happily up the stairs, a little bit amazed she had wrangled an invitation to his place so easily. She admired the view of him from behind as he lead the way up, finding his slim hips and sexy ass right at eye level. She liked the view, she admitted to herself, and she was getting used to it, even if she was feeling a little jealous of his tight, muscular behind.

  She continued to stand behind him as he fished again for his keys, and took great delight in touching that fabulous butt. His jacket rode up as he bent down, and it looked like it would fit the curve of her palm perfectly. It was so close and so irresistible, so why not?

  Just one small caress, she thought, hadn’t he commented several times how much her sexy caresses turned him on? How it made him feel sexy and desired?

  He gave a little ‘umph’ of surprise when her hand cupped one taut cheek but held still as her hand caressed down over him. Not groping, per se, just getting acquainted with the feel of him.

  With a little jingle, Frank opened his door and flicked on a light switch. Now that he had Eliza here in his apartment, he worried about what she’d think of it. The place was small and crowded with mismatched furniture. A heavy, maroon-colored wing chair he had brought home from his office at the college squatted between the closet door and the entrance to the kitchen. The old gray love seat that had been in Benny’s room for years was slightly tilted from so many teenagers leaning on the one arm, but it was the focal point in the room facing the flat screen. In front of it, a glass-topped coffee table split the distance to the TV, and behind it was the main walkway between the kitchen and the back hallway.

  As Frank took in the sparse furniture and over-sized windows on the far wall behind the couch he hoped she wasn’t too disheartened. At least the flat screen TV was new. When he glanced at Eliza, she was turned the other way, examining the most impressive thing in the room, his roll-top desk. Even though it was currently piled high with correspondence from lawyers and accountants, the dark mahogany gleamed. The top was thrown open, revealing an assortment of carved doors and drawers, and even the green corner of a desk blotter. He tossed the new mail on top of the old and closed the covering slats about half way.

  “You wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork so far in this divorce,” he said angrily. “At first I thought she was being difficult out of spite. But the longer this goes on, the less sense it makes. Assigning things sentimental value, and what not.”

  Eliza said nothing, just stood in the doorway while he rearranged the over-sized envelopes and closed the lid of his desk. “It seems like every week something new comes up that we have to arrange how to split. She keeps sending me lists of the most outrageous things. Like every savings bond or piece of fine china has to be equally divided.”

  Eliza took his hand and led him towards the love seat. “It’s going to take time, Frank. We both know it, ” she reassured him.

  For one minute he let the frustration of it all get to him. He waved an arm around the spartan room. “Does this look evenly divided? She can just leave and take everything?”

  Eliza sank down onto the gray love seat that looked like it had seen better days. She bounced up and down on it a little, testing the springs. “I don’t know… this might be a little tight for us to stretch out and get comfortable on…” she gave him a knowing look and then a saucy wink. “Do you really care about the Lennox teacups?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But it’s not right.”

  She smiled and the room was suddenly brighter. “I’ll test out the furniture, and determine which one will be best for making out on later. But before that, we should probably at least pretend to have coffee and dessert.”

  The air in the room
suddenly seemed hotter, and he pulled at his collar, loosening his tie and slipping the top button free from the clasp. She looked playful, comfortable on the cast-off furniture, and he would be an idiot to let his simmering anger over his legal problems get in the way of enjoying the evening with her.

  He headed for the kitchen, making a quick stop to hang up his jacket in the coat closet. “I’ll see about that coffee, and heating up that pie,” he called over his shoulder.

  The tiny kitchen was all original tile and appliances. The only light source was an overhead bulb, and it was way too bright, but at least he could see in the cabinet as he hunted down the old Mr. Coffee machine. Nowhere near as easy or efficient as the brand new Keurig he had used until recently. Somehow that was also a casualty of war, something he had lost custody of in this mess even though it had been a gift to him from the science department at the college to celebrate his 20 years of teaching.

