Asking for Trouble

by Amy Andrews

  “So, I shouldn’t,” she pressed. “Kiss them?” She’d only ever kissed one man, and she wanted to do something about that. She just wasn’t sure she could go for it after only a couple of hours.

  “I think that—” Tucker cleared his throat. “That…kissing is part of dating. It’s fun and natural as long as it’s safe and—”

  “Oh God,” Della interrupted. He sounded like her eighth-grade sex-ed teacher. “Please tell me you’re not going to mention special cuddles next.”

  “Do you think I could just get through this? It’s not exactly easy talking about this stuff with you.”

  She sighed. “Fine.”

  “My point is,” he continued, “if you’re comfortable taking it to that level, then sure. Just don’t let anyone rush you on to the next level. Too many people skip over the kissing stage, which is a shame because there’s a lot to be learned from just making out.”

  “Like whether they’re good at it or not?”

  Della bet Tucker was excellent at making out. She didn’t mean to look at his mouth, but her gaze dropped there anyway. Luckily, he chose that moment to wave at a passing waiter, holding up his empty bottle to indicate he’d have another.

  “Well, yes,” he agreed when he returned his attention to Della, who quickly dragged her eyes off his mouth. “But kissing is a skill. Anyone can learn to be good at it, it’s just practice.” He seemed less awkward now, warming to the topic. “There are more important things you can learn from making out.”

  “Like what, oh wise wingman?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Della gave a half laugh. “Absolutely.”

  He rolled his eyes but continued. “Like how willing the other person is to learn and adapt. Do they only like to lead and dominate? Can they be soft and playful as well as hard and fast? Can they read their partner? Sense the pace the other person wants to move at? Are they generous? Does it feel like something they’re just checking off a list that gets them to the main course, or do they really enjoy it? Linger over it? Would they kiss for hours and hours and do nothing else if that’s all the other person wanted?”

  Della swallowed. Oh yeah. He’d really warmed up to the topic. So had she. She was too young for a hot flash, but damn if her whole body wasn’t humming with heat. “Would you?” she asked.

  “What?” His throat bobbed, and his whiskey-colored eyes went all smoky.

  “Just kiss.” The restaurant noise faded as the space around them shrank right down.

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “I know, but…would you?”

  He nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  Della’s toes curled in her boots. How would that be? Kissing Tucker. For hours and hours. Learning the contours of his mouth and how he tasted. Learning what he liked and the sounds he made when he was turned on. Her breathing roughened. Fine tendrils of sensation looped low in her belly and tied in knots.

  “Here you are, sir.”

  Della blinked as the waiter plonked a beer down between them, slicing through the charged space like a machete. Tucker thanked him and took a slug of his drink, turning to face the street as Della cleared her throat. They may have been interrupted, but they weren’t done here yet.

  “So, what you’re saying is, I should be a mermaid?”

  It took Tucker a beat or two to answer. He turned his head slightly to regard her with those solemn whiskey eyes. “What I’m saying is, it’s okay to explore at your own pace. And if a guy doesn’t like it, then kick him to the curb.”

  The fact Della got to be in charge of this stuff now was mind-blowing, considering she’d had zero agency when she’d been married. And she was eager to experiment with this newfound freedom, although she knew she was going to need to take it slow. And even if she hadn’t, Selena had certainly reiterated it many times.

  Tinder seemed ripe with opportunities to experiment, and she did want to put herself out there, but would anyone be willing to ease into the intimacy a little? Everywhere she looked, it seemed most people skipped straight to the sex part. Even in Winona’s books, her characters got down to business pretty damn fast.

  It made her feel like a bit of a…freak.

  “You really think there are guys out there who are okay with a woman saying I just want to kiss for now?”

  “Of course.”

  “On Tinder?”

