“But Auntie Mae is the only one who fishes right,” Gracie says, her lip in a little pout.
“Honey, I told you I need to talk to Mae then we’re leaving.”
“I’ll take her,” Knox says.
“Yay!” Gracie screams.
Timothy starts shaking his head back and forth at a rapid pace. Knox has no idea what he just volunteered for. “Where are your fishing poles?” he asks.
Timothy and I both bust out laughing, knowing what’s coming. “No poles,” Gracie says, taking his hand. “I’ll teach you.”
Knox looks back at me as Gracie leads him toward the dock. Smiling, I call out to him, “Good luck.”
“We should stay close,” Timothy says, taking a few steps in their direction. “Everly sent me over.”
“Checking on me,” I say.
“She was upset I gave Knox that stuff from when you were younger.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“No, like this,” we hear Gracie telling Knox, who is down on one knee, so he’s more at her level. Timothy and I continue to observe as Gracie reaches into her container, pulling out one cheese ball, and throwing it into the lake water. “So we don’t use poles?” he asks her. “And our bait is a cheese ball?”
He’s getting a kick out of her, clearly amused. Gracie doesn’t want to hurt the “fishies,” as she calls them, so she simply throws the “bait”—in this case, cheese balls—into the water, and waits until she sees a fish come to the surface and starts nibbling on it.
“Well, Everly wanted me to come over and apologize to you.”
“Not necessary,” I say, bumping his shoulder slightly. Timothy’s a good guy. “We’re all good.”
He gives me a smile, and then we continue to observe the fishermen.
“So what do we do when we see a fish?” Knox asks Gracie. “How do we catch it?”
“Like this,” Gracie yells, getting a running start.
“No!” Timothy and I both cry at the same time, but Gracie is already mid-air, cannonballing into the lake.
The first time I took her fishing, she did the same thing. After that, Everly and Timothy made sure she had swimming lessons. She’s actually a really good swimmer for her age, but Knox doesn’t know that.
Without hesitating at all, he jumps right in after her. The water splashes up on the dock, and Gracie pops up from the water, giggling. “Did you catch the fish?” she asks Knox.
“The fish?” Knox laughs, pulling her into the safety of his arms in the water. “I caught you!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Knox
There’s a window at the top of Mae’s shower that gives a clear view of the mountains. After fishing with Gracie, I needed to shower off. I like kids. I always have, but that little girl is something else. I doubt you could have a bad day with her around. She’s so damn cute, always happy.
I feel the same way around Mae.
Happy.
She makes me so damn happy.
I think the worst shit could be happening around me, and Mae could still make me feel better. Like this morning, with all that work crap, she walked out on the porch, and I instantly felt better. Of course, I’d feel a whole lot better if she was in the shower with me right now. She declined my invitation when I asked her to join me.
Apparently, she needed to get ready to go see her grandmother’s performance group. I was advised that I’m expected to attend, as well, which is fine. I’ll follow Mae anywhere, but a senior citizen dance crew? This should be interesting.
This is really about Imogen checking up on her granddaughter. I couldn’t have produced the movie without her. That woman hangs on to everything—literally. She had a whole lifetime of our memories in an old cedar chest. She threatened me within an inch of my life if I hurt Mae again. Promising her I wouldn’t was the easy part, getting her to help me took a little convincing.
Stepping out of the shower, I grab a big white towel Mae laid out for me and start to dry off. The towel reminds me of the ones you get in luxury hotels, thick and full. Something else in this room is thick and full, and the towel isn’t doing a damn thing to hide it. Idiot! I could’ve had her flat on her back last night, but I blew it. I know I did the right thing, though. I want more, but my dick doesn’t appreciate my chivalry. The cock is not a noble organ. Selfish, yes. Noble, not so much.
I had my bag with clothes and toiletries in my car, hoping I wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel again. It’s a pain to have to bribe the managers to keep quiet, sneak around. Plus, I don’t usually stay in the same place for more than a night, unless I’ve made plans in advance. In my mission to get Mae back, I’m flying by the seat of my pants.
