Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4)

by Lilian Monroe

  Seeing me across the café, she spreads her arms and gives me a twirl. “What do you think?”

  “Two thumbs up,” I tell her.

  Fiona smiles at me, all confidence and swagger, and moves to the till to order her coffee and talk to Sven.

  I shut down my computer, pack up, and say goodbye to the girls. And I realize as I’m hugging Fiona goodbye that I no longer think of her as my sister’s friend—she’s my friend too now.

  My steps are light as I walk outside, inhaling the crisp scent of autumn, then my heart jags at the sound of a motorcycle.

  Damn it.

  I wish my body didn’t react that way. I wish I could hear a loud engine and not think of Mac. I wish I didn’t still miss him.

  I’m not supposed to miss him. I’m supposed to be a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. I’m supposed to be avoiding dessert for a while. I’m on a no-man diet. Main course only.

  Hamish comes into view with Margaret on the back of his bike. She waves at me as they come to a stop in front of the café, and I hike my laptop bag strap higher on my shoulder before giving her a quick hug.

  “You look like you belong on that thing, Margaret.” I nod to the bike.

  Hamish gives a grunt of approval. “She’s a natural.”

  Margaret laughs, smooths down her helmet hair, and gives Hamish a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the ride.” She winks, then heads inside the café.

  Hamish, still seated on his bike, shakes his head. “That woman makes me feel young again.”

  “You guys are good together,” I say, and I mean it. Smiling and inhaling to say my goodbyes, I stop when Hamish speaks first.

  “You haven’t been spending any time with Mac.”

  It’s not a question, so I wait for a beat, then finally shake my head. “No.”

  “He was happier when he was with you.”

  Damn it. My heart gives a sharp tug, and it’s hard to hide the pain in my face.

  But it’s the same story all over again, isn’t it? He was happier. I should change my life around because it was better for Mac. When is it my turn to be happier? When do my needs start taking priority?

  I let out a sigh and give Hamish my best smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t meant to be. See you later.”

  The old man says nothing as I walk away, and I’m grateful.

  31

  Mac

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t count the days until the first parent-teacher interview I have with Trina. The first one is a couple of weeks after the soccer ball incident, and I spend the minutes before our scheduled time together combing back my hair, fidgeting with my shirt, pacing my classroom.

  I haven’t seen her since the day I hit her in the face with a soccer ball—since the evening she made it clear she saw me as nothing more than a rebound, and might even be getting back with her ex.

  Then Trina walks in, and all the breath leaves my lungs.

  For weeks since the start of the school year, I’ve thought of the way she felt to kiss, to touch. It’s been one long cycle of torturing myself with thoughts of her, then torturing myself with guilt for it. Weeks and weeks of my dreams offering up visions of Trina naked and splayed for me, waking up with my cock a steel bar begging to be attended to. And after the attending was done, self-flagellation for being weak, for giving in. Two long months of trying to remember the taste of her, wishing I’d had more than two stolen moments with her.

  And the past two weeks?

  They’ve been even worse, because I know I lost my chance. When it comes down to it, Trina doesn’t want me. She made that abundantly clear last time we saw each other.

  She’s wearing painted-on jeans, a tight white top with a lacy neckline, and a deep-blue blazer. I want to peel those clothes off her body, one item at a time, and kiss every inch of creamy skin that I reveal. I want to lock the door and take my time with her. I want to throw out every conviction I’ve ever had about propriety and professionalism.

  Even after the soccer ball incident, I can’t help the way my body reacts to her.

  But she walked away. First she came to my house, told me our hook-ups were fun, but that she didn’t want to see me again. Then when I was ready to throw all my inhibitions away, she’d already chosen her ex-husband.

  I gesture to the two adult-sized chairs I’ve placed near a too-small desk. “Hi, Trina. Come in.”

  She smiles at me, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long, grey winter. My heart seizes, and I stumble over a wrinkle in the carpet. Catching myself before I fall, I take a seat and shuffle the papers I’ve prepared on Katie.

