Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  “You seem surprised, too,” he whispers.

  “Not surprised, just…hesitant.”

  “I like it better when you’re overwhelmed, lady.” The statement reminds me of our first night together, the one when I cried during sex. The memory embarrasses me, and I blush. In a classic Hank move, he leans forward and kisses me briefly. Sharp. Quick. Public.

  “You look pretty,” he says, staring me directly in the eyes.

  “Oh my,” Edie mutters beside me, and I hear the flapping of a program as a fan while a low whistle comes from Tommy. A tap on my shoulder opposite Hank turns my attention to Tommy. His firm finger presses on my shoulder.

  “You’ve got some explaining to do.” The words aren’t too harsh, and I realize they aren’t directed at me. Tommy’s gaze goes past me to Hank. I spin to find Hank glaring back.

  “So do you,” he mutters, before sitting back and reaching for my thigh. He squeezes and then leaves his hand there, making a statement to his old friend. Fortunately, the orchestra starts, and the play begins.

  I embarrass myself once again as I cry while Fantine sings “I Dreamed a Dream.”

  + + +

  Tommy and Edie stay long enough to congratulate Ronin. Hank lingers.

  “Great job, man,” he says to my son, shaking hands with him. Ronin met Hank at the fundraiser, and I’m reminded of almost being caught by him in the bathroom with Hank afterward.

  “Thanks.” It’s the best Ronin can offer as he flits off to hug more crew members and receive congratulations from other families.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I offer, nodding away from the chaos of after-show greetings. His hands slip into his pockets as I lead him toward the front entrance of the school.

  “So tomorrow night,” he says, and the holding breath feeling returns. I’m expecting him to say he’s decided not to attend or has made other plans. “I’ll see you then.” He hesitates, his head lowering as if he’s one of the teenagers from the play.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Relief washes over me, and I smile to reassure him when I feel like I’m the one craving reassurance. I’ve got to get this man out of my head and out of my heart, but when he leans forward for a brief kiss again, I melt.

  + + +

  The next night, Hank carves out a permanent place for himself in my heart.

  Ivy had to cancel at the last minute due to something with her husband, but she assured me she’d be at Liam’s game on Sunday. I don’t know why she’d come to watch him, but Liam is thrilled.

  As we sit through the opening of the play a second time, Hank leans over and says, “Meet me in the hallway.” His voice is alluring and demanding, so I give him a few seconds lead before I stand to sneak out of the theater. I feel like a naughty teenager breaking some unspoken rule.

  My heels tap down the wide, empty hall, echoing behind me as I make my way toward the bathroom, though I have no idea if that’s the general direction Hank went. Suddenly, two arms surround me, and I’m tugged into an alcove by a classroom door.

  “Caught you sneaking out of class, Ms. Everette. There’s punishment for that.” He presses me into the corner and kisses me hard, taking his time to enforce his law by imprinting his mouth on mine. Too quickly, he pulls back, smiling to himself with his playful puns.

  “In this school, they call them JUGs—Justice under God—if you get caught doing something, like sneaking out of class or kissing in the hallway.”

  Hank chuckles. “Oh, yeah. Tell me more about the school.” He steps out of the alcove, still holding one of my hands and waves forward for a tour. At first, we walk silently through the emptiness.

  “This place is large. Got a band room?” Hank asks.

  “Of course.” I laugh. We’re here for the play we’re skipping out on, so music and theater is obviously an important part of the opportunity the school offers. I lead us down the stairs and around a corner to the enormous band room. It looks like a sound studio with golden wood paneling and rows of seats, music stands, and a kettle drum in the back. Hank releases my hand and walks right to the drum. His hand hovers over it as if he’s afraid to touch it.

  Tonight, he wears a deep red crew sweater and black dress pants. The color reminds me of the giant car he’s working on for Mr. Pendelton. Minus the mechanic clothing, and despite the dressy appearance, something about the way he stands next to the drum hints at him belonging here.