Throwing on some clothes and brushing my teeth, I make sure to leave her bathroom as clean as when I entered. This isn’t a hotel. She’s not my maid. I open the door that leads to her bedroom. She may not be the maid, but I’ve definitely found maids like this in my hotel rooms before.
She’s in her bra and panties. “Oh my God,” she cries, reaching for a shirt to cover up, not putting it on, but holding it to her chest, trying to stretch it to conceal more of herself. “Knox, I’m naked!”
Of course, the maids I’ve found in their underwear didn’t protest, and sounded happier to see me. They were always sent on their way.
“Hardly,” I say, stalking toward her. “This underwear certainly isn’t ugly.” And I really hope that means something. She doesn’t say a word. I reach out, grabbing the shirt she’s using to try to cover herself and toss it aside.
Christ, why did I ever let her get away? She’s perfect. Her body is the stuff men go to war over, her curves so dangerous you could easily lose yourself in them for hours. Her pale skin is silky, without a tan line, and she has on the sexiest light blue and white lace panties and bra.
I run my finger under the strap of her bra. “You don’t like bras, especially in the summer.” Her eyes hold mine, looking surprised I remember that. “Take it off,” I say.
She doesn’t even pause before reaching around the back and unhooking it, letting it drop to the floor. I’m much more of an ass man than a tit man, but Mae could convert me. She’s not big, but what she does have are round and full and fucking gorgeous. She’s completely natural, which I haven’t seen in a while, but it’s her nipples that fucking slay me. They’re hard and erect and begging to be sucked and nibbled on. I know how much she likes that, likes to have them tugged and bitten, how wet that makes her.
“Panties, too,” I order. “Off.”
Something flashes through her eyes. It’s brief, but enough for me to know that, despite what she said last night, she’s not completely sure about this.
Leaning into her, I whisper, “I want to be able to slip my finger . . .” I let my finger slide up her inner thigh, just barely toying with the edge of her panties. She grabs my shoulders for support, her legs wobbling. “. . . inside you whenever I want, wherever I want.”
Slowly, she bends down, sliding her panties down the smooth skin of her legs. I’ve barely touched her, but her body’s ready. It’s her heart I’m worried about.
My dick cursing at me, I say, “Put a dress on. We’re going to be late.”
*
Mae squirms in the seat next to mine as we drive through town, crossing and uncrossing her legs over and over again, no doubt trying to quench the desire between them. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to play with her. I place my hand on her thigh, pulling her dress up, so my hand is on her warm skin.
I have the air conditioning on in the car. It is summer, but what Mae hasn’t realized is I also have the button pushed that heats her seat. The setting is on low, but enough to do its job. I want heat between her legs. I don’t want her desire to die down at all. I want to keep her open and poised, waiting for me.
She spreads her legs apart, letting me know she wants me. I’ve finger fucked her many times—while driving, in elevators, at the dinner table, in restaurants, but not today. I squeeze her thigh, le
tting her know I’m not going any higher. She leans her head back on the seat, taking a deep breath. This is what I want—to make her want me so badly she gets out of her own head, forgets any reasons she may think this is a bad idea.
“Why are you teasing me?” she moans.
“Because you like it.”
She turns her head to me, smiling, and says, “Payback is a bitch.”
Trying not to laugh, I stop in front of the hall where the rehearsal is taking place. I love her. I haven’t admitted that to myself since all this started. I haven’t let myself think those words, but I know I do. It may seem fast, but the truth is, I never really stopped loving her. I just told myself she was someone that I’d forever lost and couldn’t have. That didn’t make the love go away, it just made it possible to live with.
Sliding my hand up her body to her neck, I pull her to my lips. She’s not ready to hear those words from me. If I told her I loved her, I half expect she’d bolt out of the car. So I hope my kiss tells her what I’m feeling.
