by Mae Wood
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Proofing provided by Marla Esposito at Proofing with Style
Cover design by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs
Formatting by AB Formatting
Copyright © 2017 Mae Wood All rights reserved.
Atacama Books
ISBN-13: 978-0-9862886-6-1 (ebook)
ISBN-13: 978-1542623476 (paperback)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Dedication
To Mom and Dad
Odds are that you’ll never read this.
But I can’t thank you enough.
For everything.
Preface
And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover’s intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.
Aristophanes’s Speech from Plato’s Symposium
Translated by Benjamin Jowett from Collected Works of Plato, 4th Edition, Oxford U. Press, 1953 (189c-189d) p 520 to (193d-193e) p 525
Chapter One
Bert
She was cheating when I met her. Sidled up to the bar and ordered her third Pinot Gris, making eyes at me the entire time. One long hot July later and I’m counting down minutes for our dinner together to end even though we haven’t even ordered yet. The first meal I watched her savor from my post behind the bar was as gorgeous as she is. Frenched lamb chops—
“Is the Cajun rib eye Paleo?” she asked the waiter.
“Christ,” I exhaled under my breath. I thought it was a cheat day. Isn’t Saturday her cheat day? Did she change it?
After the waiter mumbled his uncertainties, she whipped out her iPhone and began tapping. “I know some pre-made spice mixes can have sugar in them, which is not okay, even Turbano sugar, but if it’s being made in-house, it’s less likely to have sugar. Can you find out for me?”
A few taps more and she emerged triumphant. “Since this isn’t a strictly Cajun restaurant, I’m going to guess it’s some mass market spice mix. Also, can you ask what they use to baste the steak? I don’t do dairy, so butter is not okay. If they are basting with any oils, I want to know which ones.”
I tuned her out, drained my G&T, and cast the harried waiter a reassuring smile. No matter how screwed up she’d deem her order, I wasn’t going to stiff him on the tip. Hell, for putting up with a non-cheat day order, the poor bastard was due forty percent. Happily playing twenty questions with her about the side of Brussels sprouts was enough to earn any server a badge of honor in my book.
As soon as the server’s feverish jotting of her demands ended, I signaled for another cocktail and ordered the gumbo, making sure to ask for extra cornbread and butter for the table. Dick move when I knew none of it was Paleo? Probably. I no longer cared. I picked up the last piece of jalapeño cornbread and slathered it with a thick spread of butter before popping it in my mouth.
“So this morning I did Isabel and my coach told me how great my snatch is.” The cornbread lodged in my throat.
There is nothing, I repeat, nothing like the woman you’re sleeping with casually discussing “doing” a woman and then mentioning her snatch in public. Even if she’s really talking about her weirdly named lifting workouts.
“He said my form has really improved and that I need to bring some of the same body position to my jerks.”
Trust me, your jerking form is excellent.
I knew she wasn’t talking sex at all, but rather about her favorite subject—CrossFit. I washed down the cornbread with a few sips of the fresh G&T that landed in front of me, and thoughtfully nodded for her to continue while I ogled her generous cleavage and thought about my favorite subject—sex.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I like lots of things. Farm-to-table food, well-crafted beverages, triathlons, being called Bert.
While she talked about wall ball and box jumps, my mind drifted to our bike ride and picnic at Shelby Farms last weekend.
It was a warm day and she was glowing with sweat as we made our way around Memphis’s large urban park. I stayed behind her, ostensibly to let her set the pace, but in reality, it was to check out her ass in what could only be described as hot pants. Infinitesimally tiny and nearly nonexistent when she stood up on her pedals, leaning her weight forward on her handlebars. Now that’s the snatch I wanted to think about. I shifted in my seat, forcing myself to trot that image out later.
I took another sip of my drink and tuned back just in time to catch the wardrobe drama. Because this CrossFit monologue would at some point include a description of new shoes or an outfit of hers or one of her workout buddies.
“And then Jennifer’s hair elastic broke. Right during burpies! But she kept going. That girl is a rock star. She had on the cutest Lululemon tank with a flyaway back. Super cute. I just love all those girls so much,” said Bethany.
I nodded again. Me, the guy who knew he should end it. This wasn’t going anywhere besides her bedroom. But I didn’t want to end it. To be frank, she was hot, wavy dark brown hair that ended right at the tops of her big boobs and soft lips on a jaw that opened wide. The sex was fantastic.