  He turned the oven on to 350 and set the pecan pie on the rack without letting it preheat, and then scooped coffee into the filter. He was setting out two coffee mugs, one from a vacation to Maine and another that said, ‘#1 Teacher’. He could hear Eliza moving around in the living room, probably doing exactly what she’d promised, investigating his furniture for a good place to cuddle. The mental image of her perfect, round ass occupying every seat made him smile.

  Somehow the idea of her lightheartedly bouncing on every piece of furniture, just to tease him out of a mood really did ease his tension. She was not going to let his current situation detract from their evening, and he would be insane not to allow this classy lady cheer him up.

  Frank set the kitchen timer for 10 minutes and went in search of her. The living room was empty when he got there, and he continued down the short hallway, ascertaining there was light under the bathroom door. He double checked that his bed was made and the bedroom somewhat presentable, and made his way back to the kitchen. He wondered once again what had made her want to see his place, and hoped she wasn’t going to write him off because of it. She’d have to know this was all just temporary, wouldn’t she? He propped one shoulder against the door jam and waited.

  “Oh, I like your bedroom, Frank!” There was a little tell-tale squeak from the bed springs, and he could just picture her in there, bouncing lightly on it, assessing the comfort level of that too. For later.

  Wow. Suddenly the prospects for this evening sizzled through his brain, and he felt his dick stirring at the thoughts. He liked the idea of her in there, on his bed. Her ass, on his bed.

  The timer sounded with a low buzz that drew him back to the present. The coffee was finished dripping, and he could actually smell the pie. Frank opened the oven door and pulled back as a blast of hot air hit him in the face. He hesitated for a moment and looked around the cook space blankly.

  The timer kept on buzzing.

  Eliza hurried in, drawn by the delicious aromas of coffee and pecans. She stopped short when she saw the look on his face. It almost broke her heart. “What is it, Frank?”

  He stayed bent over, peering into the oven. “I don’t seem to have any pot holders.” He said it like it was the end of the world, and she realized it was probably just one more thing in a long string of hurts. His life had been organized, secure, and now he was finding one thing after another that was out of sync.

  But really, that’s what this was about? Pot holders? Eliza glanced around, and then pulled open the cabinet under the sink. She pulled out an old dish towel and nudged him out of the way. She folded the dishtowel a couple times and yanked the pie plate out, setting it down on the stove top. A quick (if forward) look in a drawer revealed some knives and forks. “You pour the coffee, hun, and I’ll take charge of slicing this pie. And doling out the whipped cream,” she joked.

  He had two mugs of coffee ready, light and sweet, in the amount of time it took her to cut two large portions of pie and overload them with whipped cream. Which, as far as she was concerned, was the recommended way to eat pecan pie.

  They made their way back to the living room and settled beside each other on the sofa. Eliza made herself comfortable, sitting on one foot and leaning against the slightly wobbly arm. It had a nice amount of give, and she braced her elbow on it, watching Frank set his mug on the table and sit somewhat stiffly beside her.

  “How long have you lived here, Frank?” she inquired, wanting to see him relax a bit. “I like it, it kind of reminds me of a place I rented in my college days.”

  The sound that he made was a cross between a laugh and a snort. “I have been here over six months, and it looks about the same as it did on day one.”

  Eliza sipped her coffee and then set the cup down. “And how did it happen, did she move out, or tell you to move out? How is it you’re here and your house is sitting empty?”

  “I look back, and try to figure out where it all started, I try to chart where things went bad, you know, look at the situation with a scientific approach.” He paused to wash down a bite of pie with some coffee. “There were trouble spots, times where she wanted things I couldn’t give her, or times I messed up and planned a work trip to D.C. when she was planning a weekend away with her friends, but lately, this past year she has been so… unforgiving.”

  “What do you mean, unforgiving?” Eliza asked. “There was no pleasing her, or she was pissed about everything?

  “She got erratic, almost greedy, and then it was like it never happened. She moved out, moved in with this flashy day trader, and wanted to sell everything, just take off.”