  “Yeah. Even on Tinder.” He placed his beer down carefully and leaned forward on his elbows, glancing sideways at her. “Have you thought about being up front about your background…about what you’ve been through in the past? Right out of the gate? It might help a guy understand you wanting to go a little slow.”

  Della blinked. What the what? “You want me to tell a guy on a first date that my ex used to abuse me, but it’s okay because he went to prison and now he’s dead?”

  “Well…maybe not in those words.”

  She gaped at him. “No one’s going to stick around after that.”

  He shrugged. “You might be surprised.”

  “Sure, the freaks who like broken chicks or the guys who like to fix women. I don’t want to be pitied or…stigmatized, Tuck. I just want to be like every other millennial female out there trying to have some fun. Not…damaged goods. I’m tired of feeling like that.”

  He shifted the weight off his elbows as he sat back in his chair, a hand absently rubbing along his jaw. The scratchy noise went straight to Della’s nipples, causing them to pucker. How could she be annoyed at him and turned on by him at the same time?

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  Della nodded, then reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “Now, let’s see what Tinder has on offer tonight.” She opened the app to find Xander staring back at her. He was in supertight athletic gear that left nothing to the imagination, his feet apart, his hands on his hips, and his chest puffed out like Buzz freaking Lightyear.

  “Your parents will love me,” Della read. “Your neighbors won’t.”

  She turned the phone to show Tucker, who winced. “You can practically see that dude’s religion.”

  Della laughed and swiped left.

  …

  On Thursday morning, Della and Ruth were chatting on their way to the staff room for their break when they heard a very loud “Psssst, Della” as they were walking along the path outside Ray Carmody’s villa. Looking over her shoulder, she saw his head sticking out his door and his hand gesturing her over.

  She turned to Ruth. “Can I catch up with you later?”

  Ruth nodded good-naturedly. “I’ll save you a donut.”

  Thursdays were donut day, and Della was usually first in line. “I’ll love you forever,” she said, giving Ruth’s arm a quick squeeze before wandering over to Ray.

  “Everything okay, Mr. Carmody?” she asked as he opened the door wide enough and indicated for her to enter.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not, you old fool,” Bob Downey grouched. He was sitting on a chair by the window.

  Della’s gaze swept the room, coming to rest on the bed, where a pile of clothes had been haphazardly laid out. “Are you culling your closet?”

  “Yeah,” Bob snickered. “He’s all about the Marie Kondo.”

  “Can it, Bob,” Ray said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No…I’m after a woman’s opinion. On what I should wear tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “He’s taking Rosemary on a date.”

  “Really?” Della hadn’t seen Rosemary this morning, but it seemed like her hints had finally paid dividends. “You asked her out?”

  Ray nodded proudly. “You bet your sweet ass I did. And she said yes. But…it’s been over sixty years since I’ve been on a date, so…” He glanced at the pile of clothes.

  “I’ve been telling him he should wear a suit,”
Bob interjected.

  Della wrinkled her brow. About the only place anyone wore a suit to around here was a funeral. Maybe church, if your transgressions were big enough that a few Hail Marys weren’t going to cut the mustard. She assessed the clothes on the bed. “Where are you taking her?”

  “To Jack’s. For cocktails. I already spoke to Tucker, and he’s making a signature drink just for her.”

  “Awww.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “That’s very romantic, Mr. Carmody.”

  He shrugged. “It was his suggestion. He’s going to call it a Rosemary Fizz.”

  The news didn’t surprise her. Tucker pretended he didn’t like making fancy drinks, but Della secretly thought, after a decade of pulling beers for cowboys, he enjoyed stretching his bartender repertoire. Plus, he had an extraordinary amount of cocktail umbrellas and novelty swizzle sticks for a guy who decried the amount of time they took to make.

  Della’s crush grew a little bigger. The man was so damn…accommodating. Tinder guru, driving instructor, wingman.

  And now cupid.

  Ray cast a glance at his bed. “So…what do you think I should wear? Rosemary’s one classy woman. I don’t want to look like some bozo next to her.”