The next morning, we had a lazy breakfast at her place. The one plus about dating a girl on a Paleo diet is that she has real food in her house. Fresh fruit, veggies for omelets, and even bacon from a pig, not from a turkey. Such a difference from Amy.
Amy, oh crap.
“What time is it?” I asked, looking around in hopes of spotting my errant iPhone or an actual clock in her apartment.
“Uh, about ten, I think? You going riding with the guys today?”
Easier just to dodge thi
s. “Nope. Leading a workshop at Revolutions, the bicycling co-op. Sid and I are helping folks adjust brakes and do general tune up work.”
“Cool. As much as you give me grief about CrossFit, you boys are nuts about your bikes. Well,” she added with a sigh, “don’t let me keep you.”
“Thanks, babe.” I pushed back from her breakfast table and downed my coffee.
“You want to get dinner later this week?”
“I wish I could, but I can’t. We’re putting together the fall menu for the restaurant and I’ve got meetings and Patti is taking a few days off, which means I’m stepping in as general manager.” I kept babbling as I made my way to her door, but she caught up with me.
“Okay, you know I’ll miss you. Feel free to pop by anytime that works for you.”
I nodded, knowing a late night sexathon might be in the cards but not another date. I bent down to give her a peck on the cheek while silently bidding good-bye to her boobs wrapped in a brown silk robe. Updike’s two scoops of vanilla made even more decadent in chocolate sauce.
“Will do,” I said, one foot already out the door. “Have a great WOD.” Having turned her focus away from me and towards her Workout of the Day, I felt a million times lighter.
Chapter Two
Bert
“Grady got into Vanderbilt. Early action.”
“That’s awesome, man. Congrats. Is he going?” Trip asked, pausing from his work on the small bike set on a stand in between us.
“Probably. Amy’s hopeful he’ll venture farther than four hours away. She hasn’t said it, but I think she wants him at Duke.”
“Does he realize his special Vandy pedigree?”
“That I was an All-American swimmer and Amy graduated magna cum laude? Pretty sure he knows about the swimming since I had him on a team when he was in kindergarten,” I said, before returning the brake calipers I was adjusting.
Trip laughed at my intentional obliqueness. “Sure. That one. So when he gets assigned to a room in y’all’s old dorm, he’s not going to think, Hey, I just got a room in McTyeire. Weird that’s my middle name. I wonder if this building meant something to my parents?”
“Man, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I wasn’t going to stick another man with Albert. Four in a row is enough and Amy wasn’t into that either,” I said.
“Because Graden McTyeire Forsythe is a vast improvement. How was being a fourth? Did it kill you?”
I set down the Allen wrench on a workbench and wiped the grease off my hands on a dirty rag hanging from the bike’s handlebars. “News from the home front?”
Trip looked up from the chain he was replacing on a child’s bike. “Marisa’s expecting.”
“You mean Runner Girl?” I asked as a smile crept across my face. “That’s awesome man. Congrats. Grady’s the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re going to love it.”
“I sure hope so.”
“You will. And might I say I’m rather impressed. About a year ago, you two were dry humping like teenagers in Pig and Barley and now you’re a married man with a baby on the way. Glad I didn’t take that bet.”
Trip brushed his sandy hair out of his face with the back of his greasy hands. “What bet?”
Crap. “Uh, okay. There may have been something riding on you two.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, after we all found out that you’d been buying her bikes, the next time you ditched us for a long Sunday ride, we took bets on when you were going to pull the trigger.”
“So who won?”
“No one. I think I was the earliest and I had you proposing like about now. A year after your floorshow at the restaurant.”
“I’m full of surprises like that,” he said, turning back to the bike.
“Really. You are. So when is the baby due?”
“February.”
“No shit. So basically, you’ll be celebrating your first anniversary with an infant.”
“My boys may not be All-Americans, but they certainly are swimmers.”
“Either that or you two just fuck way too much.”
He shrugged. “No comment. Speaking of fucking too much, what’s up with the Snatch?”
“Would you please stop calling her that?”
“No. It’s too funny. You call Marisa Runner Girl still and since the Snatch likes to talk about her snatch, it’s only fair.”
“Two totally different situations and you know it.”
“Fine. You going to make an honest Snatch out of her?”
“No. Do you know any guys who are into CrossFit?”
“Really? Looking to pawn her off?”
“Yeah. It’s time.”
“Ah, so the two month mark is approaching. When she’s going to confront you about why she never gets to come over to your place and why you are so committed to your friends, your restaurant, your volunteering at the co-op?”
“Pretty much.”
“It’s been four years since you and Amy divorced. Hell, I think Grady is even over it.”