  Eliza nodded encouragingly. “Sometimes people get wrapped up in their own problems they forget other people have them too.”

  “But my desk,” he gestured towards it with his fork. “She wanted to sell that, even though it is mine, left to me by my uncle. And when I said no and brought it here, she was mad about the empty space in the house, which she wasn’t even living in anymore.”

  Eliza loaded up a perfect bite, small amount a pie and the last of her whipped cream. She held out the fork to him and waited while he slowly leaned in to accept it.

  “All couples disagree and let their emotions take over. There was a time after Josh was born when my life was crazy, and I got no sleep. I was struggling to lose the baby weight, and barely even trying. And Jim, in his own out of touch way asked if he should move the treadmill up from the basement and put it in the dining room.” She casually scraped up the remnants of Reddi Whip with the side of her fork, and then continued, “ because I seemed to forget that we had a treadmill, hidden away down there.”

  Frank chuckled, ‘I bet that didn’t go over well.”

  “No, but after he went out and bought one of those speed-walker strollers I really let him have it, blasting him for his insensitivity, and he ended up taking the kids out for walks in it, leaving me time home alone for a combat nap.”

  “That was what you really wanted, wasn’t it?”

  “It was! I hadn’t realized how well it turned out in the end. I was just so worked up over that treadmill comment.” Eliza sat and smiled as she sipped her coffee. “The pie was delicious, Frank.”

  She was also silly pleased that he had remembered how she liked her coffee. “It makes me feel good that you remembered how I take my coffee,” she admitted, trying to get the evening back on track. As always, the crust was never as appealing as the innards of pecan pie. She had nibbled a little crust with each bite but mostly centered her efforts around the good stuff.

  Frank watched her and laughed. “It never ceases to amaze me. You know what you want, and you go for it, with no worries about social convention or what anyone else might think.”

  Her plate landed on the glass table with a little clink, and she took another long sip of her coffee. “By taking the best part and not worrying about what’s dry and crusty?” She was talking about more than pie, and he knew it. She licked a little bit of whipped cream off her lip, and his eyes followed the pink tip of her tongue. He couldn’t tell if she was doing it on purpose�
� but now all he could think about was her soft, full lips, and kissing them.

  Chapter 7

  Eliza scooted a little closer beside him, feeling him stiffen as she pushed him out of his comfort zone. Such a simple thing, to lean in holding her coffee mug lightly, and hover close enough to remind him of their evening in the movie theater. Her lips were a hair’s breadth from his cheek, bringing back the sensation of how her warm breath had felt on his ear, as if she knew how badly he wanted it again.

  And he did, she could tell. She caught a glimpse of his tongue as he wet his lips. She didn’t even have to look down at the crisp folds of his pants. It seemed his wardrobe consisted of work clothes, work clothes, and more work clothes, just like hers. She made a mental note to come back to that later, and plan a shopping trip for something more casual than casual Friday.

  His face was just inches from hers. There was a hint of five o’clock shadow, but her nose was still drawn to the crook of his neck. A light aroma, manly and yet not overpowering. She couldn’t resist. She sniffed, making him laugh.

  “I have been meaning to ask you, what is that scent you always wear? Is that aftershave? Body wash?”

  He laughed again. “Body wash? Sorry, no. Tell me, do you like it?”

  She leaned in again and breathed deeply. “Whatever it is, I approve. I am not sure I have ever encountered this scent before. Old Spice?” she joked.

  “Eternity for Men,” he grinned. Then he turned his head, gathered her up in his arms and kissed her. He pulled her close slowly, feeling her warmth and her curves. His lips lingered over hers, tasting. Her lips parted under his in a small sigh, opening and offering his tongue a sneak inside. She tasted of pecan pie and Maxwell House coffee. He heard her coffee cup land on the glass top coffee table with a clink and she turned in his arms, rising up, straddling him and locking her arms fiercely around his neck.