  “Did you play in the band during high school?” His head shoots up as if he forgot I was with him. Staring at me a moment, he draws back from his memory, then answers.

  “We didn’t have band. My school cut the arts.” He sits on the stool beside the drum, his eyes still drawn to it. He clasps his hands between his thick legs.

  “That’s sad.” The comment seems weak. I glance around the surrounding room, recognizing my children are at an advantage. “It’s expensive to go to school here. I mean, most kids who go here are rich but not everyone, like us. I just want things for my children. When we moved here, we didn’t know which school districts were good, so we took our chances with the grade schools but decided private high school was best.” I pause, hoping I’m explaining myself well enough not to sound like a snob. “When Paul and I divorced, Elston was about to enter high school, and we had it put in the decree that private education at this level remained a must. We share the cut. It’s why I need to work for Pendelton. Besides, it could be the start of something for me.”

  Hank watches me, nodding for me to come to him. “Like what?”

  “Just something I’ve been thinking about. Maybe trying to do this on my own. Be an independent contractor or something.” I shrug, blowing off the idea since I’ve said it out loud to someone else. My head lowers, and I reach for the two bracelets at the edge of Hank’s cuff. Rolling my fingers over them, I remain quiet.

  “Hey.” Hank grips my hips, jiggling me a little. “I think you can do anything you want, little lady. You’re smart enough. Determined enough.” I nod without taking my eyes off the woven leather band and the wooden beads around his wrist.

  “What did you want to be when you were younger?” I ask, hoping to shift the conversation from my plans.

  “I wanted to be in a band.” My head shoots up and steel eyes of sadness meet mine. “Did you know that’s how I met Tommy?” The question is cautious, hesitant as if he expects me to know something I don’t.

  “No. I mean, I know Tommy was in a band. Something about his sister, and they were famous, but I didn’t want to pry. It wasn’t my focus when I met Ivy and Edie. I was all about Rhythm Walk, the fundraiser.” Hank’s eyes lower to my chest, and his head shakes. “Were you in a band?”

  Swiping a hand over his hair, he turns his head. “Yeah, I was in a band with Tommy, but that was a long time ago, and a very distant me.” He sighs. I sense this isn’t something he wants to discuss, but he continues.

  “His sister was the girl I told you about.” He exhales, then takes a deep breath. “It’s why I’m not married. I asked her several times, but she always said no.” His voice saddens, and it breaks my heart. I can’t imagine someone not loving him. I reach for his cheek, drawing his attention to me. As he peers up, I lean down and kiss him. Tender. Sweet. I want his thoughts restored to me, not some memory haunting him. He smiles when I pull back.

  “Lady, those lips,” he mutters. I’m standing between his spread legs, and his hands curve over my backside. “Can I ask you something? Why the fuck did Paul give you up?”

  “He wanted a younger model and a different flavor. I caught them on the phone one night. He moved us here for her.”

  “Fucking hell,” Hank mutters, and I realize now’s the time to just get it all out.

  “They eventually broke up, but by then, I wanted a divorce. He’s found someone else, and they’re getting married this summer. The boys don’t really like her.”

  “He’s a fool, but I’m glad he’s stupid. He doesn’t deserve you. Thank God he’s an idiot.”

  �
��Why would you say that?” I chuckle, uncertain if he’s teasing or serious.

  “Because you wouldn’t be standing between my legs if he was smart.” With that, he stands abruptly, nearly knocking me over, giving me his signature quick kiss. “Show me more of the school.”

  Leading him up the stairwell and down a few hallways, we come to the gymnasium. The school actually has two, but the traditional wood floor one with the school insignia inlay is where we stop. Hank tugs the door handle, but it’s locked. He peers through the windows. “There’s a balcony.”

  This reminds me of another way into the gym, and we return to the stairs leading to the theater. Heading for the backstage of the performance, which is a hallway partitioned off by a large curtain, we turn just before it. The door to the balcony remains open as a few of the props are stored here between sets. We walk to the railing, and Hank takes in the dark gym. I’m about to speak when he climbs over the railing and reaches for me.

