Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  Nerves rattle me as I cross the walk up to the front door. We talked during the week, and she told me how her boys would be spending spring break with their father in Santa Barbara. She’s stressed about finding a new job, and I want to distract her for one night. Knocking on the door, I swipe at my forehead, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension.

  When Midge opens the door, my breath catches. She’s another delicacy, draped in black lace, and I want to skip dinner, rip off the dress, and get to dessert.

  “Hey,” she says sweetly, leaning against the door.

  “You’re fucking beautiful.” The compliment blurts out without thought, and she pinks. I want that blush. I want the sweet color all over her body where I can chase the outline. My dick rocks to life. Fuck, I need to calm down. I already whacked off before coming here, hoping it would relieve the pressure, but just the sight of her looking at me like she does has me wound and ready again.

  “Are those for me?” I forgot about the flowers in my hand, another suggestion from my nephew. I never buy flowers. Kit thought they were weak compensation. Her father sent flowers, and she threw them away. Her ex-husband sent them as an apology when he fucked up again. Managers, lawyers, other industry members…all sent flowers to congratulate her, but she didn’t like the message they lacked. She wanted words.

  Standing before me, glowing like night fauna, Midge reaches for the flowers I offer, draws them to her nose to inhale, and looks up at me under lowered lids. It’s sexy as fuck, and I plan to trace her body later with those petals. “I love wildflowers.”

  She means it. She gestures for me to enter, and I follow her as she leads to her kitchen for a vase.

  “This is a nice place,” I say for something to say. I’m not noting any one thing, other than the layout is open, simple, and bright like Midge. The kitchen has a huge island and a large table for six. She fills a vase with water and puts the flowers in the center of the table.

  “Thank you,” she says, looking up at me. Biting the corner of her lip, I’m ready to ask her if we can skip dinner when she suggests, “Should we go?”

  + + +

  When we arrive at Watershed Rice, we find there are no seats. Literally. You sit cross-legged on the floor to enjoy your meal. I’m a big guy. I can’t sit on the floor like that. I’ve already unbuttoned my suit, swiped my forehead a thousand times, and shifted in the stiff fabric of my shirt which clings to my skin.

  “Are you all right?” Midge asks me as we wait to be seated. A waitress nears the lobby with a tray of unidentifiable, bite-size food.

  “I’m good.” I pause, redirecting my attention to the hostess. “What was that?” It looks like it still had eyes, antennas, and legs. I don’t even listen to her answer as I wipe a hand over my hair.

  “Hank?” Midge glances up at me, shifting her gaze worriedly from one eye to the other. Her shoulders fall. “Let’s go someplace else.”

  “No, this is fine. This is good. It’s the best place in LA.” I sigh. I had to pull strings I didn’t like to pull to get my name on the list with only a week’s notice.

  “Hank,” she admonishes. “Please. Let’s leave.” Her fingers tighten on my suit coat, and I curse myself for ruining the evening before it even starts. Her eyes roam my face. “You’re sweating like crazy. Either you’re sick or you don’t want to be here.”

  She’s right. I don’t want to be here, but I want to be with her. Embarrassed, I slip my hand on her lower back and guide her out the door. I don’t even know what to say. Apologizing wouldn’t be enough. I help her into Brut’s SUV and take a deep breath as I round the back of the vehicle.

  “Dammit.” I slap at the back door in my frustration. Trying to tame my temper, I slowly shut the driver’s door, so I don’t slam it. We sit in silence as I push the ignition button. I’m not ready to move. “Look, I’m—”

  “Tell me something about you. Anything.” The gentle command startles me, and I twist toward Midge to find her body turned in my direction. She toys with the hem of her pretty lace dress, and I’m crushed because she didn’t get to show it off in the restaurant.

  “I never wanted to fix cars.” Her eyes shoot up to mine, and she waits for more. “My pop owned Restored Dreams. He thought all those rich dicks…sorry”—I swipe over my hair—“rich and famous wouldn’t know how to care for the expensive toys they owned. He counted on it, and in many ways, he was right.”

