“She only does that when she’s wearing leather.”
Alex blows out a breath. “I did not need that information. I’m getting out of the car. Go buy your girlfriend some flowers and chocolate.”
“Okay.” I pop the trunk as he gets out of the car. “Alex?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Helping me.”
“All you need to do is ask, Darren.”
I wait until he’s closed the trunk before I follow the directions to the flower shop. The girl helps me pick flowers for Charlene, which is something I decide I’m going to do more often. Flowers are a lot like lingerie, full of beauty in different forms and textures. Some are lacy, silky, frilly, soft and pale, dark and heavy. It takes me nearly an hour before I have a complete bouquet, which costs almost as much as lingerie and contains everything from purple night lilies to yellow dahlias with petals that look like the tips have been dipped in red ink.
I stop at the Godiva store and fight the urge to browse the lingerie shop next to that. Alex is right. Buying lingerie for Charlene will give the message that I would like sex. Which is true. However, as soon as I choose lingerie for Charlene, she also believes I’m choosing how things will happen in the bedroom. Sometimes it’s fun, but I would like to avoid that tonight.
I fire off a text to Charlene before I get in my car, but she doesn’t respond right away, so I drive over, hoping I’m right and she’ll be home. I can leave the presents for her if she’s not, but it defeats the purpose.
My palms are sweaty as I pull in to her driveway. Her car is here, which means she should be home. Christ, I’m nervous, which is ridiculous considering I’m just bringing her flowers and chocolate. It’s not like I’m asking her to marry me.
I contemplate that, the idea of marriage. Would I marry Charlene? The institution as a whole doesn’t mean much to me. It’s one’s actions that dictate devotion. Words mean nothing if there’s no conviction behind them.
Do I think Charlene would want to marry me? I don’t know. But I’m not here to ask Charlene to marry me. I’m here to show her that I can be a normalish boyfriend. I can be thoughtful and buy her unnecessary and frivolous things.
It’s with that in mind that I get out of the car, bouquet and chocolate in hand. I check my phone before I slip it in my pocket, noting that she still hasn’t responded to my messages from earlier.
Her front walk is lined with pretty flowers in a variety of colors, but yellow seems to dominate, along with some purple and white, so the ones I’ve chosen should go over well. I hope.
Maybe she’s in the bath. That would be nice. I like Charlene fresh from the bath. She’ll be relaxed. I could let myself in since I have a key, but I rarely come to Charlene. My house is more convenient, and my bedroom is much better equipped for sex and sleepovers. And since I’m surprising her, I figure it’s a good idea to knock and wait to be let in, setting a precedent and all.
Charlene opens the door the requisite three inches the chain latch allows. Her hazel eye widens. “Darren? What’re you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Oh.” Her hand flutters to her throat.
Hmm. I expected a slightly different reaction. “Can I come in? Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“What? Oh! No. Yes, I mean. You can come in. Just a sec.” The door closes and the sound of the latch disengaging follows. A few seconds later she opens it again and steps back to allow me inside.
“This is a surprise.” She pulls at the bottom of her shirt with one hand and pats her hair again with the other.
“That was my intention.”
I look her over. She’s wearing a pair of teal leggings covered in a donut print and a pale purple tank with a donut on the front holding a cup of coffee. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her face is free of makeup. She’s not wearing socks. Her toes are naked apart from the big one on the right foot, which is painted the same shade of purple as her tank. I don’t believe she’s wearing a bra based on her perky nipples.
Her gaze darts down where my hands are tucked behind my back in an attempt to conceal the massive bouquet of flowers and the box of chocolates. Actually, there are two boxes of chocolates since ginger chocolate and mint chocolate should be separated, according to the lady who assisted me.
I reveal the bouquet of flowers first.
Charlene blinks several times, eyes darting from the flowers to my face and back again. “You brought me flowers?”
“I did.” I’m not sure what kind of response I expected, but again, this isn’t quite it. She seems shocked. “Should I not have?”
“What? Oh! I, uh . . . they’re just . . .” She traces the satiny petals. “So beautiful.”
“Yes. Like you.”
A soft smile lights up her face. I wonder at her sweetly unguarded surprise. I’m certain I tell her she’s beautiful all the time. I know I think it every single time I see her. Maybe the words get stuck in my head and never actually make it out of my mouth.
“You can take them. They’re for you.”
Charlene’s bun flops around as she gives her head a little shake and takes the bouquet. “Oh, wow, this is heavy.” She buries her nose in the blossoms and inhales deeply. I want to frame the image.
“I brought you something else as well.” I hold out the Godiva bag.
Charlene’s expression shifts to childlike excitement. “You brought me flowers and chocolate?”
“I did.” I smile. “And based on the samples the saleswoman provided, I will attest that they’re delicious—just like you, as well.”
My smile widens at her blush.
“This is really sweet of you, and very unexpected,” Charlene clutches the flowers and chocolates to her chest. “Um, I should go upstairs and change and then put these in some water.” She makes a move toward the kitchen, which she’ll have to pass through to get to her bedroom.