Her hand on my cheek, she studies my face. “I still can’t believe you’re really here. That we’re . . .” She shakes her head. “Do you feel like that?”
Women always want to talk about feelings. How they feel, how you feel, how they think you feel. And the feelings can’t ever be simple. Happy, sad, scared, angry? No, they have all these complex emotions, like confused-happy or happy-sad. How are you sad and happy at the same time? Fuck if I know, but apparently, women can feel both simultaneously.
“We never felt over to me,” I say. “I always believed someday you’d be back in my life.”
“You did not!” she says playfully.
See! I tell her how I feel, and she says I’m wrong. Confusing female! “All those cassette tapes,” I say softly. “Those didn’t come from Everly or Imogen.”
Her blue eyes widen. That little piece of the movie hadn’t dawned on her. “You kept them?”
“Every single one,” I say.
Her head shakes a little as she looks at me. “Did you ever . . .”
I know what she’s asking—if I ever listened to them. “Sometimes,” I admit.
Right after our breakup, I packed them away, not listening to them, but then something would remind me of Mae or her birthday would roll around, and I’d find myself longing to hear her voice, and I’d pull one out. You’d think listening to her would make me sad, but it didn’t. It was comforting to have that little part of her, of us.
“I never really let you go, Mae. If I did, those tapes would’ve been tossed off a cliff or burned, but instead, I kept them with me.”
She smiles as a tear rolls down her cheek. I catch it with my finger. I guess this is what happy-sad looks like.
*
“He better move his hand!” Mae says under her breath.
I wrap my arms around her from behind to keep her from storming the stage. The Silver Sirens rehearse in a local veterans’ hall. There is a stage, dance floor, plenty of room for them to move around. This is just a rehearsal, no audience, so I wasn’t expecting the energy to be so high. After all, we are talking about the much older generation. I guess seventy really is the new forty.
We happened to walk in while Mae’s grandmother and her partner were practicing a ballroom number. Let’s just say, Mae was hoping for a fun Foxtrot, not a sexy Rumba.
“I can tell he has his eyes set on my Gigi,” she says, her entire body tense in my arms.
“More like she has her eyes set on him,” I say, doing my best to look anywhere else in the room. Two senior citizens grinding against each other is not something I want etched in my brain.
“Gigi loved my granddad,” Mae hisses at me. “She would never!”
Apparently, Mae has forgotten her grandfather has been gone for some time now. “Look at them,” she whisper-shouts. “They’re practically having sex up there.” Her eyes grow wide. “You don’t think they’ve actually . . .”
No safe way to answer that question.
“A man his age,” I say, trying to shrug it off as not a possibility.
Mae releases a deep breath, the invention of Viagra apparently slipping her mind. Those two are definitely bumping uglies.
“And that costume,” Mae says. “She looks naked!”
“I think she looks very elegant,” I say. The costume does have a pretty high slit and is low cut, but Imogen can totally pull it off, even at her age. She has the attitude for it.
“Elegant? She might as well be wearing pasties!”
The music ends and a few of the other members clap for them. Mae simply crosses her arms in front of her chest, glaring at the stage. Imogen catches her look, whispering something to her dance partner, who looks our way. Something about him seems familiar, but I can’t place it.
“I want proof he’s a widower,” Mae says to me. “He could be a poser!”
“You think that old dude is pretending his wife died?” I ask, trying not to roll my eyes at the absurdity. Mae flashes me a look like I’m in big trouble.
“What? Gigi has money. Grandad saw to that. She’s attractive.”
“Please don’t ask the poor man to produce a death certificate,” I say.
They walk toward us. They’re not holding hands. He doesn’t even have his hand at the small of her back, but Mae still doesn’t offer a smile.
“I’m calling Daddy,” Mae whispers as they reach us.
For fuck’s sake, she’s planning on telling her father that his mother is dating! That should be an interesting phone call.