  “What did you want to be?”

  “A musician.” I don’t really want to have this conversation, and I nervously tap the steering wheel. “A drummer, actually.”

  “That’s my Ronin.” She smiles with pride. Her kid isn’t actually anything like me. He plays percussion in the high school marching band, but that wasn’t me. I was the kid with a kit in the back of the garage, banging away to piss off my dad.

  “What about you? Did you always work in graphic designs?”

  “I did. Back in Chicago, I worked for a large advertising agency until I had the boys. Then I stayed home for a few years. When we moved here, I went back to work. California is expensive.”

  “Do you miss Chicago?” I ask, recalling how much I loved visiting the Windy City once upon a time.

  “Not as much as I first did.”

  “Why did you move here?”

  “Paul, my ex-husband, got a transfer. He thought it would be good for our family. Our marriage.” Her eyes drift toward the windshield, and she chews at her lip. “Obviously, the marriage didn’t survive the move.”

  “But you did,” I say, raising a brow at her. “You’ve been successful in your own right, with your job and your boys.”

  “The job I used to have.” She scoffs.

  “You’re just moving on again, that’s all. Change is difficult but sometimes necessary.” She stares at me a moment.

  “Is that why you don’t drink?”

  “Definitely a necessary change.” She pauses, again waiting, but this is not something I want to discuss when I’ve already ruined our date. “But I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m in a better place now. Much better.” My eyes scan her body and I shift my shoulders. The suitcoat constricts me.

  “Take that off.” The sharpness of her tone surprises me, and my head swivels back in her direction.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You look incredibly uncomfortable. Why are you dressed like this if you weren’t happy wearing your suit?” She nods at my suit.

  “I’m fine wearing it.”

  “You are not.” She chuckles sarcastically. “You look miserable. You’ve been sweating all night, which leads me to think you’re either too warm or terribly nervous.” She stops, her eyes blinking. “Are you nervous?”

  I swipe a hand down my face. “I’m not nervous. I’m just…” I don’t know what. Fuck it, I am nervous and overheated. I don’t date. I don’t know how to do these things. I twist as I struggle to remove my suitcoat.

  “Much better,” Midge teases, her brown eyes shimmering lighter.

  “Your eyes are so pretty.”

  “You’re pretty,” she mutters, her focus on my chest. She leans over the console and loosens my tie enough to slip it from the collar.

  “Midge?”

  “Getting closer.” She unbuttons the top button of my shirt. Then the second button. Her fingers slip into the opening she’s created. Her fingertips tickle over coarse hair just under my collarbone. “I like this hint of hair.”

  I reach for her hand and lift it to my lips, kissing her fingertips. I need a breath. My dick hardens with her touch, and I don’t want to wreck what we have going in the front seat. I like her talking to me.

  She kicks off her heels, kneels in her seat, and reaches for my wrist. After unbuttoning the cuff, she then rolls back the white material, continuing to fold until the sleeve is short enough to press over my elbow. Stretching over my lap, she does the same thing to my other sleeve.

  “You undressing me?” I exhale with a smile. She’s so close to me, nearly s
itting on my lap. My fingers itch to outline her, and I reach for the neckline of her dress. Dipping my finger inside the lace, I trace over her collarbone. Her eyes flit up to mine, then she leans forward and kisses me. Sweet, gentle, sugary. Even without icing, she’s delicious, and I like how she takes her time to savor me. She outlines my lips, drawing them into hers as she sucks on the lower one and nips at the corners.

  “I like how you kiss me,” I murmur against her lips, taking over, diving in with my tongue to bring her closer to me. My arms wrap around her, pulling her awkwardly to me. The console still separates us too much. Her little hand curls around my neck, her thumb slipping down to rub those chest hairs. Our mouths continue to meld together until I’m overheating for a new reason. “Keep this up and we won’t be leaving this car.”