  Yes, Rosemary would definitely appreciate a man who had gone to some trouble. “Not a suit.” Della crossed closer to the bed.

  “Told you,” Ray said, shooting a triumphant look at his best friend.

  “A nice pair of trousers. And a button-down shirt.” She sorted through the available choices. It wasn’t the most modern collection she’d ever seen, but there were some good-quality pieces. “These should work.”

  She held up a pair of charcoal trousers that were one half of a suit. The jacket was too out-of-date, but the cut of the pants and the faint burgundy pinstripes gave them a classic kind of style. Teamed with a paisley print, long-sleeved shirt, Ray Carmody would look just the right amount of retro cool with his strikingly gray hair.

  Bob nodded his approval. “You’ll be the coolest cat in the joint.”

  Ray beamed. “Thank you, Della.”

  “You’re welcome.” She grinned. “I hope you have a really nice time.”

  Bob’s next words were unexpected, to say the least. “You got protection? Or do we need to go to the drugstore?”

  “What?” Ray gaped at his friend, looking both mortified and horrified at once. Della couldn’t blame him. She was pretty mortified herself. This conversation was right up there with the dildo one.

  “You know…a rubber?”

  “Yes, Bob. I know what you mean.” He bugged his eyes at his buddy and slid his gaze meaningfully sideways at Della and back again. “It’s just…not like that. And besides, as far as I know, it’s not possible to get an eighty-four-year-old woman pregnant.”

  Bob gave a snort. “This isn’t about pregnancy, old-timer. This is about STDs. You know. Chlamydia. And the clap. According to the latest stats out of the CDC, the incidence of sexually transmitted diseases in residential facilities for seniors is on the rise.”

  Della blinked. She was pretty sure there were people out there in the public-health space who weren’t as up on the latest CDC figures regarding STDs as Bob Downey.

  “It seems like with all those little blue pills men are popping and the risk of pregnancy not being an issue, old folks are getting it on more than ever.” Bob winked at Della. “Apparently it’s like spring break in some senior facilities.”

  Okay. They were now entering the realm of too much information. Della was happy that seniors were getting it on like college kids in Cancún, but dear God… Please make it stop.

  “Bob, you have way too much time on your hands,” Ray said. “It’s just a date. Some drinks and conversation at Jack’s, then walk her to her door. Maybe a friendly kiss on her cheek, if she seems amenable. That’s it.”

  “Okay, okay, no need to get your panties in a bunch. I’m just sayin’.”

  “Ah…” Della pointed to the door. “Think I’ll keep going, if we’re done here?”

  “Yes, thank you, dear.” Ray smiled. “And apologies for this fool. He can be a few peas short of a casserole from time to time.”

  Bob hooted out a laugh, clearly not remotely insulted. “Never liked peas anyway.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” Ray agreed, and then they were both laughing.

  Della took advantage of the moment to back out of the room. She loved those two old guys, but maybe eternal spinsterhood wasn’t such a bad proposition after all.

  Ten minutes later, Della entered Rosemary’s villa. She was in her usual position on the window seat, a book in hand. Clearly, she was not suffering the same nerves as Ray.

  “I hear you have a date tonight,” Della said as she approached the window.

  “I do.” She grinned as she took her glasses off, resting them on top of the book in her lap. “We’re going to Jack’s for cocktails.” She gave a happy sigh. “You know, I don’t think I’ve had a cocktail since that cruise Winston and I did a decade ago.”

  “Tucker makes a mean cocktail.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Well, Ray’s definitely looking forward to it. I’ve just been helping him choose something to wear. He wants something worthy of your classiness. He was in quite a tizzy about it.”

  “Aww. That’s sweet. I hope you set him straight.”

  “I think you’ll approve.” Della perched her butt on the end of the window seat. “You don’t seem too worried.”

