by Jessa York
He smiled at me. “Vivienne, more pills. Open your mouth.” Oh, right. I did as told and swallowed down the glass of water he handed me. “Good girl, let’s take your arm out for a second and see how it looks.” He gently grabbed my arm and turned off the faucet while I just stood there, stunned.
“It didn’t break the skin,” he said as he inspected the red mark more closely. Using some gauze from I don’t know where, he tenderly dabbed the wound. “This cream will numb the pain. Use it again in a few hours,” he said as he smeared thick white cream onto my arm and then bandaged it. “There. Done.” He peered down at me and grinned. “How do you feel?”
Umm, a little shocked and a whole lot horny? “Fine. It doesn’t hurt at all now.” I scanned around him to the counter where there sat a little red first aid box. “Do you always carry around a first aid kit?”
“Yeah, my customers can be fairly accident-prone. It’s good to be prepared for anything.” Oh, that made sense.
“Is that a book?” I stepped closer and picked up the book that had fallen out of the kit. “Hamlet by William Shakespeare? Why is it in with your first aid stuff?”
“I must’ve stuffed it in there by mistake. There’s so much shit in my trunk,” he said, removing the book from my hand and placing it back where I’d found it.
“You said your tattoo was a Shakespearean quote, right?” The guy really liked The Bard.
“Yeah. What’s past is prologue. I’ve read everything that man ever wrote.”
“Really? I love him. I’ve got most of his works in the office library. Although, I admit to using the cheat sheets for help.” I’d never dated a man who read before. The idea of a hot guy like Jason with a book in his hands—now that was a sexy sight I’d like to see.
“I do, too. That shit’s hard to understand. But you get better at it the more you read of it. Anyway, how are you feeling?” he asked, voice full of concern.
“Good, thanks to your quick medical intervention. It was like having my own hot paramedic come to the rescue.” Why did I say that? I must be in shock or something.
He laughed and pulled me in for a quick hug, watching out for my wounded arm and still careful of my tattoo. “You’re welcome, baby,” he said before he leaned down and took my mouth in a no-nonsense kiss. The sound of his groan made my happy place throb. I stepped further into his body. The kiss kicked into overdrive, but soon I was reminded of the muffins that needed to come out of the oven. Stupid, horribly timed buzzer.
“Oh, the muffins. I better get them before they burn, too,” I said, drawing away from him as I scooped up the oven mitts.
Immediately, he yanked the gloves out of my hands. “Let me. Your arm won’t like the heat from the oven.” Damn, this man was thoughtful. The oven door creaked, and he pulled out my pretties. They smelled divine. “Blueberry muffins?” he asked, almost doubtful.
“What gave it away? The big, juicy blueberries stuck inside?” I poked his chest and giggled at his question. “You liked them so much last time, I thought I’d make them again.” My gasp was probably too loud as I said, “No, let them cool. You’ll burn yourself.” It was too late, though. He already stole one. The steam poured out as he mercilessly ripped off the top.
“That’s okay. Then you can rub burn cream all over me.” He chuckled and took a huge bite of piping hot muffin. “Mmm, delicious,” he said through a mouthful of muffin.
“You should really wait for them to cool off. They taste better,” I scolded him while he continued to chomp away.
“Impossible. They taste awesome right now. No way can they get any better.” He popped another piece into his mouth. Watching him chew was doing strange things to my lower lady region, so I decided to make him a plate to get my mind off that.
7
Jason
Of all the fantasies about women that I’d had throughout the years, that had to be the sexiest one of them all. Just the thought of Vivienne down here in her beautiful kitchen slaving away for me socked me right in the gut.
She’d obviously showered. I could smell the delicious scent of soap on her soft, supple skin. Her hair was up in a cute, messy knot on the top of her head. But the pièce de résistance was the red apron with white polka dots. It wasn’t just a regular run-of-the-mill one either. In true Vivienne style, it was pimped up with ruffles and ribbons.
In my mind, the only thing hotter was if all she wore was that cute fucking apron. A naked Vivienne underneath those polka dots and bows baking me blueberry muffins would be my ultimate fantasy. I moved and adjusted myself at that thought.
We sat down to her feast. The woman had prepared every breakfast food that I knew existed. There was no delicate way to ask if she had kids, so instead, I blurted it out, “I snooped a bit when I was upstairs.” I waited for her eyes to meet mine.
“Okay…”
“The baby’s room is really nice. Is he or she hiding somewhere?”
She started choking. Shit, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything while we ate. My hand patted her on the back while she gulped water down.
Breathless, she said, “Sorry, you just caught me off guard.” Then she burst into giggles, wiping under her eyes.
“A baby’s room with no baby?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Ugh.” She shook her head and took another sip. “No kids at all. You?”
“None that I know of.” I gave her a wink. Her lips pursed together. I guess she didn’t think I was funny.
“I go to flea markets and sales. If I see something nice, I pick it up. It’s really no big deal.” She shrugged and resumed picking at her food on her plate.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” My mind swam with ways to change the subject. Obviously, Vivienne didn’t want to talk about this.
“It’s fine.”