“No! I mean, I like you exactly as you are.”
She glances down at her outfit.
“Please don’t change on my account. I’m rather fond of this.” I skim the strap of her tank and watch goose bumps rise along her arm. “Why don’t I help you put the flowers in water, and you can try the chocolate? Unless you have plans this evening?”
“I don’t have any plans.”
“So it would be okay for me to stay and spend some time with you.” I shake my head at how awkward I sound. “That was meant to be a question.”
Charlene bites her bottom lip. “You can stay and spend some time with me, if you want.”
“Yes. I want.” I nod, then realize I haven’t completed the thought. “To spend time with you.”
I retrieve a vase from Charlene’s pantry and help her arrange the flowers. She has trouble deciding where she wants them, and eventually settles on the kitchen table, which she can see from the living room and the front door.
Charlene’s house is small, as one might expect for a single woman living on her own. She makes good money as an accountant for sports professionals, but she’s still managing all of her costs on a single income, which is why I insisted on giving her a credit card to make special purchases.
She adjusts the vase, turning it half an inch to the right and then to the left, determining placement. Her ass looks fantastic in leggings, and I decide I need to find out where she gets them so I can buy some for her, and she can wear them more often.
When she comes to my place, her visits are always arranged in advance, which means her makeup is flawless and she’s impeccably dressed. But I like this version of her as well. She looks relaxed and comfortable, something I would like to experience more of.
“What do you want to do now?” she asks.
“What were you doing before I arrived?”
“Just watching TV.”
“Well, we could do that together.”
“Uh, we can, but I was watching bad reality TV.”
; “That’s okay.” I’m likely going to be watching Charlene and not the TV, so the content is basically irrelevant.
I follow her to the living room, which is cozy, like the rest of her house. It looks like she was sitting on the couch, curled up with a blanket. I drop down at the end that’s blanket free and adjust the pillow behind me.
Charlene folds the blanket and drapes it neatly over the back of the couch, then takes a seat on the other end. She fidgets. Picks up her half-consumed hot chocolate and takes a sip while she unmutes the TV.
I glance at the screen. “What is this?”
“Teen Baby Daddy. I told you I was watching bad reality TV.”
“Wow. So this is really a show?”
“I can change it.” She reaches for the remote, her cheeks flushing.
I cover her hand with mine. “No. Don’t do that. It’s fine.”
“Sometimes I like to watch reality TV because it reminds me how easy my life is in comparison. But we can do something else if you want.” She sets her hot chocolate on the side table and shifts closer. She looks shy and uncertain as she leans in, brushing her lips over the edge of my jaw. “Thank you, for the flowers and the chocolate. That was a nice surprise.”
I have to fight with my body not to turn my head, slip my fingers in her hair and taste her mouth. I imagine she’s sweet like chocolate right now. I remind myself that I have another purpose for being here that isn’t supposed to be about sex. If it’s offered, I don’t want to say no, though, especially since I’m going to be away for a few days and all I’ll have is my hand to keep me company.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night and your afternoon with the girls.”
She sits back, putting distance between us again. I don’t like it. Maybe I should’ve sat in the middle of the couch, then she’d have to sit next to me. “Oh. Right, of course. Do you want to know what I told them?”
“Only if you want to tell me.” I pick up the nail polish sitting on the coffee table and tap the end of her single, painted toe. “Don’t you usually go to the spa for this?”
“I was going to make an appointment for when you’re away.”
“Would you like me to make one for you?” I shift and set her foot in my lap. “I could arrange to have Violet join you.”
“You don’t have to go to the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. You could have a whole day at the spa if you’d like.” I run my thumb along her instep. “In the meantime, I could paint these for you while you get your TV fix.” I wiggle her big toe.
“Just as long as this isn’t the beginning of a foot fetish, have at it,” she says.
“I think you know all of my fetishes by now.” I start to unscrew the cap but Charlene stops me.
“You have to shake it first.”
“Like real paint.”
“Exactly.”
Charlene’s feet are delicate, much like the rest of her. I definitely don’t have a foot fetish, but I can appreciate that even her feet are pretty. While Charlene indulges in brain candy, I focus on the task of painting her toenails. It isn’t exactly easy. I have to use a Q-Tip dipped in polish remover a couple of times when I mess up, since Charlene’s toes are small, and my hands are not.
“I think Miller has a foot fetish,” Charlene says as I finish the first coat. She’s informed me already that they’ll require two, which is fine with me. I’m touching her, and I’d like to continue doing so in a way that doesn’t make it seem like I’m here just for sex.
“How do you know that?”
Charlene arches an eyebrow. “Sunny mentioned that he likes to paint her toenails.”
“I’m painting your toenails, and I don’t have a foot fetish.”
“She also told us he likes to kiss her toes, and her face went completely red when she said that, so I have a feeling he might like to do more than that.”
“You girls certainly like to share.”
Her eyes stay fixed on her mug. “I keep it pretty vague. Violet always draws her own conclusions.”