Not now. Not from him, too. Between Grady asking why I never go on dates like his mom does and my sisters continually trying to set me up, my personal life felt far from private.
“You know there are lots of single dads who date,” he continued.
“Listen, Grady’s got a soccer match at four out in Cordova, so I’ve got to leave soon.” No matter that the soccer match was four o’clock, but at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. “Let me work on the front brakes while you finish the chain. That way at least one child will get a bike this week.”
Chapter Three
Bert
“Hey, Bert. I’ve got a Chablis that you have to taste. Crisp but mellow.”
Before I could take my eyes off the laptop I was working on at the bar, I knew my Monday afternoon had just gone sideways. And this was going to be anything but “mellow.” I braced for the whirlwind that was the restaurant’s wine distributor’s rep. Blond, leggy, bubbly and far south of thirty, Drennan was great at her job—a job that consisted of convincing me and other restauranteurs in Memphis to buy her wares, which always seemed to be on offer. I closed the lid on my computer and turned to her, conceding that the next hour was now hers.
A bright blue dress skimmed her curves, giving me an ample view of her cleavage. My other vendors called on me in business casual, mainly logo-emblazoned polos and pressed khaki pants, but Drennan always dressed like she was headed to a dinner date and about a third dinner date at that.
“How’d that Willamette Valley estate blend work out of you guys? I’ve been hearing a lot of great feedback. Excellent price point even after your margin.”
My brain kicked into gear and away from her muscular calves that I wanted to lick and bite. “Great actually. I may feature it on our fall menu. I’m just finishing inventory and I’ve got two cases left. Put me down for six of those plus my usual.”
“Ever push beyond your comfort zone?”
And there it was—the innuendo I’d been waiting for.
“Seriously, let me see if I can blow your mind with this Chablis. I’ve got two others—a Voigenier and a big bodied Cab out of Mendoza. Totally under the radar.” She made herself at home behind the bar and began pouring tastings while passing me typed tasting notes.
Business. Keep this to business. She’s hot and flirty, but it’s just a way to close the deal, a wine sales deal.
“You know y’all’s tasting notes are always great. Is it wrong to let you know I lean heavily on them when we prepare the descriptions on the wine list?” I said.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly, as she expertly worked a corkscrew into a bottle.
Nice hands. Again I pulled my mind from the gutter, reminding myself of what I really needed to buy and not to be a sucker who ordered to bring another smile to her cherry red lips. “Like Food & Wine good.”
“Thank you. I worked there for a bit. Now let me tell you about this Cab and what I’m seeing in trends for winter whi
le the Voigenier and Chablis get to temperature.”
“You worked at Food & Wine? When you were in high school?” She’s like twenty-three and she’s now hawking wine in Memphis, but she worked for Food & Wine? When she was in utero?
“No,” she said, tucking a lock of honeyed hair behind her ear. “I interned there during college and then was a staff writer for the wine blog for a couple of years.”
“So why are you a sales rep in Memphis?” I couldn’t help myself from asking even though I had no rational desire to learn more about her. Keeping her as spank bank material was ideal.
Memphis was home to me and with Amy’s mother deceased it made the most sense for us to settle here, but why would someone who could write at Food & Wine be here?
“Great opportunity to work on the sales end and help grow a market,” she said, another smile dancing on her red lips, but one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“And you’ve magically accomplished all of this in the three years since you’ve been legal to drink?”
Chapter Four
Drennan
A snort escaped me. Way to blow the sexy siren vibe I was shooting for this afternoon. “I’m almost twenty-seven and have a degree in Viticulture and Enology from UC Davis. I’ve been working in the industry since high school. I’m from Napa.”
Bert’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. That’s right, Lickable Man, I’m not just a pair of boobs. But don’t they look awesome in this dress? I couldn’t help but shimmy slightly while recorking the bottle, but Bert just kept looking at me curiously without a word, so I continued, trying to keep the chat lighthearted if he wasn’t going to bite. And I wanted a bite. “So, this,” I said, gesturing towards the bottle and the tasting notes, “is in my blood. What do you think of the cab?”
He swirled the pour in his glass and held it to the light with his glass tilted. “Tell me about it.”
I launched into a spirited, happy sales pitch while watching his mouth form around the bowl. His lips gently parted and I paused for a beat as the wine slid through, showing me a peek of his pink tongue. Sometimes scruffy, sometimes clean-shaven, regardless that face and those lips, not to mention that tongue, were on heavy rotation during prime time.