  Trina has sexy, heeled, ankle-high boots on, and she sways those perfect hips over to her chair. She’s all grace and control as she sits down, folding her hands over her lap like she was bred to sit at expensive fundraisers talking to senators and CEOs. She lets out a little huff and shakes her head. “I always get nervous at these things. I feel like I’m in trouble.” She nods to the door and gives me a little smile. “My son’s teacher just told me that he’s ‘extremely bright but struggles with being disruptive.’ Hearing that felt like I was doing something wrong.” She laughs nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Well, I have only good things to say about Katie.”

  “Oh, good.” Trina lets out a sigh of relief, color sweeping over her cheeks.

  I can’t help but smile, even though the sight of her makes my chest ache fiercely. For the first time since the soccer game, the tension in my body unwinds in her presence. I’ve been keyed up, stressed. Like a piece of me has been missing. Or maybe I’ve just been crazy with need for her, and being in her presence is like a single drop of water on my parched tongue. Gaze lingering on hers, I hold back a groan when she catches those beautiful lips between her teeth. I drop my gaze to my papers and clear my throat.

  “Katie’s a joy to teach. She’s very advanced in math, and she’s been a leader in the classroom. I’ve assigned her as class helper six times so far, and she’s always carried out cleanup duties very efficiently.” I glance up and grin. “She’s extremely good at delegating.”

  Trina laughs. “You know, just yesterday she somehow convinced me that it was my turn to do Mr. Fuzzles’s litter box when I know for a fact she hasn’t done it in a week and a half.”

  “Executive management in the making.” I grin.

  Trina leans back in her chair, her shoulders dropping a bit.

  This is easy. It’s always been easy with Trina. But today…there’s something different in the set of her shoulders, the way she carries herself. I half-expected this meeting to be awkward, but Katrina is completely at ease with herself, with me.

  It’s fucking hot, to tell the truth. And it makes me feel like an asshole for expecting the worst from her.

  And I can’t help myself. I veer off the parent-teacher conference plan and hear myself asking, “How have you been?”

  “I’ve been good,” she says, meeting my gaze over the child-sized table. “I, um, started a new business—well, I don’t know if you can call it a business yet, but I’ve started a project that feels like it could be a business.” She gives me a wry grin. “Still driving my old car, though, so some things haven’t been upgraded yet.”

  I clench my hand in a fist to fight the urge to reach over and touch her. “That’s good. I’m really happy for you.” I clear my throat. “You never mentioned this project before, did you?”

  A blush sweeps over her cheeks. “Actually, I didn’t really consider seriously pursuing it until that night after the soccer game.”

  I tilt my head. “The night I came over?” And you were with your ex.

  She laughs. “Truth be told, I was pissed that you came over and made me feel like I’d done something wrong. Then I was pissed at my ex for making me feel the same way when I was gracious enough to let him cross the threshold in the first place. So I guess I have to thank you for giving me the push I needed.” She blinks and shift
s her gaze to meet mine.

  My heart clenches, and something bittersweet buds somewhere deep and hidden inside me. So…she wasn’t with her ex that night?

  Still, it feels like she’s moved on. Like I lost my chance. So, all I can say is the truth. “I’m sorry.” I clear my throat. “I shouldn’t even have gone over to your house that night, and I definitely shouldn’t have made you feel bad about yourself, or about…us…or about anything. Especially considering I kicked a ball in your face.”

  Trina just grins at me. “Yeah. Especially considering that.” Her eyes sparkle, and I want her. I want her so bad it hurts. “Why were you coaching that day, anyway? I hadn’t seen you before or since.”

  “The other coach had a family emergency,” I explain. “I was filling in. Just the once.”

  “Ah.” She nods, and is it just me, or did it sound a bit like disappointment?

  This isn’t how it felt with Belinda. We’d flirt over the course of the school year, every single interaction sexually charged. It was all out in the open. She knew she wanted me, she knew I wanted her, and we were both all too happy to make bad decisions together.