  She purrs in response against my mouth, not letting up on the kisses. I return my attention to her lead, allowing her to devour me, but my dick strains, and my leg twitches. I’m on the verge of breaking, ready to drag her into the back seat and turn this into a teenage thing. I want to do tonight right, though, which involves dinner first. Slowing the pressure to gentle kisses, she whimpers when I retreat.

  “I promised you a date.” I pull back. “I don’t want to imply any other expectations.” Her head hangs, but I tip up her chin. Her brows pinch, but I don’t want strain there and I kiss the crease.

  “I don’t need fancy dinners, Hank. I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but not if you’re uncomfortable with it.” She’s misunderstanding me, yet I can’t explain. I don’t know how to date someone like her.

  “I want to be with you.” The words tumble forth before I can catch them. It’s true, but it sounds desperate. Maybe I am desperate. I want her to like me for me; although I can admit, I’m not much of a package. “How about a hamburger?”

  A small smile graces her face with the invitation. She slowly sits back, righting her dress. My hand covers her knee, wanting to keep contact with her. Her skin is cool, smooth, and tempting, and my fingers spread, disappearing under the lacy edge.

  “You keep that up, and we’re headed for the back seat.” Her head tilts to the side, and I break into laughter.

  “God, little lady. You’re something.” She softly grunts, twisting in the seat to face the windshield again. I’m not certain she likes the compliment. “Don’t want to be something?”

  “One day, I’d like to be somebody’s someone.” Her voice softens, sadness filling her tone, but wide eyes reveal her surprise at the personal honesty. “Forget I said that out loud. Yes, let’s go for a burger. There’s a diner near my house that’s pretty good.”

  “A diner.” I swallow, my mouth already watering as I ignore the twist in my gut. Somebody’s someone. I like the sound of that, but I’ll admit I don’t want her to someone else’s somebody. I want her for me. There’s so much more I want to know about her. I’m hungry for everything about her, but I think we need to eat.

  10

  Diner dinners

  [Midge]

  “Tell me about the crisis center. Besides the fact crazy women call in and you try to calm them,” I joke although I don’t know why I’m laughing about it. We sit at the counter of the old diner, waiting on our hamburgers and fries. The 1950s rock ‘n’ roll décor projects us back in time with white subway tile walls and a red Formica countertop. We sit on two swivel stools padded in matching vinyl.

  Hank gulps his water. I ordered a cola. He told me I could have whatever I wanted—the place serves beer—but I declined. I don’t want him any more uncomfortable than he already seems. My signals are so mixed with this man, and I feel like I’m the one on the verge of sexually molesting him. I need to rein it in, but I haven’t had this kind of attention in so long, I just want to swing for a home run when I might need to bunt instead.

  “Not crazy women,” he interjects, snapping my thoughts away from how freaking sexy he looks, more relaxed in the rolled-up sleeves. His forearms redefine arm porn, especially with the tattoos. He’s so different from me, yet I feel a kindred spirit to him. Impossible, considering he looks like an aged rock star while I’m wearing lace and carrying a faux leather clutch.

  “Desperate women?” I tease although there’s no humor in my chuckle.

  “Look, we all need help sometimes. Someone to talk to about things. I don’t know what made you call, but some things, like birthdays, can be a trigger.” The answer is very textbook, but he’s not wrong. My birthday triggered a whole slew of disappointments in myself at forty-one. I thought I’d have my body back. I thought I’d be more advanced in my career. I thought I’d still be married.

  “I’ve never done that before,” I mutter, crumpling the paper straw wrapper next to my glass.

  “So you said. And it’s okay. Whether it was one time or two,” he teases, and I look up to find a playful gleam in those steel eyes.

  “The second time was more selfish.” One brow rises as he waits out my answer. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  His eyes narrow as his smile grows. “I’m honored.” For some reason, I think he means it. He’s pleased to be a support for someone.

  “You like helping people.” It’s more a question but comes out as a statement. A keen observation.