  “What are you doing?” I laugh, feeling like we’re about to do something we shouldn’t.

  “Hold my shoulders,” he commands, barely giving me time to do so before hiking me over the railing as well. He balances me on the open bleacher before leading me down the steps. It’s shaky walking in my heels, and as he hops off the last step, he turns for me, lifting me by my hips again. He spins me around and leads me to the center of the empty wooden floor.

  “What are we doing?” I repeat, whispering with giggles. Hank holds my hand but walks me in a circle. Tugging me, I step into him, and his arms encircle my waist. My hands come to his shoulders, and he sways. Oh my God, he’s dancing with me.

  He hums for a moment, and I slip my hands around his neck. Definitely no longer teenagers, I can still picture us in my head as if we were—a pretty dress on me; a dark suit on him. The idea doesn’t quite work. He’s not the suit type.

  “I never went to a high school dance.” I pull back at his admission and scratch lightly at the back of his neck. “Stoner under the stands instead.” He nods at the open bleachers. I can picture him—the cool kid with those hard eyes, a lost soul inside.

  “I would have wanted to date you, but you wouldn’t have noticed me. Quiet girl with a book and taking art class.”

  “Oh, I would have noticed you, but you would have been out of my league.” He huffs, peering down at me. “But why would you want to date me?”

  “Love a bad boy.”

  He chuckles lightly, shaking his head again. “There’s a rebel girl inside you.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, knowing he’s onto something. I’m not suggesting I want to be tied up or anything, but I like discovering sex can be a bit more than just missionary. I like sex with him, a lot.

  “Paul ever see it?” The question seems strange, but even stranger is my answer.

  “No.”

  “Then why me?” I can think of several reasons, all of which I fear Hank can’t handle. I’m still uncertain of admitting those feelings to myself. Although his recent actions restore my faith in him, I’m still raw over his behavior the times we had sex at my house.

  “Your sausage fits.”

  His mouth falls open, and he stops swaying. Laughing a deep belly laugh that echoes in the empty gym, he tugs me to him, holding the back of my head as he hugs me.

  “You did not just say that.” His chest rumbles against my cheek, and I can hear his heart beating through the soft cotton. Hank is security, and I want to curl into this man and have him hold me like this for the rest of my life. It’s a dangerous thought.

  “Pretty lady, will you go to the dance with me?” We are already turning in a slow, rhythmic circle again, but there’s no way I can say no to this man.

  “As your first? I’m honored,” I tease.

  “You’re also my last, lady. And I’m honored.” My heart skips, and Hank returns to humming as he slowly spins me, unwinding the past.

  18

  After Party

  [Hank]

  The party is in full swing as I stand in Midge’s kitchen, leaning against the sink.

  “Quit hitting on her,” Ronin demands. He’s a tall, lanky kid, body like a boy in a band—only in this case, it’s the marching band. His hair is long in the front and cut short up the back. I’ve been told it’s brown like his mother, but it’s more blue-black tonight.

  “Why? You like her or something? She isn’t your type.” Elston is Midge’s older boy with dirty blond hair like his father and blue eyes. He’s large, appearing like a man, but still with a boy’s attitude.

  “What type is that?”

  “Band,” Elston snaps. “Besides, I didn’t think you liked her, or any girl, for that matter.” The implication his brother might be gay seems disrespectful, and I’m ready to intervene when Ronin stands up for himself.

  “Just because I’m in band doesn’t mean I’m gay.”

  “I didn’t say that, but it doesn’t mean you can get girls either, especially Athena.”

  “Oh, like you can? All you want is in her pants. Leave her alone.”

  “And what about you? What do you want from her?” The fight reminds me of Brut and myself at their ages, same distance in years apart. We’d argue over girls just as much, but we never liked the same one.

  Ronin shrugs his shoulder and blushes with false bravado. “I’ve already had her.”

  “Bro, you’re crazy. You have not.”

  “She likes a guy who can handle his stick.”