Oh boy. Even at my age, I knew what it meant when a woman said “fine”. It was the other “F” word.
“What do you do at Brentford?” I asked, hoping to deflect my earlier question.
She cleared her throat. “I’m their sales associate. Essentially, it’s my job to hunt for prospective clients and talk them into using our business.”
“Food, right?”
“Produce, meat, you name it,” she told me, waving her fork around.
“Yeah, I’ve seen your trucks on the road. Organics?”
“Mmmhmm,” she replied, chewing one last bite of waffle. “How long have you been driving?”
“A year and a half? Give or take,” I answered, feeling like a shithead. Here I sat with this talented, well-off woman in her awesome home. I could barely afford the rent on my piece of shit apartment.
“You like it?” she asked with a forced smile on her face.
“It’s okay, for now,” I said, not elaborating on why I drove.
“For now?”
This was when things got dicey. “For now. Hopefully, something better comes along.”
“Like what?”
“These waffles are fantastic. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“Thanks. My mom and my granny. I guess it’s tradition?”
“It’s delicious,” I said, right as the doorbell rang.
“I have no idea who that could be. I’ll be right back.” She frowned, pushing away from the table. I had a clear view of the front door from where I sat at the huge table.
“Gerry, how’s it going?” Vivienne said politely to the portly man in her doorway. He looked to be around sixty or so. The checkered flannel shirt did nothing to hide his burgeoning belly.
“Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, sweetheart,” Gerry said while scratching his gray comb-over. My hackles rose when I heard him call her sweetheart, but I seriously doubted he was Vivienne’s type.
“No problem at all. What can I do for you?”
“My electrician finished early on a different site, so I thought she could come over and work on the backyard hook-ups? If that’s okay with you, of course.” He cleared his throat as he spotted me.
; “Absolutely, whatever you need to do,” Vivienne said.
“Great,” Gerry said and gave me a bit of a side-eye. “I’ll take her around the back. When we need to disconnect the power, I’ll let you know.” He spun around, stopped, then turned his head back to me once he was at the door. “You know, on second thought, you should come outside and talk to her. We need to go over the plans for the garage renovation.” Then he sidled back out the door.
I gathered up my plate and cutlery. Guess it was time to go. “I need to get back on the road,” I said, heading toward the kitchen sink to rinse them off.
“This could take a while. You’re welcome to stay?”
A big grin overtook my face, followed by relief. This was different than last time. No walking papers in sight.
“I should get some work in,” I told her, pulling her good arm toward me, sighing. She’d collected quite the array of bandages while in my care. I kissed her gently, whispering into her ear, “I had such plans for that bottle of syrup before your contractor showed up.”
Her body shook, and she put her finger to my lips to quiet me. Instead, I took it as an invitation and popped it into my mouth. My eyes held hers as I sucked on it, hard, biting with my teeth as I went. Vivienne’s face heated as she swayed into me. Releasing her digit, I stole her mouth and showed her how much I’d miss her.
“I’ve gotta go. Thanks for everything,” I said into her ear, giving her heavenly body one last squeeze.
Leaving her house was harder than I thought. It was a stupid fantasy, but Vivienne fulfilled something I’d been dreaming about since I was a young boy. I’m not just talking about the sex—which was out of this fucking world. That woman was a siren, and listening to her go off—twice—was phenomenal. In fact, I could still feel her pulsating around my cock, squeezing the ever-loving hell out of it.
Okay, time to think about something else. It wouldn’t do to pick up a client while sporting another Vivienne-induced boner. If I was going to make rent next week, I had to do a few pickups today. Fingers crossed for normal customers.
My first pickup was only four minutes away from Vivienne’s house, so I zoomed over there.
“Hi,” a mother in her early forties said as she entered my car. Three young, laughing girls barged into the back seat. “Midland Mall, please. Heaven help me,” she muttered the last three words with a strained look on her face.
“You bet.” I chuckled back.
The girls’ giggles got louder. Shouts of, “No, he’s going to marry me,” about the latest pop stars echoed in the small confines of my car. Christ, it was horrible.
“Sorry, apparently, marriage is extremely important to pre-pubescent girls,” the mom said, rolling her eyes. I nodded in sympathy.
“Mommmm,” one of the girls said in an annoying singsong voice. “God, she just doesn’t get it.” She scowled at her friends who wholeheartedly agreed.
“Take my advice. Don’t have kids. They’re all cute and cuddly when they’re young, but then look what happens.” She motioned her head toward the back seat.
I wasn’t planning on having kids. Not anytime soon. My wage barely kept my own head above water. There was no way I could afford a wife and kid.
Once we arrived at the mall, the mom threw an extra five-dollar bill onto her seat. “Sorry again for the noise,” she apologized.
My next fare was an old man on his way to his grandson’s ballgame.
“You gotta watch for my grandkid in the newspapers. I tell you, one day, he’s gonna make a splash. That kid’s got an arm on him like a rocket,” he exclaimed with all the pride only a grandparent held.