  Being with Trina feels different. Somehow, I know that a drunken fuck on the last day of school wouldn’t be enough to get my fill of her. She’s burrowed her way under my skin. I want to listen to her talk about her kids. I want to hear her laugh. I want to wake up beside her and wrap my arms around her body, feel her melt into me like she knows she belongs there.

  I want to hear about this new project and support her however I can. I want her to be the entrepreneur she wants to be, because I know she’ll accomplish anything she sets her mind to. Anyone with a brain could see that she’s capable of big things.

  But there’s a wedge between us. There’s this job. There’s the fact that she was so quick to tell me I wasn’t worth it. There’s her divorce, her baggage. My baggage.

  There’s the fact that our conversation right now is friendly, but sterile. It feels a lot like Trina has moved on.

  “Do you ride your motorcycle all through the winter?” she asks. When I arch my brows, Trina smiles. “I saw it parked outside and was surprised. We’ve gotten quite a bit of rain lately. Seems like it’d be unsafe.”

  “You worried about me?”

  Her blush deepens, and a spark of hope fires in my chest. Maybe she hasn’t moved on?

  She shrugs. “Just curious.”

  I chuckle, ignoring the curl of heat deep in my gut. We can’t be together. We decided. We’re being polite, appropriate. Things are how they should be. I bet she’s not imagining her body bent over my desk right now the way I am. “I’ll probably only get another week or two of riding before I have to keep it in the garage for the winter. Apart from being unsafe, riding in the rain isn’t very fun.”

  She smiles, and another spear of warmth pierces my chest and moves lower. “Between the pottery, the motorcycle, and teaching seven-year-olds, you don’t seem to be the type of man who would mind getting wet and dirty.”

  As soon as the words leave her lips, Trina’s eyes widen and her cheeks turn bright red. Heat builds at the base of my spine, and the flush of her cheeks makes me want to reach over and tug her onto my lap to show her just how wet and dirty I’d like to get. I grip the edges of my chair and try to school my face into a placid expression.

  I fail. I know I fail when Trina flicks her eyes up to mine, and I hear a sharp intake of breath at the look on my face. Her blush deepens, and the air between us grows charged.

  She stands abruptly. “I should go.”

  “Yeah.” I stand as well, keeping the papers clutched in my hand to hide my growing erection. I hand her the summary report on Katie’s performance in class so far, making sure that my fingers don’t touch hers.

  “Thanks.” Her eyes slide away from mine, shoulders tense.

  The wedge between us hammers us just a little further apart. Another reminder of all the reasons we can’t be together.

  When I get home that evening, I find myself heading for the studio. I put some music on a bit too loud to drown out the memory of Trina’s voice, and I focus on the spinning of the pottery wheel to dispel the image of her sitting across from me, and especially the image of her jumping to her feet and angling for the door.

  32

  Trina

  I slump into a chair at my sister’s house. My kids are playing in the living room in the open-plan space while my mother reads a book beside them. Allie, Candice’s teenage daughter, is in her room, so I find myself sitting at the kitchen table with Candice, Blake, and a large glass of wine.

  I might need the whole bottle after that parent-teacher conference. “Honestly, Blake, you might be the famous actor and all, but I think I deserve an Oscar for what just happened.”

  Candice laughs. “That bad, huh?”

  I drop my head in my hands, peeking out through my fingers at my kids. Those little sponges are listening to every word, even if they look totally engrossed in their game. I look at Candice again and shake my head.

  She knows where I was just now. She knows it’s the first time since the soccer ball incident that I’ve seen Mac. She knows I still think about him far too much.

  These past weeks have been a strange kind of twilight zone. The days are somehow slow and lightning-quick all at once. Now that I’ve decided on a direction in my life, it’s like I can’t wait to get started, but time just flies by without me being able to grasp it.