  “Band joke? Funny, I heard she likes a guy with balls.”

  “Football joke,” Ronin snorts. “Original.”

  I’m not certain I should butt in, but the temperature between them rises, and if it were Brut and me, punches are coming next.

  “You know talking about a girl like that isn’t going to get either of you in her pants, not that you should be talking about her pants either.” I scrub my chin, knowing I’m walking a fine line with these teenage boys. Brut has tried hard to instill respect for women in Chopper.

  “Oh yeah, and what do you know?” Elston asks.

  “I know girls don’t like to be talked about, and they don’t like boys talking about what’s in their jeans either. If you can’t treat her like a lady, neither of you deserve her.”

  Elston glares at me, but Ronin lowers his head.

  “I didn’t have her. I said that so Elston would leave her alone. She’s a nice girl.” Poor Ronin, his innocence might get him in trouble, but then again, protecting a girl’s virtue might make him a hero. Elston’s eyes widen.

  “Don’t worry about it, kid. I know for a fact that girls like a guy who can handle his stick more than a guy with balls.”

  Ronin’s mouth falls open, and Elston’s eyes narrow.

  “Drummer,” I add, patting my chest. “My stick knows what I’m talking about.”

  I shouldn’t be talking like I’m a damn teenager, but I want to protect Ronin for some reason. Elston seems like an ass, and he needs to come down a peg or two. Ronin’s lips twist, fighting a smile as he realizes my childish joke. Then he leans toward his brother.

  “Just leave her be.” He bumps his bigger brother’s shoulder with a weak push and exits the kitchen.

  “Is that what you’re trying to do? Get in my mom’s—”

  “You better be very careful with your next choice of words, kid.” I’m rubbing my chin again, holding back from standing to full height and letting him feel my presence. He disrespects his mother, and we have a big problem.

  “You trying to date her?”

  “And if I am?”

  “You get me some beer, and I’m cool with that.” I should be stunned at the audacity, but he’s testing me, so I’ll play along.

  “Even if I did drink, I’d know better than to give it to someone underage.”

  “You don’t drink? What’s wrong with you?”

  “I abused the privilege when I was your age.”

  “Yeah.” Elston smirks, but he must see something in my hardening expression.
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  I reply, “Yeah.”

  We’re silent a second, and he’s sizing me up. I want to hope it’s because he’s protective of his mother and not trying to be a punk.

  “Getting drunk isn’t going to win you the girl, either.” Speaking from experience, I know this for a fact.

  “What girl?” Elston’s brow pinches.

  “The one you just teased your brother about.”

  “He’s getting riled for nothing. I already have a girlfriend.” Something in Elston’s tone hints at uncertainty.

  “Are you certain it’s nothing? Maybe he does like her.”

  “He hasn’t made a move.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’d know. I’d have heard something.”

  “You know, only dicks share stories, typically about something they haven’t done, in order to compensate for something else.” I lower my eyes, tipping my head, and Elston glares back again.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

  “Son, I ain’t your old man, and if I were, you wouldn’t be talking to me like that.”

  “He wouldn’t be talking to his father like that either,” Midge interjects, and my head spins to find Midge standing in the doorway to her kitchen. I wonder how much she heard. She’s holding out her hand toward Elston. “Phone and go to your room.”

  “Mom. It’s Saturday night. I have plans.”

  “Not anymore. Phone. Room. Now.”

  Elston huffs, lowering his head like a petulant child. I’m thinking he’s about to sweet-talk her in the midst of the party chaos, so I intervene again.

  “Kid, hand over your phone, and do as she says, or you’ll have more than overcompensation to worry about. It takes balls to be a man, so don’t be a dick to your brother. Someday, he may be the only man standing beside you.” Elston doesn’t respond, but bites his lip, itching to talk back to me. Instead, he presses off the counter in irritation, hands his phone to his mom and stalks off to the stairs. I scrub a hand over my head.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I stepped into that. He’s your son. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He’s her kid, and I shouldn’t be reprimanding him if I’m trying to make a good impression.