  “I’ve already decided on a dress I bought a few years ago. It has a back zipper, so it’s”—she winked—“easy to get off in a hurry, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh… Yes. Right.” It seemed Rosemary was after more than a peck on the cheek.

  The older woman laughed. “You don’t approve of me putting out on the first date?”

  “Oh no…that’s…” Della’s cheeks went fiery hot. “I mean…sure, why not.”

  “But you think we should court some more?” Rosemary’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “No…no.” Tucker’s words about making out from Friday night returned. About how people skipped over that bit too fast. “What you and Ray do is entirely up to you.”

  Rosemary cocked an eyebrow. “It sounds like there’s a but there?”

  “No…” Della leaned her head back against the wall and rolled it to the side to stare out the window, her gaze taking in the leaden sky threatening to unload. “I was just thinking.”

  “About what? Spit it out, girlie, let me hear it.”

  Della rolled her head back to face Rosemary. “Tucker says too many people skip the making-out bit, which is where you learn a lot about the person you’re with.”

  “Tucker said that, did he? Taking his wingman duties seriously, I see.”

  The look in the old woman’s astute gaze did not help with the color or heat in Della’s cheeks. She shrugged. “I guess.”

  Rosemary grunted. “Tucker is right, of course, but he’s about fifty years younger than me and a hunk of burning love who still has his best days in front of him. I, on the other hand, could be dead tomorrow. You can’t mess around when you get to my age. In fact, there’s a good argument for not messing around at any age if you know what you want. My sister dropped dead at twenty-six, massive stroke. It was a long time ago now, but…we never know when our number’s up.”

  “Twenty-six?” One year older than Della.

  “Yup. It was a tragedy none of us ever really got over.” There was a sudden waver in Rosemary’s voice. “She had her heart set on going to Disneyland from the moment it opened. Never got there.”

  “I’ve never been there, either.”

  “Oh honey, that man is Disneyland, the Kennedy Space Center, and Margaritaville all rolled into one.”

  Della’s gaze met Rosemary’s. It was tempting to play dum
b, but those shrewd eyes refused to let her hide. “Tucker?”

  “Yeah, Tucker.” Rosemary leaned forward and patted her hand. “And you should be riding him any chance you get.”

  Chapter Six

  “Here you are, Mr. Carmody, Mrs. Forbes. Another round of Rosemary Fizzes.”

  Tucker placed the cocktails down in front of his customers. It was their third round. They were sitting at a booth and hadn’t stopped talking and laughing for nearly two hours.

  Rosemary picked hers up and said, “Tucker, you give good cocktail.”

  Tucker grinned at her blatantly flirty eyes. He was used to women flirting with him—bartenders were considered harmless flirting practice for a lot of women, and Tucker was happy to be the recipient. “Why thank you, ma’am.”

  “I swear I lost the feeling in my legs an hour ago.” She hiccupped, and both she and Ray thought it was hilariously funny.

  Tucker laughed at the tipsy octogenarians. “How are you two kids getting home?”

  “Bob’s picking us up in half an hour,” Ray confirmed.

  The thought of Bob Downey out on the roads at night in that old clunker of his was a scary proposition. Just as well he and Rosemary were feeling a little merry. “I’m surprised Bob didn’t invite himself along.”

  “Oh, he tried. But Rosemary told him three was a crowd.” Ray grinned, picked up his glass, and tapped it to hers.

  “And that is my cue to leave.”

  When neither of them protested, Tucker chuckled and moved away, sliding back behind the bar. It was a slow night with only a few other customers besides the lovebirds in the booth, and his mind drifted as he unloaded glasses from the dishwasher.

  To Della.

  It was doing that a lot lately. Since this wingman caper. And the driving lessons. Since that dress. Since the conversation about that dress. She’d been pissed at him about the nice comment, and he should have just let her be pissed, but she’d goaded him into admitting the truth because he hadn’t been able to bear her thinking she was terrible to look at.