  “I like feeling wanted, I guess.” He shrugs it off, but I can sense it’s not that simple for him.

  “Tell me more.”

  “There was a time I was too selfish. Drinking is a good example, though I had my reasons. I did things for me and only me until I hit the bottom. The only person I had left was me, and I missed…people. Once I turned myself around, I decided I’d try to be there for others even if they were random strangers.”

  I nod as if I understand. And I think I do. He’s had a rough life. The lines by his eyes prove it, but his smile remains young. He’s full of spirit even if his heart weighs heavy with guilt.

  “Well, I, for one, am thankful you were there for me.” I tap my cola glass against his water and drink.

  “Really? What did I do for you?”

  “You listened. And the second time, you spoke.” Heat rushes my cheeks as I remember him talking me into touching myself—twice.

  “I’ll talk to you anytime you need.” He winks. “Or listen, if you want that, too.” I appreciate the offer.

  “May I ask about the drinking? Was it about a girl?” For some reason, I want to know if he loved someone even though he said he was never married.

  “It’s always about a girl.” He exhales, raising his water to his lips. His eyes shift to me, knowing I’m waiting. “The long and short of it is I loved a woman who never loved me. She had big dreams which didn’t involve me directly.” His voice turns bitter.

  “But you weren’t married?”

  “Fuck no.” He snorts. “She wouldn’t have me.” His voice lowers, sadness and heartbreak filling the normally smoky sound.

  “I’m sorry, Hank.” I want to touch him, lay my fingers on those solid, strong forearms and give him some strength, some reassurance. I know what it’s like not to have love reciprocated. I thought Paul was the love of my life, but after years of therapy, I realized love isn’t one sided. It’s not selfish. And it isn’t always given if received. I gave. Paul took.

  Hank shrugs, slipping his fingers through the condensation on his water glass. He stares at the ice in the bottom. My question ruins our playful mood, but then he surprises me. He sets down his glass, places his hand on my knee, and leans in to kiss me. Short, direct, but sweet. He pulls back without saying anything.

  Thankfully, our burgers arrive.

  “You gonna eat all that? You’re a little thing.” His lips curl, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s trying to get back to where we were, but I’m guessing my questions have caused lingering memories.

  “Gotta keep up my girlish figure,” I tease, running a hand over the pooch of my belly. My dress isn’t snug. I bought it one size larger so it purposely wouldn’t pinch me in the wrong places. I also bought it i
n anticipation of this date—the first one I’ve had in a year. Dating has been difficult since the divorce, and after my first few attempts, I decided I’d just do it later. The boys grieved Paul’s and my separation, and they needed me. My job demanded more work hours out of me. I didn’t have time…for me. Dating became a someday thing on my to-do list.

  “I like your girlish figure.” He winks again before biting into his burger. Hank’s sweet. I wish I felt secure enough to think he liked me, liked me, but I’m just not there yet. Hamburgers feel more like he’s placating me, but I’ll bite. He’s nice to be near.

  + + +

  Two hours later, we arrive at the awkward how-to-end-the-night moment. I’ve enjoyed Hank’s company, and I appreciate his dry sense of humor. Not to mention, he’s nice to look at when he smiles. He told me stories about his brother and the shop, mentioned Lily has the hots for Brut, and Chopper makes Brut a single father.

  “One day, he wakes up to a baby and a note on his doorstep. Happy Father’s Day, it read. No lie.”

  I could never imagine giving up my children. Elston, Ronin, and Liam have been my rocks, and I tell Hank more about them. Elston, his obsession with girls, and my fear he’s gone too far too young. Ronin and my concern for him to fit in and find his place. Liam and my worry for my baby, learning he needs to be his own person, not the other two.

  “My boys are a handful, but they are my everything.” Hank nods. He’s doesn’t offer thoughts on children. He already told me he doesn’t have any.

  Like a gentleman, he walks me to the door. Only I’m not sure what to do here. Do we kiss on the front porch? Do I invite him in?