Never having had the support or love of an extended family, or family in general for that matter, I secretly wondered if that kid realized how lucky he was. After I dropped the proud grandpa off at the ball field, I found myself getting out of the car. The gravel in the parking lot crunched under my feet, leaving small billows of dust behind me.
The game was already underway, and the players couldn’t be more than six years old at best. From the sounds of the cheering in the stands, you’d think it was a major league game.
Jealousy and a profound sadness filled my soul at the sight. What kind of an idiot was jealous of a bunch of snot-nosed boys? The kind who never had that love and support, that’s who. I continued torturing myself by watching the rest of the shortened game. When it was finally over, I observed one of the boys run full out right into the arms of my customer. Hmm, I guess the kid knew what he had.
Two people who must be the boy’s parents strolled over to the hugging pair. Watching the family laughing together, I imagined them discussing the boy’s amazing plays and where to go out to celebrate. Witnessing things like this had been commonplace my whole life. Always an outsider looking in. As if everyone else lived in a different universe than I did.
Before I got my period, I decided to get the hell out of there and head back home to get some work done.
8
Vivienne
All I did was nod my head and pretend I understood what Gerry and the electrician were talking about. To me, everything they said equaled more and more problems. Which also equaled more and more money.
Story of my life.
After dealing with Gerry and the electrician for what felt like hours, my head throbbed. A familiar stinging sensation started again on my chest. I plodded upstairs for more pain relievers.
Once in my bathroom, I shook out two pills and swallowed, praying they didn’t get stuck. A loud, “Oww,” came out when I ripped off the tape. There really wasn’t a good way to take off a bandage.
After I pulled off the light bandage covering my tattoo, I investigated it more closely. The guy said to keep a close eye on it and make sure it wasn’t getting infected. All’s well, at least I thought it was, so I squirted the special soap I bought from the tattoo artist and began applying it. I gritted my teeth through the biting, stinging pain.
Turning toward the light spilling in through the window, I got a better view of my birds. He really did an exceptional job with my blue jays. The detail on the wings and faces was stunning. They were all flying upward in their own unique way, but also sticking together. A family. My family. Six of us journeying together, flying. Only problem was that right now at least, I was the only one who existed on that tat. No husband, no kids.
I’d always imagined myself with four kids, but as the years passed, it got more and more unlikely that a woman of my age was going to find a husband, let alone make all those babies with him.
And now I had a daily reminder of my failings staring me in the face. What was I thinking? I was thinking it would be the perfect tattoo for me. Granny always said I had the protective nature of a momma blue jay and I could talk anyone around to my way of thinking before I even said my first word. She said it was just my way. My gift.
That’s likely why I’d always had an affinity to jays. Plus, they did seem to pop up in my life when least expected, like when I was looking at this house. I loved its character when my agent walked me through it, but the amount of work that needed to be done was daunting. It really turned me off, and I was ready to ditch it for a new build in a subdivision far out of town.
Honestly, the commute didn’t turn me on, but a pristine, modern home would not come with the built-in headaches this one did. I didn’t think I’d have the strength of body and mind to deal with this all alone.
Then they showed up. We were checking out the backyard when two blue jays flew out of the pine tree beside the beat-up garage. They flew right in front of me, forcing me to take a step back. A male and a female landed in some dead grass, picked what they wanted, and then flew back to the tree.
Another reason I loved jays was that the mothers got to be as pretty as the fathers. The animal kingdom could be rather unfair to the female species in that respect. But the only real difference I perceived between male and female jays was their size—males were a bit larger.
“Bloody birds! That ugly tr
ee has to go anyway, and it looks like that’s where they’re nesting, so you won’t have to worry about them,” the agent said in his grumpy voice while scowling at the tree. I walked over to the tree to investigate, and the birds immediately protested, trying their level best to sound like crows to scare me away.
That’s when I knew this was the place.
My agent was a decent guy and he tried many times to talk me out of buying this money pit because, “This is a lot of work for a pretty, single woman like you”. He didn’t know me, but it was mighty nice of him to warn me. Despite the fact he would not have taken that same time to say a word had I been a man.
The fact that he didn’t believe a woman was capable of doing the work pissed me off. I’d learned when it was worth a fight and when it wasn’t.
This wasn’t. I’d chosen this house—or it had chosen me—and it was time to make a plan and get on with restoring it to its former majestic self. Once I made a decision, very little could talk me out of it. Thus began my nosedive into home repair. The renovations were nearing an end, but filling it up with a family was at a standstill. My dating life was a mess, as usual. I didn’t know why, but after dating someone for a while, he would eventually fall short of my expectations and I’d inevitably dump him.
Yes, it was a pattern and I recognized it, but I just didn’t care because no way in hell was I settling for something dull. Boring. I’d rather live in this house alone than settle for someone who didn’t excite me and challenge me.
I’d need cats. Lots and lots of cats to keep me company. And let’s face it, they would probably be more entertaining than most of my exes. Eventually, I’d also need the number of a good tattoo removal place, but at the moment, I found my birds oddly comforting. Like my family was already here in some way, waiting for all the stars to align.
“Vivienne,” a voice called to me from downstairs. I quickly re-bandaged my birds and hurried downstairs to the kitchen.