“How are things here?” Imogen asks as they approach us, her eyes going back and forth between Mae and me.
I wrap my arm around Mae’s waist. “Good. Thanks to your help,” I say, since Mae is too busy shooting the death stare at Imogen’s partner. Mae’s protective side is just as adorable as the rest of her.
“Knox, Mae,” Imogen says. “I’d like you to meet Thomas. He’s pretty new to the group.”
I reach to shake his hand. “You look so familiar,” I say.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you, young man,” Thomas says.
Imogen laughs. “Thomas used to play football for the Broncos and . . .”
“You did some commentary too, right?” I ask. “I grew up watching you on Monday Night Football.” He smiles, shaking my hand. I flash Mae a look. This guy is hardly a gold digger. “Knox Merrick.”
“Of course,” Thomas says. “The screen actor. Nice to meet you.”
His eyes turn to Mae, and I elbow her a little. “I’m Mae,” she says. “Gigi is my grandmother.”
“Oh, I know,” he says. “She never stops talking about you.”
“How’d you hear about the group?” Mae asks, digging for information like she’s on a recon mission.
“His wife reached out to me,” Imogen says, looking up at him.
There is definitely something there. You’d have to be blind not to see it.
“She knew she didn’t have long, and she’d seen our group perform somewhere. She reached out and asked me if I’d contact Thomas after she passed. One year after she passed, to be exact.”
“Your grandmother kept her promise,” Thomas says, lightly touching her arm. “Stuck a brochure in my mailbox.”
“That didn’t work,” Imogen laughs, her whole face lighting up.
“So she stalked me!” he teases.
“Gigi!” Mae cries.
“Not really,” Imogen says. “I just happened to show up at his church.”
“Sat next to me in the pew,” he says. “And practically followed me to my car after until I agreed to come to one practice.”
“Gigi always gets what she wants,” Mae says, catching her grandmother’s eye.
“Well, it was very nice to meet you both,” Thomas says. “I should get back to rehearsing. Hopefully, I’ll see you again.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mae says, making them both smile.
Thomas gives Imogen a small wink before walking off.
“You could’ve warned me,” Mae says, lightly pinching Imogen’s arm.
“And missed your little temper tantrum?” Imogen deadpans. “That was quite exciting.”
“She almost demanded a death certificate and proof of his net worth,” I laugh.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side,” Mae says.
“I can kick his butt back to California,” Imogen says. “Knox’s on my side.”
Mae takes her grandmother’s hand. “You’re happy, Gigi? He treats you nice?”
“Very happy,” she says. “It almost feels like his wife knew this would happen. And I think your grandfather would like him.”
“Okay, then,” Mae says, with a nod of approval.
Imogen kisses us both on the cheek before heading over to start practicing again. Then she turns back to Mae. “And don’t worry, we’re being careful.”
“Gigi!” Mae laughs. “I wasn’t exactly worried about you showing up pregnant.”
“STD’s are on the rise in older people. My God, girl, educate yourself,” she says with a smile. “That might be a good topic for your show!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mae
Knox is back on the phone. I get the feeling his “people” aren’t happy he’s spending so much time in Colorado, but Knox assures me that they all work for him—and that they will just have to deal with it.
It’s evening, after what has been a wonderful day together. After visiting Gigi, we just hung out here at my house, ate dinner, talked, kissed. There was nothing glamorous about it. No visits from the press. It was just me and Knox, and it felt perfect. But reality is seeping back in. I can see him through my bedroom door, making sure he has everything in his bag. He’s leaving really early tomorrow morning to drive back to Denver to catch a flight back to Los Angeles. It’s been a crazy twenty-four hours.
I hate that now he’s already making plans to leave.
He’ll be back. We aren’t sure when, exactly—but just a few days from now. He’s hoping Sunday or Monday at the latest. For the next few weeks, this will be our life together, him jetting back and forth. I haven’t offered to go with him, and he hasn’t asked, other than urging me to think about going to the movie premiere.
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