I wonder how much harm I’ve done her in asking to maintain such a high level of privacy. In doing so, I’m responsible, in part, for creating some of the distance in this relationship. My own secrets don’t make it any better.
“And that’s how you managed today?” I ask.
“No one made a big deal out of it. Except Violet and her Area 51 fears, but those are kind of justified, so . . .”
“Area 51?” Alex used the same term earlier. I have no idea what aliens have to do with sex.
“Anal invasion.”
My smile is automatic and likely lecherous. “Ahh. Violet is opposed, then?”
“She’s a little wary of Alex’s size.”
I’ve played hockey with Alex for years. There’s a lot of time spent in the locker room showering and getting changed when you’re on an NHL team. You get used to seeing a lot more of people than you would in most professions.
Charlene must read my confusion. “He’s a grower, not a shower.”
“And you know this how?”
“I accidentally got a peek in Vegas when we had to pry Violet away from Alex for the wedding. You would not be granted access if you were packing a cannon like that.”
I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. “I’m above average.” I know this because I’ve read the articles and taken the necessary measurements.
“Trust me, I’m very aware of how above average you are. But Alex is scary huge.”
“Huh. Well that’s . . . interesting.” I accepted a long time ago that Alex is the better player on the ice, but I always thought I had a leg up—proverbially speaking—in this department. As a competitive person, I’m displeased to find out he’s winning in that area, too. So far he’s more accomplished in hockey, relationships, cock size, and who the fuck knows what else.
“How were the guys today? I’m sure they had all kinds of things to say.” Charlene bites her lip and dips a finger in her hot chocolate before slipping it in her mouth. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be intentionally sexual or not. I choose to pretend it didn’t happen rather than offer her something significantly larger to dip in there.
“Randy wanted to know who wore the ball gag.”
Charlene’s eyes widen. “What did you say?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know. Just curious, I suppose.”
“I told them no one wears it.”
“That’s it?”
“And that you don’t like the way it tastes.”
She traces the edge of the donut on her knee. “I could try it again if you want.”
Would I like to see Charlene wearing a ball gag? I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed. But is it something I need? Absolutely not.
“I don’t ever want you to do anything you don’t one-hundred percent enjoy. My concern today is that you weren’t overwhelmed by questions, or a sense of responsibility or ownership for what happened. I don’t want you to feel as though you have to tell me anything you talked to the girls about today, but I hope if there’s something that isn’t working between us, you would come to me so I could try to fix it.”
She tips her head to the side, eyes locked on mine. “I like how we are together. And I like that you’re here now.”
“As do I.”
She takes another sip of her drink, licking away the marshmallow foam that sticks to her lip. She manages to leave a little behind.
“You missed some.” I rub my thumb over the spot.
I’m not disappointed when Charlene’s fingers wrap around my wrist and her lips close over my thumb, swirling slowly, eyes locked on mine. These kinds of real conversations aren’t always easy with Charlene because we’re both so guarded. But we can communicate incredibly well in other ways.
When she releases my thumb, I replace it with my lips. I didn’t kiss Charlene last night, except for maybe once or twice. Which drives her crazy.
Charlene loves making out. She
would kiss until her lips are raw if I let her. Sometimes I deny her, so the next time we’re together I can capitalize on how much she seems to love the simple act of kissing.
I stroke inside her mouth on a leisurely sweep. Charlene moans, low and sweet, fingertips dragging softly down my cheek as she opens wider, inviting me deeper. Which is the exact moment I disengage and retreat to the other side of the couch.
“Your toes should be dry now. I can put on a second coat.”
She’s still clutching her mug in one hand. Her eyes dart down, and she exhales a shaky breath.
I take my time with the nail polish, making sure each toe is perfect before moving on to the next. I know Charlene is still trying to figure out what’s going on here. My being here, unannounced, bringing her flowers and chocolate, painting her toenails for fuck’s sake—I’ve never done any of this before. Not in two years. And I’m starting to see very clearly how that needs to change. Because tonight I’ve realized something very important. Up until now, I’ve only seen the side of Charlene she thinks I want.
And while I adore that she likes to try new things and experiment with sex positions and ridiculous toys, I think I might enjoy this just as much.
Once I’m done, I clean up the discarded Q-tips and tissues and take them all to the kitchen. I toss everything in the garbage and wash my hands, then root around in Charlene’s cupboards for a snack. She has an odd balance between holistic stuff and junk food. I hit the jackpot when I find a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos stuffed in the back of the cupboard. I check the fridge for beer, but Charlene isn’t big on it, so I’m unsurprised to come up empty handed. She has ginger ale and lots of milk. She also has a container of onion dip, which will go perfectly with the Doritos. I snatch the Godiva bag from the counter and bring it with me to the living room.
Charlene’s expression goes from hopeful to crestfallen. “What’re you doing?”
“I thought you might want a snack.”
“Doritos and onion dip? Why did you even come here if you’re going to eat that?” Charlene seems annoyed, angry even.
Pucked Love Page 7