  I remember when Kevin and I first married, it felt like a beginning. Like the start of something big, the true start to my life. I knew for sure I was doing the right thing. Maybe that’s why now, even though I feel so excited about my new business, about my kids loving their school, about all the good things in my life, I still feel slightly apprehensive. Like it might all come crashing down.

  “I still don’t get why you can’t date him,” Blake says, topping up Candice’s glass.

  “Shh,” I say, glancing toward my kids.

  Candice just laughs and shakes her head. “She’s in denial, Blake.”

  “So it runs in the family, huh.” He arches a brow at my sister, who swats his arm.

  “I wasn’t that bad.” Candice takes a sip of wine before sticking her tongue out at him.

  “I came into the café every day for weeks before you admitted to yourself you wanted me.” Blake rests his arm across the back of her chair, and Candice can’t help but laugh.

  “Fine. Maybe a touch of denial. But Trina’s situation is different.”

  Blake waves a hand. “Just go for it, Trina. So he’s your kid’s”—he drops his voice—“teacher.” A shrug as his voice returns to normal volume. “Life’s too short to worry about that kind of shit.”

  “Blake said shit!” Katie shouts without taking her eyes off her game.

  Yep. Little sponges listening to everything. I glance at my daughter, then shift my gaze to Candice, who gives me a knowing smile.

  “Katie, just because an adult says a bad word doesn’t mean you can say it too.”

  She looks up, frowning. “I wasn’t saying it, Mommy. I was just quoting him.”

  Damn that infallible seven-year-old logic. I give her my best stern look, and my daughter replies with an impish grin. Toby looks at his sister, then at me, and smiles wide. And I’m probably being a bad mother for not chastising the both of them, but the sight of those two smiles hits me right in the chest. I wouldn’t be able to discipline them if I tried.

  I take that as my cue to stand up, drain the dregs of wine left in my glass, and usher my kids toward the door. Mom offers to drive, which is great, because I feel all out of sorts. We still only have my old clunker car, which I swear I’ll upgrade once I have a bit more stability. Whenever that happens.

  By the time the evening routine is finished and the kids are down for the count, I find myself in my bedroom, lying on the bed as I stare at the ceiling.

  This is good. Life is marching on, and I’m finally doing something. Moving fo
rward.

  So what if Mac looked like pure, off-limits sex in his smart button-down and combed hair? So what if I sat across the tiny table from him and wondered how he’d react if I walked over and straddled him? My heart thumped the whole meeting, and I could hardly stand to be so close to him without squirming.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  That’s done. I don’t need him. He’s dessert.

  With a sigh, I force myself to think of something else—and the next thing on my long list of engagements and to-dos is Fiona’s wedding.

  When we worked on her closet, she asked me to help with the reception. She offered a generous payment for me to style the whole wedding party, which I of course tried to refuse. She and the rest of the girls have done so, so much for me over the past months. When Fiona insisted on paying me, I told her my services would be her wedding present. So now I’ve got Agnes’s closet and Fiona’s wedding to focus on, which will hopefully keep my mind off whatever happened at that parent-teacher conference.

  The look in Mac’s eyes when I made that stupid, stupid comment about being wet and dirty. The way my whole body tightened and heated. The way that even though I tell myself I’ve moved on, that I’m happy with my new projects and my kids and my independent life, I still remember how it felt to be in Mac’s bed.

  If I just keep myself this busy and don’t think about motorcycles, pottery, soccer balls, or elementary teachers, then I can get through this school year unscathed.

  Hopefully.

  33

  Fiona

  When Grant first proposed to me, I never envisaged a big wedding. I thought the second time around for me should be low-key. But over the past months, that has changed. The invitation list has grown to include most of Heart’s Cove, and Grant himself insisted on making an event of it.

  So that’s how I’ve ended up with an ivory, tea-length dress with a Bardot neckline, my hair tied in a complicated updo with a veil nestled in the bun at the back of my neck. Looking in the mirror in the dressing room of the old cannery-turned-wedding venue, I let out a deep breath and turn to the girls. “What do you think?”